Sexy Thai Valentines

Red red red.

More red.

Ready for red.

Red Lady Karn

More red Lady Karn

Ever red.

Thai red.

And just a redhead.

Ladyboys all red.

Sway At The Stiletto 2017

Last night at Pattaya's Stiletto A Go-Go the ladyboys painted their faces for the evening rush. I ordered a beer and asked the veteran mama-san about a star employee. The dragon lady said Lil Vee was in Germany and pointed a long fingernail at a svelte teen sheathed in a shimmering silver dress.

"That's her younger sister. Her name is Ae."

The mama-san modded and Ae swung off the stool with serpentine sleath. She sat on the stool and I breathed the scent of seduction against which I was defenseless. Ae slithered against me and toyed with coal-black tress.

"I remember you with Vee."

That was five years ago.

Ae had been 15.

She was almost twenty now.

I wanted you then and want you now."

Her lilting tongue preached pleasure to non-believers.

She wore nothing under the shiny second skin. Her hardness rode my thigh in time to the Thai pop music. A thick gold necklace swayed across her flat chest. Her cousin Vee had been a goddess. Ae was the universe. She whispered a number in my ear. "You get paid."

I fell from the stars.

Ae read my face. She smiled with the wicked eternity of youth and said, "I have a customer like look through hole. No see no hear. He pay. Watch. You can do?"

"Hell, yes."

Her left hand unbuttoned my jeans.

The Stiletto A Go-Go was very open-minded. Ae turned to a fat man and pointed up. He waddled across the floor and climbed the stairs. The mama-san closed a curtain around us.

"He like look down."

Obviously Ae had never asked why. The money killed any curiosity. She dropped to her knees. I didn't look up.

The fat man might have been above us, but I was in heaven below as was everyone in the Last Babylon from time to time.

Ava’s Patpong Story 1977

Men like to think of Thailand as a Disneyland for one sex of the species. Truthfully not many farang women frequent Patpong or Nana Plaza other than those harridans testing the fidelity of their disgruntled boyfriends and husbands, yet the temptation of Thai hookers is sometimes too strong as was the case of Ava, my good friend in Palm Beach, when her husband and she were visiting Bangkok in 1977.

Back then Patpong was Patpong au natural. No CDs, copy hand bags, or backpackers. Sex and beer appealed to Ava’s husband’s weaknesses. The couple sat in a beer bar. The name is unimportant. Her husband said he wanted to go out for a pack of cigarettes. Ava understood that he wanted to be free and said she’d meet him back at the hotel. She hailed a tuk-tuk and the driver asked if she wanted to see a sex show.

“I saw a ping pong show on Patpong.”

“Not the same. This real show.” The driver promised a Sodomesque spectacle.

“Why not?” Ava figured her husband was MIA till dawn and gave the driver $5 to be her chauffeur. He drove into Klong Toey. A tough neighborhood. The streets narrowed and the lights dimmed. Finally the tuk-tuk driver stopped before a warehouse. It was without windows, but music faintly seeped through the walls.

“Inside.” He hooked his index finger. “Not many farang see this show.”

He pushed open the door and Ava followed not wanting to be left alone in the middle of Bangkok’s most notorious slum. A narrow hallway with red light bulbs led into a large room with mattresses on the floor. Couples were having sex. Menage a trois. Menage a quatre. Orgies. The driver bought a bottle of whiskey.

“You want have sex. Take off clothes. Give to lady.” The driver pointed to a coatcheck room. The lady behind the chicken wire was in her 70s. “Not worry. Everything safe.”

Hands beckoned to Ava. She was the only farang. Every man wanted her., Every woman too. She wai-ed them and retreated outside. After ten minutes she came to the conclusion the tuk-tuk driver had quit for the night. Ava walked for 10 minutes and found taxi.

“Very dangerous here for Thai farang. Bad people here. Crazy people.” The driver was as eager to leave Klong Toey as AR. It took them twenty minutes to get back to her hotel. “You lucky. Get back hotel before curfew.”

“What happens if you don’t.”

“Police arrest you. Stay in monkey house.”

