I started my six month contract with Hero Education full of expectation. This was my first time in Manilla — though I was a seasoned Asian traveler — I had never set foot in the Philippines. Hero was in a fairly central part of the city and occupied two floors of a non-descript concrete tower that could have been anywhere in the world.

Teaching a functional English course to fifty odd students was not beyond me. All of them had placements to work in the Middle East and English was the lingua franca. They were keen to study and many of them already had a reasonable knowledge of the language. So time flew and I was enjoying myself, but for one thing.

Hero’s promise of accommodation had not come through and after two weeks in a nearby hotel, I searched for a more budget option. One of my students recommended a guest house a few blocks away. Basic and cheap, I was told.

That’s how I ended up at Emerald Guest Palace, which was neither emerald in colour nor a palace in stature. Squat, somewhat rundown, the proprietor, Mrs. Aquino, found me quiet digs at the rear of the building.

“It’s good for you here. No-one uses this area. Just my daughter and her boyfriend,” she said, her eyes rolling at the latter arrangement.

The room was clean and comfortably furnished. Toilets and showers were shared.

“I’ll take it,” I said cheerfully.

This being Saturday, I was at leisure to unpack and explore my new domain, which occupied the first floor of yet another squat concrete building. But this one was older and maintenance had obviously been scrimped on. Paint flaked here and there and some fluoro lights flickered annoyingly.

My own room had a large central ceiling fan and air vents at roof level on all sides, the better to allow air flow. The downside, I realized, was reduced privacy and increased noise from adjacent rooms. Still, the price was right and I could always shift if things became intolerable.

Shortly after unpacking, I ran into the cause of Mrs. Aquino’s rolling eyes. Her daughter and a person I presumed was her boyfriend were returning.

“Hello,” I said, “I think that we are neighbours.”

They stopped in their tracks and beamed wide smiles at me. I guessed they were both around 20 years of age and curiously, they looked incredibly similar. Both boy and girl had long black hair, were slim, quite petite and had pretty faces.

“Nice to meet,” said Nenita.

The boy, whose name was Rigo, put his hand out. There followed the weakest handshake I have ever encountered. Rigo had a very feminine presence about him. Back home I would have thought it likely he was gay. I realized that this was probably just cultural ignorance on my part.

After some small talk, I received an unexpected invitation.

“We have some good drink here,” Rigo said, indicating a large bottle of wine,” Would you like to join us?”

This being only midday I politely declined, citing other business.

“Perhaps some other time.”

On my way out I stopped at the office to pay for the week in advance. Mrs. Aquino was behind the desk watching a lively Filipino soap opera.

“I met your daughter and her friend,” I said, counting out a wad of notes.

Mrs. Aquino rolled her eyes again.

“Ah, children these days. They do not have the spirit of my generation,” she bemoaned.

If I had a dollar for every time I had heard this kind of remark vis-a-vis the younger generation, I would be staying at the Hilton penthouse with a crate of Dom Perignon.

“They were very polite and friendly,” I replied, “Rigo is her boyfriend?”

“Yes, he is. But I think it will not last,” she said, leaning into me as if confiding a secret.

“I see.”

She leaned into me again.

“I was told that he wants to go into entertainment, to become a woman.”

This remark puzzled me and I struggled to understand it.

“A female impersonator?” I said.

“Maybe,” said Mrs. Aquino, “But maybe change his body too.”

Mrs. Aquino was one who did not keep a close guard on her lips — clearly information flowed without the slightest regard for whether it was appropriate or not. But it did confirm my first impression of Rigo.

I took a long stroll along the Manilla Bay walk, passing swish hotels and bars where rich folk imbibed cocktails. When I got back to the Palace, the sun was down and I was feeling like a nap. But I was also sweaty from the cloying humidity so I headed for the shower room.

Men and women had their separate ablution areas. The men’s was set up a little like a tourist camping park, with a bank of toilets on one side and a row of showers on the other. The guesthouse had few occupants, the season being slow, so it seemed likely I would have them almost to myself. But I could hear that a shower was in progress, so I entered somewhat gingerly. It was probably good that I did.

