Archive for September, 2008

On Tranny Chasers

I don’t usually update this journal unless I have something completely depressing to say or something terribly embarrassing, but I’ve received two pieces of positive feedback (1 of which was probably just to ferret out if or if not this journal is really written by me), but anyway a brief overview of my life in Bangkok. My life in Bangkok consists of about 3 things:

1. Work which I go to every morning at 5:45 a.m.
2. magic the gathering which I play rather regularly
3. transvestites and other various forms of homosexuality

Interestingly, these 3 things have never really mingled. At my first job there was a dude who lived in Ramkaenhang, and whose ears perked up every time he talked about ladyboys (by his description he was practically in the middle of some transgendered utopia), but he had a girlfriend and apparently hadn’t succumbed to ladyboy fever quite yet (it’s genetic btw just search for phermone receptors). I’ve never found myself wondering if the Serra Angel card in magic is really a guy. But work brought me close to a sufferer of ladyboy fever recently.

It’s quite easy to spot someone with ladyboy fever, they’ve become a little pensive, “do they know?”. They’re usually pretty desperate to talk about it, but are afraid and hence begin to make jokes, for instance today at cultural training an Irish guy decided to play a ladyboy in our roleplay. He managed to pretend he was a ladyboy pitch perfectly, despite being built, fairly masculine, and having greying hair. He’s kinda cute. Of course once he starts on the subject of ladyboys, he has to somehow convey that he’s into ladyboys with out actually saying it or in anyway actually comitting to a definite answer, he has to somehow distance himself enough from the comment so as to avoid having to admit, he might now be ya know in some weird neithervoid of homosexuality. These folks usually have sayings such as, “but I think the tolerance in Bangkok is the best thing about it,” or something of that nature. We do after all come here from some deep seated subconscious drive as much as that the truly desperate divorced misoygnist comes here for a wife or the healthy recently divorced man comes here to engorge himself on prostitution and heal a broken heart before returning to fair game (by the way whores do actually help to soften the pain of love lost or alimony never paid). Was this man actually a tranny chaser? I couldn’t really decide, he had a kinda paniced feel to him as if he was more alaramed someone might think that of him and not as much that he had actually done it. And he apparently has a girlfriend. Perhaps he was just amused by them?

Then of course there’s me, who has done it, multiple times, in several different cities, using various props and at times in different positions. I spent most of my cultural training trying to make it apparent I really was available if the 36 year old completely beautiful recently divorced school owner lecturing us had any inclination to some pseudo-harold and maude type of relationship in the near future. She promised me to “stretch me big time,” at one point. I wrote down my number and hoped for the best.

But getting back to tranny chasers, I was interviewed by a friend of mine about why I’d had sex with transvestites. Choosing the best possible explination, I choose to focus on the one I felt a connection with, ya know the one I never actually slept with and whom I think about from time to time. In reality though, it really was just experimentation, not something I ever expected to go to far, and while I still lust after the trans-gender from time time, I can say with only one exception did I ever really enjoy it more than women.

About a month ago I was in Pattaya. I had booked a hostel on the internet and was let off the truck around my hotel only to find the rate was over double what it said it was on the internet. I walked down the street to another hostel and had the same experience, after a few blocks I ran into a place with a little fountain in front and a sign advertising sub-400 baht rooms. The conceirge was a ladyboy and we immediately hit it off, with her asking me questions like, “do you like ladyboys” etc. She recommended the Tiffany show to me, which I passed on before telling me to go to Walking Street for ladyboys. I walked up Walking Street and saw the usual patpong like cavalcade of prostitutes, although there was one big place advertising in bright bold letters, Western girls, an Eastern-European women danced listlessly in the window. A few blocks down from Walking Street there are some minor little avenues where even more sex workers sit in bars, bored, looking for clients. I was walking amongst them when I saw two different ladyboy bars. I decided to go in and the first one didn’t really interest me, and it was empty. The second one had some loitering businessmen, sitting around asking questions, and gently swatting away ladyboy hands that could potentially go on to grope them. I walked upstairs away from this traffic and sitted next to a ladyboy who of course proceeded to start touching me. Then another one came up who looked mildly butch, she had a definite kinda dom-lesbian feel going on. She began to kiss me shoulder and then run her tongue down my arm. This kept up for about 2 cigarettes during which we had the usual chit-chat. Afterwards the dom asked if I wanted to go upstairs. I kinda tried to get out of it, I didn’t have a lot of money and had promised myself I wouldn’t have sex until at least my next hiv test. Anyway, it ended up costing close to 4000 baht and it was me, the dom, and one other. She ran her hands up and down my body, she wanted to fuck me, and I liked it. After all this was over, I put myself on top of her and tried to go to sleep before the girls decided to watch pakistani porno for the remaining 30 minutes of the hour.

