Saturday, April 14, 2012
Hot Malay nightclub girl gives tips on spotting transsexuals
[Pix of model for illustration purpose only]
“What a terrible weekend,” says Hussein, grabbing a handful of groundnuts and popping one by one into his mouth.“ I went to a spa in a hotel. In the lounge, the captain ordered a group of girls to line me for me to choose. I selected a tall, model-like girl. Around five foot six, long hair. Hitam manis [dark but sweet]. Two hundred and thirty, full service. Advance payment at the counter. First, I went for a steam-bath, then the massage, finally the sex. Alamak! I recoiled in horror! It didn’t feel natural, I knew she was a pondan [transsexual]. I went limp, showered and left. She said not a word, merely grinned.”
Chow Kah grimaces. “Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose,” he says. Wati cups her mouth with her hand, stifling a giggle. Jessica sticks out her tongue. “Eeeeeyear!” Grinning, I pretend to puke and clutch my throat with both hands. ”Yak! Never trust pimps and captains. Always use your judgment.”
“I felt dirty, filthy and queer. Because, I’d kissed her during fore-play. Tongue and all. I quickly went to another spa to take another girl. After the second session, I felt better –- emotionally and mentally.” He sips his Bintang Bir and shakes his head. “Phew...what an experience.”
Wati wraps her arm round Hussein’s shoulder to comfort him. “There're many ways to spot a pondan.”
“Teach us, so I won’t end up another victim,” Chow Kah says, slowly rubbing her hands up and down Jessica’s thigh. She leans her head on his shoulder.
A Myanmar waiter enters the VIP karaoke room; he places a birthday cake and a plate of fried chicken wings on the table. Today is Chow Kah’s birthday. The management of Hot Legs Karaoke and Nightclub always remembers the birthday of its members. “I’ll blow the candles later. You give us your tips, first.”
Jessica sticks the single red candle in the Black Forrest cake.
“Compare the size of her hips to shoulders,” Wati advises. "Men’s shoulders are always bigger than the hips. Next look at her feet.” She kicks off one five-inch heeled shoe. “See my feet? They’re small and feminine. A pondan has proportionately bigger feet than a woman of the same height.”
Hussein lifts Wati’s foot, which exhales a wiff of perfume, on to his lap and bends to plant a kiss on her ankle. Then, he gently lowers it to the floor and slips the shoe back.
Wati straightens her arm. “A man can only straighten his arm up to one- hundred and eighty degrees. Try it. But a woman can bend her arm backward slightly more than one-hundred eighty degrees – a bit more.”
Hussein stretches his right arm. Wati tries to bend it a little more backward but the Bob Tutupoly look-alike yells: “Aiyah! Painful, cannot, cannot.”
“See? God made man and woman in different ways.”
“Adam’s apple is always a giveaway,” I say, squeezing the slice of lemon on the edge of my glass.
Jessica chips in: “Last time, yes. Today, not necessarily. Today, doctors can shave away the Adam’s apple to make it smaller.”
“Ah...hair is always an indicator. All transsexuals keep long hair,” Wati continues. “Makes them look more feminine. The way they walk may also be unnatural, especially in –- “
Mamasan Lulu enters the karaoke room, smiling. “Happy birthday, Chow Kah. The birthday cake and chicken wings're complimentary,” she says. “Thanks for your regular support. Please enjoy your evening.” She waves at Hussein and me and takes her departure.
Jessica lights up the sole candle. Everybody sings: “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday to Chow Kah, happy birthday to you.”
Chow Kah blows out the candle, and Jessica kisses him, jamming her tongue deep into his mouth.
Hussein averts his eyes from Jessica and Chow Kah. He sighs: "Aiyooooh...Reminds me of the way I kissed that pondan. Yeech..."
Wati suddenly clamps her lips on Hussein's mouth and her sweet tongue explores its inside vigorously.
"Feel better?" she asks.
Hussein heaves his chest a few times, trying to catch his breath: "Yes, yes. Of course, of course."