How To Know When That Sexy Woman Is Really A Man

I now know that there are one or two dead giveaways when it comes to identifying a man pretending to be a woman. I guess I found out the hard way, if you'll excuse the unintended pun.

Quite a few years ago in the south of Spain, post divorce and open to any possibilities for love or even just a casual tingle tangle, I came too close for my own good to touching base with a drop dead gorgeous South American sex bomb who was not all that she seemed. Please, allow me to explain.

I was out having a stroll around town when a very beautiful, well endowed woman caught my eye coming the other way. As we got closer we locked eyes and she gave me a very nice smile. After we passed each other we both looked back, which is always a sure sign of there being some possibility of some sort of interaction. I continued on with my walk as did she.

Half an hour later I found myself in the main plaza and was pleasantly surprised to see the attractive woman on the other other side of the square. I not only saw her but I also saw that she saw me. However, as it is not my normal practice to just hit on an attractive woman I see crossing the street, I averted my gaze and simply carried on a little before stopping for a coffee at a street cafe.

Low and behold, the woman followed me and sat a short distance from me, smiling at me as she sat down to order breakfast. After a few minutes of eyeing each other up I finally gained the courage to go over to her and introduce myself. She happily invited me to sit with her.

I guessed the woman was in her early to mid thirties and from her accent, her features and skin tone, she was no doubt from somewhere in South America. She was also tall and slender with sexy curves in all the right places. Her name was Paula and she seemed a little nervous as she constantly looked around as we spoke. She told me she was from out of town and just on a weekend visit with some friends who she would meet up with later in the day.

We chatted a little about what there was to see in the city I was living in, and I suddenly decided to be really brave and offered to show her round. Her answer confused me a little as she blurted out that she couldn't go with me as she had some work to do. This didn't match up with her having told me a few moments earlier that her visit was strictly social. I figured she maybe just wanted a way out and said the first thing that came into her head. I decided that I was clearly going too fast for her and backed away immediately. After a moment or two more I stood up and made my excuses and left thinking no more of her. It had been a pleasant enough little exchange and that in itself was enough to put a spring in my step as I made my way home.

The next day I was in town doing a little shopping at the local market. As I came out of the market exit door who should should I see but the South American sex bomb from the day before making a beeline for me. She was cutely dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a polo-neck black sweater.

We greeted each other with a smile and again I decided to chance my arm and invite her for a beer at a local bar. She said she couldn't as she was on her way to see somebody. However, Paula said that if I gave her my mobile number she would give me a call later on in the afternoon and we could team up for awhile. I duly gave her my number and she gave me hers........and then, just as we were about to part company, she dropped something of a bombshell on me!

"I have to tell you...." she said in a whisper "I'm really a transvestite propstitute and my name is Pablo."

Alarm bells started going off in my little brain telling me to run away. Then I lowered my eyes and they became fixated on that ample bosom, and my second brain, tucked away in my steaming hot underpants, was shouting "Hey, don't be too hasty about this Liam."

Then Paula, or bloody Pablo whoever it was, floored me even more by saying "I'm a working chick with a dick and its sixty euros for half an hour."

I almost blurted out "How much for sixty seconds?" anticipating a severe case of premature ejaculation. I was almost there already!

I ended up with my head going up and down. And when my head was up I was screaming "Nooooo Liam, are you out of your tiny little mind....?" and when it was down my second brain was screaming "Yeeessss.....hell why not Liam? Never look a gift horse in the mouth nor a she-male prostitute in the hind quarters."

I was rapidly becoming a mess of conflicting thoughts as sex mad neutrons went racing round and round in circles between my two brains. In the end my upper brain won the battle and I once again made my excuses and left. And the only thought I could grab hold of was "How on earth could a man have such a nice ass and glorious pair of ginormous breasts? Heavens on earth!" More to the point, how on earth could I tell if a vision of feminine beauty was what it appeared to be or not.

Two dead giveaways to help you to realise if you are dealing with a man or a woman. Women do not have an Adam's apple. I didn't get to see that because his polo-neck sweater was intentionally hiding the evidence. Also a low pitched voice can be an indicator, though I have met some genuine women with a low timbre voice.

The next day I was sat with a friend in a high street coffee bar and telling him the seedy story of my near sexual interaction with a highly attractive and sexy evil alien called 'I'm-a-very confused-individual-and-hot-to-trot-come-play-with-me-for-sixty-euros.

My friend chastised me. "Man, don't you know the difference between a man and a woman?" At that he looked around and pointed behind me saying "Now that my friend is a woman, and one I could very easily take my pants off for right here and now. Go on, take a look, motherf@cker."

I turned to look and as I did so I could see that he was pointing out none other than Paula cum Pablo. "That's him.....errrr her.....errr it..." I said.My friend refused to believe me and went off to chat him or her up. I never dared to ask what happened after that. All I knew was that whilst I don't consider myself in any way homophobic, I am in no hurry to put my hands down a beautiful woman's pantyhose only to discover that what's down there is more hose than panty. I mean, more than anything, I dread the thought of discovering that that chick with a thingy is a helluva lot more of a man than I am. No, no, no, no noooooo, that won't do at all! I'll be darned if I'll pay sixty euros to be made to feel inadequate, That's not sex, that's nothing less than total and utter humiliation with cream on top, not my gig at all thank you very much.