Ava tipped him $2 and entered the hotel. The key wasn’t at the desk. Her husband had come back already and she climbed to the second floor. The door was locked. She knocked and her husband opened it with his shirt off. A stunning oriental woman sat on the sofa. She was in a mini-dress. Her hair was perfectly coiffed. Obviously AR had returned too soon.

“Oh sorry.”

“Nothing happened?” Her husband protested with a look of panic.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.” Her husband brought her over to the side. “Well, not really nothing. I started kissing her. It felt a little weird, then I found out she wasn’t a she.”

“Not a she.” repressed a laugh.

“Yes, she’s a man. A she-man.”

“Not she-man.” The woman on the sofa said with a polite tone. “Ladyboy.”

Yes, a ladyboy and she has a penis.”

“Not a big penis.” The ladyboy bowed gracefully.

“Bigger than mine.”

“Bigger.” Ava was curious and turned to the woman, who looked like Nancy Kwan from THE WORLD OF SUZIE WONG. “My husband not have sex with you.”

“No, we no boom-boom. I no go. Have curfew.”

“Yes, I know.” Ava pulled the lady boy to her feet. They were the same height. “You ever go with lady?”

“Yes.”

“You like?”

“Sometimes.”

“You go with me?” Ava indicated the bedroom. Her husband started to say something and she quieted him with a hush. “I know this looks very innocent, but you did say she was bigger. Not that size matters, but I want to make sure. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Ava led the lady boy into the bedroom and locked the door. In the morning she paid the ladyboy $20. After the ka-toey left AR turned to her husband.

“Nothing happened.”

“And you expect me to believe that?”

“Darling, I believed you.” And Ava was telling the truth at least about one thing.

She did believe her husband, because ladyboys have no reason to lie.

The Popularity of Castration

In 2010 Thailand's The Nation reported on a growing castration (lopping off the testicles) or gaan dton trend amongst young wannabe ladyboys without funds to finance a complete sexual transformation. The castration operation costs $130US or 4400 baht and in most cases requires parental approval.

These young boys are convinced that ridding themselves of their testicles will soften their masculine features much like a eunuch of the royal courts of China, however a leading homosexual support group has called on the Medical Council of Thailand to curtail this selective surgery for under-18s, since the youths might be succumbing to peer pressure rather than acting with a true desire to join the 3rd sex.

Thailand is relatively ka-thoey friendly with gorgeous ladyboys competing on national television for beauty pageants, although the Thai TV way of life drives many ladyboys to work as streetwalkers on the sidewalks of Pattaya and Bangkok to purchase the drugs necessary to maintain their female appearance. It’s a tough life and few 16 year-olds can foresee the future before they irreversibly remove their offending manhood to achieve a dream of beauty.

Castration is not only an Asian phenomena.

In the 17th century young boys were castrated by church choirs to insure the salvation of their angelic voices. Klaus Nomi strove to re-enact these castrati soprano songs in the late-70s without undergoing surgery. He was a hit with David Bowie and in the back rooms of the West Village.

Not all castrations were for beauty or art.

The Skopsi of Czarist Russia created a blasphemous sect under the belief that the road to heaven was achieved only through castration. Numbering in the hundreds of thousands the sect appealed to the common man with Utopian communities based on Christian redemption on Earth. Their leader asked the czar to castrate himself. Peter III was a little mad, but not that mad.

Neither are the young boys of Thailand.

The boys just want to be girls.

Of course this operation would not be covered by any insurance company in the USA.

But neither is the common cold.

The world Is 4Q - TV Fish

4Q serves a cryptic abbreviation for the most spoken phrase in theEnglish language.

People say these two words more than 'I love you' or 'huh'.

A variation of the term is 'snafu', which means 'situation normal all fucked up', which is exactly what I have to say after reading the a 2006 article from the WASHINGTON POST.

WASHINGTON - Abnormally developed fish, possessing both male and female characteristics, have been discovered in the Potomac River in the District and in tributaries across the region, federal scientists say -- raising alarms that the river is tainted by pollution that drives hormone systems haywire.