Rigo was in the second cubicle. He had left the door wide open and was covered from head to toe in soap. He was also sporting a full erection balıkesir escort and as I watched (I confess, I was transfixed), he would re-lather his cock and vigorously masturbate. He was not poorly endowed either for such a slight frame — I guessed at about six inches of uncircumcised manhood presented itself. He was blithely unaware of my presence, opening his eyes would have been met with a soapy sting.

I continued to linger but was ready to beat a quick retreat. Then Rigo moaned loudly and came, his hot juice combining with the suds and warm water streaming down his legs. I quietly left and then a minute later re-entered the bathroom more forcefully, whistling a tune as I did. I wanted to give him plenty of warning.

To my surprise he made no attempt to close his cubicle door.

“Hi Rigo,” I said brightly, as if just noticing him.

“Hello Paul,” he replied.

“How’s the water?” I said, somewhat lamely.

“Oh very hot. Very good. I feel fresh.”

He was now standing in the middle ground outside his shower. His cock was still at half-mast and I tried not to look at it, busying myself for my own shower. But I did notice that he was shaved.

“Did you enjoy today Paul?” he asked as he dried his body.

“Yes, it was great. I had a nice walk”

I wondered if I should stay chatting or take a shower. I had no qualms about getting nude and had a pretty good body for a middle aged man.

“You come into our room later for a drink?”

“Sure. I’d like that,” I replied, beginning to undress.

I felt Rigo’s eyes on me as I hung first my t-shirt, then my shorts, on the door peg. Not wanting to seem like a prude, I popped off my undies and hung them up too. I couldn’t tell what Rigo was doing but he did not move a muscle.

“Oh well, see you,” I said, slipping through the narrow doorway.

As the warm water poured over me, I reflected on what had just happened. I knew that this was a conservative Catholic country and this fact had been amply reflected in what I had seen since arriving. My students were a model of probity. Rigo and Nenita seemed oddly different, like outliers. Then again, perhaps I was just imagining it and I scolded myself for my shallow interpretation of such a complex culture. What did I know anyway?

I went out for dinner but not feeling particularly hungry settled for a bowl of Kwek-kwek from a street vendor. Returning to my room I lay down and pulled out my mobile. It was a couple of days since I had posted an update on social media and friends seemed genuinely keen to know what I was up to. All was quiet next door and I guessed Rigo and Nenita were out on the town.

To be honest, I was feeling a little bothered about my apparent attraction to Rigo. I had never had any sexual feelings towards men before, so this was new territory. I wondered whether his androgynous nature, coupled with my knowledge that he was thinking of changing his sex (according to Mrs. Aquino) was a factor.

I began to doze off when there was a knock at my door. It was Nenita.

“You come to our room for a drink Paul?” she called through the door.

“I’ll be right there,” I replied.

I didn’t really feel like a drink at all but my curiosity about this young couple was strong. I wanted to find out more if I could. They seemed so keen to know me better too.

Their room was exactly the same as mine, except messier. Clothes were draped over the two chairs and were bursting from the suitcases that they apparently lived out of. Three wine glasses and a magnum of white plonk sat on a small side-table. What struck me most was just how pretty Nenita was. She had tastefully made herself up and was wearing a cute pair of hot pants and a small knitted top. I could just make out her dark nipples though the weave. Curiously, Rigo was wearing a kind of see-through one-piece pants-suit. Closer inspection showed that he was not wearing underwear.

“Hi guys,” I chimed up as I found a seat amongst the clutter.

We sat and drank through a few glasses of a wine, a vintage that would have been better poured down the sink. As a wine buff, this was one of the roughest I had drunk. I sipped very slowly as the other two made relatively light work of the bottle. We talked and laughed a lot –Rigo is a very funny guy — and I found out a lot more about them.

They were a little older than I had imagined — both being 22. They had been school sweethearts though I guess that it was clear to Nenita early on that her beau was probably gay. This didn’t seem to bother her but it was hard to know how active their sex life was. I had to keep telling myself that this was not my culture and that, as far as reading it was concerned, I was a babe in the woods.

Both of them were very attentive to me, as if they saw in me some hope for their future. I was careful, therefore, to garnish my resume with them.

“Rigo wants to work in cabaret,” said a slightly tipsy Nita. This was her preferred diminutive.

“That’s bartın escort interesting. I worked for quite a while in the professional theatre,” I lied.

