I beg your pardon for having been out of touch for so long. I am still here in the Philippines, with little time to attend to correspondence and to other matters outside of the realm of my current and immediate environment and situation.
My host favours me more often of late as a thoroughgoing baklâ, a third-gender, not man, certainly, yet not woman. To aid in this pursuit, he has sponsored my conscientious feminisation through natural phyto-hormones including anti-androgen, testosterone blockers, estrogen, breast enhances, et cetera. Attendants shave what little body hair I still have. I wear the finest wigs of natural hair. My make-up and nail colourings, too, are the finest. Of course, I do not wear panties and bras in the heat. The little clothing I wear is light and quite revealing of my sissy faggot figure. Most importantly is access to my sissycunt for fucking. The hormones and the nearly constant fucking have further rounded the cheeks of my butt. My clittie-dick it tiny, barely poking out over my tight little sissy balls. The heat, together with the rigours of my sexual devotions, and a diet mostly of cum, and the digested evacuations and eliminations of men, especially, and their women, occasionally, their shit and their pee, keep me healthfully slender.
My host has committed to breast augmentation whenever I am ready and willing for such. Before that, as I have mentioned to you, I would like to undergo an orchiectomy, testicle removal. My host has also consented to fund that operation.
Believe me, there has been no coercion whatsoever in any of this. I am well liked here, even adored. My host is married, and has children. His wife and children are just as fond of me. We are on a private ranch in the hills, but knowledge of my longtime presence here is ubiquitous. The local priest visits periodically. He is, of course, fully aware of the function I perform. Though we are not close, we are cordial. Even the details of the breadth of my services are very likely known by him, with no objection. I am a sexual and toilet subservient, a paramour. I remain an intelligent conversationalist, a poet, an advisor.
Needless to convey, I have not ceased for a moment in engaging in the widest expanse of my repertoire of gratification of the sexual and sensual desires and aberrations of my host, his entourage, and guests. Whatever their fondest fantasies, I fulfil. As you well know, I prefer the dirtiest, the nastiest, the filthiest I am able to encourage. I like the contradictions of wealth and glamour juxtaposed to my unapologetic and unconstrained submission to indecency, obscenity, vulgarity, in short, to all things filthy, or considered filthy by others. To me, filth is sublime. For me, only in filth is there transcendence.
The dogs are common, nearly every day; the horses, more complicated, more of a spectacle.
