Ladyboy Lust

Bob and I were sitting drinking and enjoying the general ambience of the Nana Plaza. The Nana Plaza does have a very enjoyable ambience; especially on a Tuesday evening at around 9PM bang smack in the middle of Naa Naow. It’s an ambience only slightly less enjoyable than finding yourself accidentally locked in the nymphomaniac wing of a woman’s prison just before bath time.

Later that evening, much later, more like the following morning, we were due to head off to Sawannii’s birthday party. Sawannii was Bob’s Ladyboyfriend and was turning thirty. Thirty is a pretty crappy age for a ladyboy. Katoey’s, even more than women are supposed to remain eternally youthful and sexy. Any sign of a growing midriff, a receding hairline or a widening jaw can drive even the most attractive of the transgendered to suicide. Bob was very much aware of this and was constantly on the lookout for any signs of depression. The thing is that Sawannii was very fortunate. Bob loved her. I mean he really loved her. He thought of her as his soulmate. He’d spent most of his life with women and only switched to katoeys while in Thailand but he’d stay with Sawannii even if she changed from ladyboy into middle aged bloke. However, as intelligent as Sawannii was, he knew there was as strong a streak of vanity in her as there was in most ladyboys and he was concerned. She performed at a cabaret called “New Half” that put on weird shows and catered to Korean, Taiwanese and (mainly) Japanese men taking a walk on the wild side and this wasn’t the kind of place that would hire her if she didn’t look like a woman in all areas but the one that counted. It was at the “New Half” that she was having her party.

Bob was a good friend. He was the sort of person you could be open about anything with and he’d never judge you. It would have been pretty sick and twisted if I’d ever judged him for his taste in ladyboys. He didn’t see himself as gay but he couldn’t give a shit if someone else did. It really didn’t matter. All the same it always slightly bugged me in that dark little area of the mind where prejudices flourish that this was a man who enjoyed having a ladyboy fuck him. I’d seen Sawannii’s show and, while I wouldn’t want to overstate this, it did something for me too. There is a definite frisson in seeing someone who looks, at first glance, like a pretty girl but who has, when thongs are removed, a huge cock jutting out at ninety degrees ready to fuck another girl with a huge cock up the ass. I’d never been physically aroused by this you understand but it would be a lie if I said it was a spectacle that left me stone cold. I’d seen boy shows before and they really did leave me stone cold but the katoey show was something. Compared to other members of the audience, however, I was as unmoved as a rock. You could watch Japanese men slipping hurriedly away with their “friends” both female, male and in-between at points in the show was only to return ten minutes to half an hour later looking both slightly flushed and much relaxed. But however chilled I might seem about the show and my own reaction to it I still always felt mildly uneasy about the fact that my good friend Bob was getting it in much the same manner as the men/women on stage.

In the Nana, while enjoying the enjoyable ambience, I found myself glancing up at Casanova’s. The katoeys seemed much more aggressive than those at Sawannii’s show. Dressed in bikini’s and evening dresses from my distance they looked exactly like tall women constantly sweeping their hair or enticing the passers with offers of carnality. It was only when they made lunges for men or overstated their swaggering catwalk steps that from any distance they marked themselves out from regular women.

Bob caught me staring. “Seen something you like Turk?”

“Ha ha.”

“I liked that thing you wrote about Aoi. You French kissed a ladyboy. You’re one of us now.”

“I didn’t kiss her. She kissed me.”

“Yeah and gave you a hard on.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. When I was a kid I got a hard on watching Lassie Come Home.”

“That’s sick.”

“Not because of Lassie. It was Elizabeth Taylor as a teenager.”

“That’s still sick.”

“I was a kid.”

“Well you’re not a kid now.”

“Yeah… Okay… I’ve turned. The shemale loving pod people took me over.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it Turk,” Bob laughed. “Most guys in Bangkok have strapped one on at some point and spend the rest of their lives pretending they hate all katoeys to hide it. You’re probably the only ladyboy virgin in town.”

“I doubt that.”

“You’d be surprised. I’ve hears stories of some close friends of ours who you’d never believe…”

“I guess you would know.”

“The entire Bangkok katoey population has my ear. Didn’t you know? Besides which, my friend,” and Bob put a paternal hand on my shoulder. “There’s nothing wrong with being gay.”

“Ha ha… Again. My sides.”

“Yeah… You really don’t have it in you do you. Such a shame. You’re cutting yourself off from a world of happiness.”

“I’ll tell you the truth. I don’t really have any reason not to go with ladyboys. I’m sure the chances of a fun time are multiplied by about fifty and I don’t about being gay or straight; besides which I reckon Aoi could fool anyone who didn’t know. I mean she’s had the whole kit and caboodle done. And you know better than I that the last thing I could ever cope with would be having kids. It would make perfect sense for someone like me to be a complete katoey fucker.”

“Is that what they’re calling us nowadays?”

“Yeah. Katoey fucker is the politically correct terminology. I looked it up on the internet.”

“I thought shemale shaggers was the preferred term.”

“It was but they had to change it because of some pressure group thing… The point is that I have no reason not to join your club other than the fact there’s something I can’t quite put my finger on. There’s a sweetness that just isn’t there… And I don’t mean to say that women are really sweet because obviously a good number are complete nasty bitches but… Whatever it is that women have and katoeys don’t have seems to be the main thing that matters.”