The fish, smallmouth and largemouth bass, are naturally males but for some reason are developing immature eggs inside their sex organs. Their discovery at such widely spread sites, including one just upstream from the Woodrow Wilson Bridge, seems to show that the Potomac's problem with "intersex" fish extends far beyond the West Virginia stream where they were first found in 2003.

The cause of the abnormalities is unknown, but scientists suspect a class of waterborne contaminants that can confuse animals' growth and reproductive systems. These pollutants are poorly understood, however, leaving many observers with questions about what the problems in fish mean for the Potomac and the millions of people who take their tap water from it.

Ka-toey fish. I knew fish were freaking from too much caffeine in the water. because my last time  in the states I couldn't catch anything. The fish were freaked by the Starbucks excess morning wake-up entering into the national water courses, but TV fish?

Even if there was a God he didn't create a he, she, and she-im fish. Not to get on Noah's Ark or swimming under it.

something is fishy in the world and it's not Denmark.

Ladyboy fish?

Mermaids okay.

But if the fish can bear fruit, what about the humans drinking the water.

Men keep a good look-out on that beer belly.

It might be more than that and being pregnant won't be easy to explain to your girlfriend, boyfriend, wife, or same-sex union person who shares for health benefits.

No Homos in Iran

Several years ago a Bangkok police commissioner visited Pattaya to officially survey the night life.

A Bangkok reporter asked, "What are your views on prostitution in Pattaya?"

"Prostituition?" The top copper was wearing sunglasses on Walking Street. "All I see are young people having fun."

His response harvested a chorus of hearty chuckles from longtime Pattaya residents, but nothing like the chortles from a Columbia University audience after the then-president of Iran responded to a question about the execution of two gay men by saying, "In Iran we don't have homosexuals like in your country. In Iran we do not have this phenomenon. I do not know who has told you we have it."

His claim flew in the face of the fact that next to Thailand, Iran performs the most sex-change operations in the world.

No queers, but a thousands if not millions of swarthy transvestites called Yasmin. 

Still if there were no sword-swallowers than I would have never found Farsi insults on SWEARASAURUS.com

The best was Tu kooneh mollah chapeh beshi or May you be shoved into the ass of a Mullah, which might be a blessing for some if a fist was inserted first.

No gays in Iran?

President Ahmadinejad must have forgotten that two teenager boys were executed for the crime of Luvat or homosexuality. 16 and 18. Even GW Bush as governor of Texas didn't kill teenagers, although Jerry Falwell would have forgiven his smiting sodomites for as Iran's Supreme Leader who stated in www.leader.ir that "The Western values that have led to the collapse of ethics and spread of revelry, violence, legalization of homosexuality and other such fiascos in their countries, can not be followed."

So no Village People for Iran.

No singing YMCA.

No White Party or Tea Dances. Only hangings.

But what if men say they're not gay like Senator Craig of Idaho?

Sex, but not gay.

Is that against Sharia?

Or would you get the same treatment as Matthew Wayne Shepard (December 1, 1976 – October 12, 1998)?

Wyoming or Mashad?

My younger brother was gay. My friends were gay. Millions of people in Thailand are gay and maybe one or two in Iran, because you can't hang us all, Mr. President Ahmadinejad and Reverend Pat Robertson.

Meshosham beh seebillet, Bichare mashang or I piss on your beards, you pathetic retards.

Sometimes it hard to forgive.

After all we're only human and I only want to have fun like the police commissioner said about Pattaya. That ain't no crime and either is being gay.

There seemed to be an extraordinary number of pissing profanities in Farsi.

#1 Man mishaasham rooyeh saret taa kaf koneh or I'll piss on your head until it foams

Nasty golden shower boys. 

They would have loved the Toilet Bar in Greenwich Village.

1978.

It's raining men and ka-toeys too.