I had an interest in performing arts but no real experience.

“Oh Paul,” said Rigo, “Can you help me?”

“If I can, I would love to,” I replied.

By this time Rigo was two sheets to the wind. He lay down on the bed and promptly fell asleep. I continued a conversation with Nita for a while. She was very excited about my offer.

“Rigo is very talented but he needs direction,” she said.

“I heard he wants to work as a female impersonator, a drag queen?”

“Rigo is not sure, but I think he wants to become like a lady-boy performer. Do you know about this?” she asked, her eyes a little blurry from the wine.

“Of course, I have worked with performers just like this back home,” I said.

She clapped her hands with a kind of glee. Then she leaned across and gave me a little kiss on the cheek. She lingered close to me for a while. I thought about snatching a real kiss but decided it best to wait.

“You are very close to him?” I asked.

“Yes, we are. I know he likes to be with men. But he loves me too. We sleep together,” she added, stifling a yawn.

We talked a little more about Rigo’s hopes and dreams and also how I might be able to help him to achieve them. I guessed that this was one way of getting into the couple’s good books, to what end I wasn’t sure, though my motives were not pure. However it was getting late so I gestured to leave.

“Maybe I should go. You are tired and I don’t want to wake Rigo, ” I said.

“Don’t worry. He is out sleeping until the morning. Besides, I like your company.”

With this she leaned into me again, whether through drink or affection I didn’t know. This time I didn’t need a prompt. I gently turned her face and kissed her full on the lips. She did not resist. We sat pashing for a few minutes, my hands gradually working their way over her breasts and down between her legs. She moaned as I massaged her pussy through her hot pants.

“Get these off baby,” I said, tugging at the hem of her shorts.

She wriggled out of her pants and knickers as I dropped my shorts, an erection already well formed. Her twat was shaved except for a curious little exclamation mark of tightly cropped hair, which I found quite sexy. I motioned to go down on her but she pulled me towards her instead, grabbing at my cock.

“Go inside me now,” she whispered.

Now I am a man who has learnt the importance of foreplay for a woman from very early in my career. But on this occasion it was clear that Nita just wanted my dick. She tugged playfully at my shaft, directing it towards her pussy. She was already very wet and entry was easy, though her eyes widened at the sight of an uncircumcised penis.

“Big top,” she said quietly.

Soon enough I was on top of her, trying hard not to shake the bed too much. Rigo was in a deep sleep but our motion was gently rocking his body. I wondered what would happen if he woke up.

My MO is usually a line in dirty talk but I was a little more guarded on this occasion, for the most part, anyway. As my shaft went in and out of her tight box, she began to rub her clitoris. I found this very exciting and had to focus on other things in the room in order not to lose it too soon.

“Ooo…Ooooo,” cooed Nita softly as she reached orgasm.

Truth is I wasn’t far behind as I felt that familiar buildup of pressure and the sudden approach of a tipping point. Nita must have read this in my face because she whispered,

“You come inside me. It’s okay.”

I blew my wad as quietly as I could and then stayed inside her afterwards. We kissed and hugged and eventually I rolled off, careful not to wake sleeping beauty. Nita still seemed fascinated by my dick.

“I like this big top,” she said, “Rigo’s cock is hiding.”

That was a very cute way of putting it, I thought. Nita looked sleepy so I began to dress. As I shut the door, I saw her snuggling up close to Rigo. Later in bed in my own room, I reflected on just how bizarre my day had been and what a strange pair Rigo and Nita were. I could not have predicted the way things had gone, nor how they would likely turn out.

I lay awake thinking of ways that I could carry out my promise to help Rigo achieve his goals. After all, Nita’s ‘putting out’ most likely had something to do with my willingness to help. That, and the wine. If I wanted more of the same, and I did, I would have to make an effort, or be seen to be making one.

The following morning I began to google whatever information I could on exotic dancing, lady-boys and the like. Most of it was quite useless, though I was able to follow a blog by a Filipino man who had taken a similar pathway. He was now doing quite well on the cruise scene.

Moreover the central problem was not Rigo’s capacity to change — he was already very feminine in manner batman escort and would make a cute lady-boy — but how to pay for a boob job. Nita said that he wanted tits like any other woman but the truth was that they were pricey. The cheapest clinic in Thailand charged about $3,000, a lot of dough for two young people.