“I know what you mean. I used to feel the same way. It’s almost like your whole body’s programmed to fuck real women with their all their moods and headaches and demands. But then, one day, I just snapped out of it and it didn’t make a difference any more. I think drinking helped me. Maybe alcohol breaks down a lot of those little pheromone receptors that might keep a sober man on the straight and narrow. A drunk guy who fucks a katoey still knows he’s fucking a katoey but the part of him that cares has temporarily fucked off in favour of the part of him that’s just turned on by the incredible sexuality and will of this hermaphrodite goddess whose breath is brushing his face as she offers him pleasures beyond anything most straight men will never know.”

“You know Bob.You’re wasted in computers. You should be writing escort ads for the Yellow Pages.”

We were interrupted when Bee, an old girlfriend from about ten years ago, tapped me on the shoulder. She introduced me to her husband telling him I was an old friend and a good man. The husband knew exactly what this meant but was cool about it. Jealousy of any kind is a waste of energy if the woman you’ve married ever worked in a bar. You just have to be cool and assume every guy she knows is a guy she slept with and not be bothered about it. Not that the husband got a chance to say much. Bee was a talker and she was babbling on and on about her great new life in Northumberland in a big beautiful house and a family who had become her family. When I’d known Bee she’d had decidedly bisexual/lesbian tendencies and had a short haired tom girlfriend who, she claimed, was just as handsome as I was.

After a few minutes of mindless information about Northumberland life Bee moved along dragging her husband into the bar she used to work in.

“I remember her,” said Bob. “Wasn’t she that girl who was always claiming guys had barfined her when they hadn’t.”

“That’s the one.”

“I knew her about the same time I fell from the path of righteousness. Such happy memories!”

“What was it? What pulled you to this manner of love so despised by the Lord?”

“I’ll tell you. It was them. Those Casanova girls. When I went in there the excitement of being there with them fucking around with me set me on fire. I was so in it that I thought my brain would explode from pure pleasure. That sense of transgression and wrongness played a part but then it was them. The total playful way they brought me into their world. The feeling of their hands and lips and overheated loins on me as I gently emptied my wallet buying drink after drink. Before I ever had actual sex with any ladyboy I walked out that bar and it was like I was dancing on air man. Like I’d been doing the wrong thing all my life and suddenly this was what real sex felt like.”

“That different?”

“For me; absolutely. And once I started taking them out I was fucking high as a kite on it. And then, when I met Sawannii, that was it. It wasn’t just the sex with her. It isn’t just the sex with her. It’s the feeling of just being with her and knowing, not only, that there’s this deep dark evil shit between us but also knowing that we understand each other. I don’t think I ever met a woman who even slightly understood me. Sawannii knows me inside and out. I was a bit worried, at first, because I thought people who knew me would be so shocked and appalled that she would be the only friend I’d have left but, you know, it meant a lot to me that you guys didn’t seem to change at all. I know it meant a lot to Sawannii. She thinks of you as a real friend I know. I guess I was just lucky that all this happened to me in Bangkok and not back in the States. Here you can be exactly what you want to be. If you like men it’s fine. If you like hookers it’s fine. If you like katoeys it’s fine. Everyone who knows me here knows I’m with Sawannii now and everyone knows Sawannii’s a guy. And it doesn’t matter. And, of course, if there is anyone who has a problem with it and wants to make something of it...”

“You’ll beat fuck out of them.”

“Exactly.”

“This is why I pretend to be cool about the whole thing.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

A slightly sentimental moment hung awkwardly in the air so I quickly changed the subject to alcohol and, on that note, we moved on and drifted from bar to bar and from woman to woman. For a man committed to ladyboy love Bob could get pretty heterosexual while surrounded by scantily dressed go-go dancers.

Eventually, having been adversely affected by the dreaded Nana Plaza tinnitus we caught a cab and went to Sawannii’s place. We arrived just in time for the grand finale of Sawannii’s show. Having been maintained priapic erections for an hour or so the entire cast performed well orchestrated ejaculations over a willing volunteer. There was a secret to this which involved eating raw eggs a couple of hours prior to the show but the volume of spunk had to be of an impressive texture and velocity to make this finale work as spectacle. Thais are pretty good at such technical details.

About half an hour after the show most of the audience had filed out with their dates. The cast who remained looked decidedly less convincingly female once they’d got their slap off but they still had that katoey showbusiness grace and sang Happy Birthday to Sawannii in a decidedly awkward combination of mid sex voices as a huge penis shaped cake arrived.

Sawannii got down, blew out the candles and cut the first piece of cake greeted by a cheer. Bob then picked out a small velvet jewellery box from his pocket, opened it to reveal a diamond ring, got down on one knee in front of Sawannii and asked her to marry him. She threw her arms around him and kissed him saying “yes.”

Most of the katoeys were overacting in their reaction to this. They pretended to be blinded by the bright light shining from the diamond or acted extreme happiness or jealous.

Apart from Bob I was only guy in the place without breasts (and to be honest Bob is probably on the way) but I felt it in my gut and my chest. I hate marriages and I hate romance and I hate all that soppy crap and I don’t really understand the whole katoey thing but I have to admit that I was feeling kind of misty.

I have no idea how a marriage between a man and a ladyboy even works; if it’s legal or binding or if monks will have anything to do with it. But I figured if any marriage had any hope of working this was probably the one.

© Turk Fist. All rights reserved by the author.

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