Aoi had a voracious sexual appetite. She wore her black hair long so it framed her pretty heart shaped face. She had the kind of figure that could make a jaw drop and she adorned it in the kind of clothes that looked like they were purchased from the Ann Summers catalogue of Porno chic. Her lily white skin was always made up just to the point of perfection before veering into the arena of the street life whore. In fact almost anywhere she went she made the other women around her look like skanks.
When she went to get a man she nearly always did. She would sit close by to someone she liked the look of and just stared at them until they looked back at her. She was able to appraise the situation as soon as a man met her eyes. If it was going to go one way she’d make a light joke and diffuse any tension and if it was going to go her way she’d press on until his arousal made him completely hers.
I’d known Aoi, in one way or another, for years. I remembered her when she was part of a Patpong floor show. A guilty pleasure who caught your eye even though you really knew she shouldn’t. I remembered her working inside and outside a bar on the Soi Cowboy and having had an affair with a world famous snooker player from London. I remembered her working in the Nana Plaza getting drunk and furtively showing off her perfect breasts at the drop of a feather.
During most of the years I knew her she was more a familiar face than someone I really knew. I suppose she was one of those objects of sexual confusion who kind of confused me. Most of us know where we stand on ladyboys and whether we want one or not but someone like Aoi blurred the edges. Any man who saw her had to fancy her just a little bit.
At a time she wasn’t working for any bar thanks to generous contributions from various men abroad, she was good friends with the woman who I found myself living with. When you have a girlfriend whose best friend is a katoey you have to grow up. Aoi would sometimes come to our room and ask me to read her a love letter from one of her boyfriends (providing, of course, there was sufficient company to). One of the guys who kept writing to her was the world famous snooker player and I was always impressed that she never buckled to any of the offers from News of the World to give them the expose. I know a whole bunch of snooker player girlfriends on Soi Cowboy made a small fortune from England’s most popular Sunday paper but Aoi just said this was the difference between a monkey and a human being. Monkeys would do anything for a few extra bananas.
Not that Aoi had to worry about money anyway. She seemed to have a dozen well off guys sending her gifts of expensive perfume, jewellery and handbags from Paris, Milan and Rome. If she’d chosen to she could have probably lived in a hotel the whole year round or let any one of these men set her up in some plush apartment in his country so he could sneak off and see her behind his wife’s back any time he wanted. But Aoi chose to remain in Bangkok (most of the time at least). The attention of one man would never have been enough for her. And if there was no promise of long term security from the way she lived then, she said “it was better to shine for an hour and then die than to live like some pampered house pet for a hundred years”. And I guess she was exactly what she chose to be. She had the finest vagina that had been designed by one of the most skilled cosmetic surgeons in Bangkok. Even though she knew she wanted to be a woman since she was a child she’d waited until she had the money to have it done by someone who would make her look perfect. The same went for all the other work she’d had done and if you saw her when she danced naked in the Nana Plaza it would be hard not to just think she was the best looking woman in the bar. If her hands were slightly larger than those of most Thai woman they were slender and elegant enough to pass for feminine. If she ever suffered from erratic behaviour caused by her hormone treatments I’d never seen it. If her breasts were too perfect to be completely real they were, at least, genuinely perfect without any of the usual flaws of misdirected nipples or a stuffed look. She’d had the breast surgery done in stages so her body could acclimatise to all the changes. She’d even had work done to reduce her brow so it looked perfectly feminine (this is where most transsexuals give the game away) and had something done so there was no sign of an Adam’s apple.
None of this, however, prevented her from being treated rudely by a certain quarter of the expat community. The kind of people who say things like “he’s a pretty boy,” Or “hands on your wallets,” within earshot as if to show that they were a bit more Bangkok savvy than people who still had manners. Once, sitting having a coffee in Foodland at about four in the morning, she told me, “Some men don’t like me because I’m born man and so I’m a freak. It’s true some man is like this. But many man him don’t like me because him scare him like me too much and if him like me then maybe he think he’s not man. Him just gay.”
“You like me Turk?”
“Aoi… I love you but I can’t afford you.”
“I go with you for free then…” she said and then followed up with a laugh and said “It’s okay tilac. I know you not ready for me yet.”
The thing is I could see how I could be ready for her. But I was as homophobic in my own way as all the rude expats. Sometimes I’d talk to her without ever thinking there could ever be anything between us. She could be like a gay mate who I would share a joke with, but then there were times, especially when I was drunk, where I might feel something more. I’d see her narrow eyes or her soft full lips or her perfect body or her insistent sexuality and I’d think “Why not?” She was lovely. She was more than lovely. She was one of the most beautiful women in the world. She was sexy. She was funny. She could have a proper conversation. Why not? But the feeling would never last. I’d suddenly find myself looking and seeing some element of the man within and it would seem ridiculous that I could ever think of her sexually.
A couple of years back I noticed a change in her. She was staying in the Miami Apartments but she changed. She was still beautiful but I noticed that she’d started bringing guys back to her room where, before, she’d only ever gone to hotels. I’d meet her in the lobby and she’d give me the I-want-you look that she usually reserved for people she met sitting in some bar. I heard she had some kind of problem in the Thermae and then I heard she had some kind of problem in another place. She’d got into fights and then, worst of all, some customer who she’d come on to smashed his beer glass into her face calling her a barrage of names. When I heard about this one I thought I ought to go and see her in her room.
She opened the door wearing a silk nightgown. She had no make up on and tried to cover the recent scar on her face with her hair. The place was a mess. There were pill bottles and whisky bottles all over her dresser but she asked me in anyway. She looked a bit spacey but I figured she was probably on pain killers. “I’m so happy you come to see me.” She said. “I think you forget about me.”
“I’d never forget about you tilac.” I said trying to lighten the mood but I realised from a sudden change in her expression that it was probably the wrong thing to have said. “I wanted to come and see if you were all right.”
She poured me a drink, first holding the gown together but eventually just letting it fall open. “Have some stupid man hit me. Stupid man. Gay man. Him not want girl like me. Him want a chick with a dick. You know… Now have too many man him want chick with dick. Him say I’m just freak so I said him just queer and he put the glass in my face. Why man so stupid?”
“I don’t know.”
She lay back on the bed next to where I was sitting and looked at me letting the gown fall completely open so I could see her body. Her perfect sculpted body. Then she looked at me without saying anything.
The look was all wilful sexuality. Looking back at her I admit my heart was beating in my mouth. I was aroused by her. I wanted to comfort her and make her feel better.
“Aoi… You’re the most beautiful girl ever… But the truth is… I’m just not ready for you yet.”
She smiled but she also looked hurt. “Then why you come here tilac? You think I need anyone? I just want fucking. That’s all. You want to fuck me then fuck me. You don’t want to fuck me… Then you can go.”
I walked over to the bed and sat beside her. I put my arms around her and I kissed her on the lips. “If you need anything… Ever...”
She pulled me back towards her and kissed me sticking her tongue in my mouth before letting me go and saying “And if you need anything… Ever…” She then pulled her gown closed and said “You know where to find me.”
We both smiled and I left her there to go back to my normal world of beer and whisky and women with fallopian tubes. But the funny thing was… While I was leaving her room and walking into the corridor… I had a raging hard on.
© Turk Fist. All rights reserved by the author.
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