A Deluge Of Kathoeys

The mere mention of Bangkok's Nana Plaza at a New York dinner table peaked the interest of men and narrowed women's opinion of me. To the former I was a Don Juan and the latter regarded me as Gary Glitter come to life. To be honest I can't recall ever barfining a go-go girl out of the notorious three-story sex complex on Sukhumvit Road Soi across from the ever-popular Nana Hotel. I was more into Patpong in the 90s and by the 00s, Nana Plaza was too mercenary for my tastes. The other night the Old Roue and I finished dinner at La Monita, a trendy Mexican restaurant. A meal with Coronas for two came to 1200 baht or nearly $40 or the price of a bar fine in Nana Plaza. It was early and the Old Roue suggested that we retire to a ground-floor bar at the wicked entrepot. "We can watch the changing of the guard." I was glad to get out of La Monita. The clientele was too farangs for my taste. At heart I am a race traitor. The Old Roue snaked through the parking lots and hotel garages and sidewalks to Soi Nana on his motorcycle. His nine year here has etched the short-cuts of Bangkok into his brain like a sailor's tattoo. He parked next to a cart selling sum tam. The owner nodded to the Old Roue. They had a long-term relationship. We entered the complex with flecks on rain dotting the pavement. The central cars had been moved back from the portal to provide access for fire engines. Nana Plaza and fire trap are almost synonymous, but the stars have favored the patrons and workers of the go go bars. If a fire starts there, it will only because the property is more profitable than the sex trade and Nana Plaza might have a larger GDP than Belgium. The two of us sat at the first bar. We were the only farangs in sight. It was about 7. Post time at the go go bars was around 8. "This is better than TV." The Old Roue ordered us beer. The doors to the go go bars were open. The lights were full blast to allow the bar staff to stock beer, ice, and liquor. Mama-sans stood at the door awaiting their flocks. A few early arrivals wandered into the plaza and wai-ed the Buddha blessing their entrance. They laid flowers on the altar and proceeded to their respective place of employ. "I like the transition." Five minutes before the place had been empty. Nana was coming to life with hundreds of succubii seeking farangs. "Newcomers are the first to arrive." The Old Roue had regarded this ritual thousands of times. The spectacle never tired for him. He discreetly pointed to three older and dumpy farangs in shorts. "They've left mother at home for the first time in decades to have s sex vacation with their friends. I make them for social workers or garbage men." "I see them more as English railroad workers." The sweep-overs of these forty year-olds laid odds on my being right, except they passed us speaking an unknown foreign language. "Serbs." The Old Roue wrinkled his nose. "Momma's boys to the man." "Better this than becoming sex predators." "Little danger of that from these boys. Look at how they walk." The Old Roue was right. He was 65 and I was 60. The trio shuffled with apprehension. The two of us could have beaten any of them in a 25 yard dash. "Ah, the first beautiful girl of the night." "Wrong." Old Roue shook his head. "Check the way she's hurrying and fussing with her hair. That's a kathoey. Big hands too meaning big feet." "Meaning big shoes." I picked up my camera. The ladyboy would have stopped traffic on 5th Avenue for blocks. Her heels were five-inch spikes. The dress revealed a goddess body. Long curls serpented down a slim back. I recognized her from a ladyboy website. Her name was Areeya. "No photos. Not here." Old Roue admonished my absent-minded behavior. "I know, I know." Nana Plaza had rules. We observed the influx of wasted and aged farangs. Hope and despair mingled in their eyes. I ordered another beer. Girls showed up in clumps, but they were outnumbered by kathoeys. "Where are all the girls?" "It's a Tuesday night. Most of the best girls have been barfined for the week. They're sleeping with some old git, but they'll desert him on Thursday night. It gets busy then." The Old Roue was right and I started to count the ratio between females and ladyboys. It was about 50/50 and I mentioned the numbers to the Old Roue. "It's all the same thing in the end. Farangs come here to answer a dream. Ladyboy or go-go girl. It's a young body and makes them feel immortal at the gates of mortality." The two of us turned our backs on the show. A fat heavyweight was fighting a well-muscled boxer on TV. The butterball had to weigh over 350. His reach prevented any offense from his opponent. We made a 20 baht bet with the cute bartender. She lost and actually paid me. I gave it right back. 20 baht wasn't what it used to be, but she could buy a coconut with it. The stream of late-comers faltered and music blasted from the scores of bars lining the Nana Plaza. "You feel like a go go?" I said no. It was time to call it a night. Tuesday night. Maybe on Friday night it would be different. I am not scared of kathoeys.