This was at heart what I was looking for, perhaps not consciously, perhaps not intentionally, but it was the strange kindness we experience when another somehow knows us and we are able to admit what we are to ourselves. Afterwards I went downstairs and bought the two of them a bacardi breezer, and sat down and watched Amy Winehouse sing soul with some other ladyboy. For a moment I could understand transgenderism from a different angle, that it’s not entirely about identity, but also about sexuality, that our identities are founded and forged in fucking, and it’s what we enjoy that keeps us there. About a week later two guys molested me on a couch at a party (it was concentual, in fact I practically suggested it) and I could already feel the initial thrill fading, another attempt at a ladyboy dom didn’t work either.

In a few scant weeks, my face might be on big screens at minor film festivals talking about fucking transvestites. In the end you have to explain to people, why did you do something you didn’t enjoy? The answer is quite simple, it’s that context matters and doubt is a valid emotion, no sexual experience is the same and trying again and again is about the only way we really learn. What sucks about this is that tangled up in all this mess of relations is a social stigmata hanging around sexual experimentation and the possibility of being labeled that most dubious of titles, a tranny chaser. Why is this name offensive? Because the same machinations that sent me after women, sent me after transvestites. Secondly, it also denotes that it isn’t possible to have a mature or full relationship with a transvestite. It deprives what could be lasting relationships of their power, by simply belittling the man seeking them. In reality to date is to offend, not everyone is going to want you and while it is better to have loved and lost, we still prefer soltitude above a loveless relationship. It’s the later that made me fit the term in desperation, while when I was pursuing the former, I found I was travelling towards myself.

September 28, 2008 at 11:06 pm 1 comment

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Qoutes: Sontag, Eno, others

Sorry about the fact this blog is basically just a bunch of my links these days, anyway reading Sontag’s In America (it’s quite good, but the intellectual conversation she’s responding to is so familar to make many of the ideas trite).

“I can’t help thinking a person who sneezes in an absurd way is also lacking in self-respect. Why else consent to something so unattractive? It ought to be a matter of concertration and resolve to sneeze gracefully, candidly. Like a handshake.”

“And God is abetting all this. This longing for newness, emptiness, pastlessness. This dream of turning life into pure future. Perhaps He has no choice-though, in so doing, God the Star is signing His own death warrant as an actor, as the star of stars. No longer will He be guaranteed the major role in any drama of consequence attended by the most coveted, educated audiences. At best, minor roles from now on-except in picturaseque backwaters, where people have never seen a play without Him. All this moving the audience about will amount to the end of His career.

Does God know this? Probably he does. But that won’t stop Him: He’s a trouper.

God Spits. ”

It’s fucking hilarious, and a rather good summary of the movement away from religion dating around this time historically in the novel to Darwin and a harbinger of Neitsche.

“She wished she were in love, for being helplessly in love awakens one’s better self. But when marriage puts an end to that, it is deliverance. Love makes men strong, self-confident. It makes women weak. Friendship, though… that was another matter. Friends make you strong.”

“You are whatever you think you are… Whatever you dare think you are. And to be free to think yourself something you’re not, something better than what you are-isn’t that the true freedom promised by the country to which he was journeying?”

“The first morning he masturbated to the mental image of a fat brown walrus slowly turning from side to side.”

Clearly she had a deep understanding of male desire.

All qoutes from In America by Susan Sontag

And one from Eno via an old copy of Frieze:

“Saying that cultural objects have value is like saying that telephones have conversations.”

Dan Fox qoutes it from Brian Eno,A year with Swollen Appendices, Faber and Faber, London, 1996

And finally Pynchon, ” ‘Explosion with out an objective’, delcared Miles Blundell, ‘is politics in its purest form.’ ” from against the day

p.s. added amazon referrals to make the blog more long-tail-ish.

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