I took my mind and thoughts on a long walk to an ex-pat café where I knew I could get something like a full breakfast. The Jack was set up in faux British style and was almost full on this bright Sunday morning. So I shared a table with a group of older men, the kind who move to developing countries to soak up the sun and date young ladies. I had had my fill of these kinds of gentlemen all over Asia, the first to exploit their economic advantage and the first to complain when things didn’t go right for them. At some point in our conversation (and because they had begun to talk about their alleged ‘exploits’) I was able to set out the Rigo/Nita story, minus my own sexual involvement.

“Well, he could try his luck on Burgos Street,” said the red-faced fellow opposite me.

I knew that Burgos Street was the red light area of Manilla. I had never been there.

“But the pay isn’t all that good. Saving the money will take a few years on the mattress,” chimed in another fine specimen of manhood.

“How about chat sites?” said red face, “There’s dough to be made for good live sex.”

This was certainly a better option than straight prostitution and one that Nita could reasonably play a role in. I kept it in mind as I drank my weak coffee and ate a decent plate of scrambled eggs and toast. I decided that I would run the idea past them later on.

When I got back to the Palace, Mrs. Aquino had just finished checking out a guest.

“Good morning,” I said brightly to her.

“Hello Paul,” she replied without smiling.

She seemed deep in thought so decided not to detain her with idle conversation. Back in my room all seemed quiet. The walk back from breakfast had made me hot and sweaty, so I grabbed my towel and headed for the bathroom. Part way there, I heard Nita’s voice behind me.

“Hi Paul. Are you busy?”

I retraced my steps and stood in the doorway of their room. Not much had changed since last night, the empty bottle and glasses, the messy bed and general disarray of the room clearly apparent. But Rigo seemed out of sorts, sitting on the bed with his head in his hands. A hangover, I thought.

“Good morning. Everything okay?” I said cheerfully.

“Rigo is upset. He got an email from an old friend.”

I was heartened to learn that Rigo was not upset with me. He looked up and smiled when he saw me at the door.

“Thank you for last night. We had a good time.”

I gave Nita a brief look but she did not respond. Rigo sat up. He was topless and wearing a pair of fishnet shorts which left nothing to the imagination.

Nita explained that the email came from Rigo’s friend, Ramil. It had made him feel like a failure. Ramil, it seems, had a similar performance career goal in mind but was now quite a few jumps head. He had gone full lady-boy and was working successfully in Sydney, my home town.

“What can I do Paul? We have little money.”

I said that I had some ideas about how to make money but it would take some courage.

“Please, we can do anything,” pleaded Nita.

Rigo jumped up with excitement. His cock jiggled about in full view through his nylon fishnets.

“I’ll come back after a shower. We can talk about it then”

I headed off again, wondering how I would phrase my proposal. I was about to turn on the faucet when the bathroom door opened. I guessed it was Rigo.

“I cannot wait to hear your idea Paul. I take a shower too.”

I had not completely closed my door. Rigo poked his head through the gap and said,

“I am so happy to have a friend like you. Thank you for helping me,” he said with an impish smile.

Right there and then I decided to explain my plan. With the water beating on my back, I told Rigo what I had in mind, sex streamed for paying customers. I laid it out as a potentially very profitable business concern.

“Do you really think we can make good money,” he asked.

He seemed completely unfazed by the idea that he would be fucking live online.

“Yes, but we will have to set up a really good space and you will both have to play well to the camera. We need to be imaginative too. Very creative,” I replied.

“Do you think Nita will be interested?” I added.

Rigo was now in the tiny vestibule of the shower cubicle. I was trying to be as nonchalant as ever, not looking down. But I was certain that he had a boner.

“Oh yes, Nita and I share everything. We can make love for the camera, no worries.”

“So you like the idea?”

“Yes, Paul. I think we can do it. I never thought of this before.”

He was looking down at my dick, which, while not hard, was looking pleasantly long.

“I want to thank you now,” he said, falling to his knees.

I was certainly up for a blow-job. Rigo was the kind of guy, who, as a gender-bending type, made this more or less okay for me. I would have wished for a nice pair of tits too, but that could wait. His long, black hair and slim, brown frame made the illusion real enough.