Readers' Submissions

Chiang Mai Kelly, Kipling, Jackie O, Maria Callas and the Princess Tackle The Subject of Classy Women



The Princess if you didn't know is a used up woman too fat to dance any more and get paid for it.

She has had more pricks than a porcupine and it took 3 months of celibacy to even remotely get back her natural sex drive or what little was left of it.

She was about the same age as Jackie when she found Ari and Maria when he dumped her. It's a rough age.

The Princess was, Princess Grace without beauty, youth, fame and Monaco. They called her the Princess of Patpong when she boxed at midnight after the slim, trim beauties without broken noses and hardened knuckles stopped dancing.

But the lady had class, I learned about women from her.

“G”, was a farmer's daughter and picked rice and marched with short skirts fluffed out with starched petticoats in the band and on sports day at school. The teachers sometimes picked out the pretty girls and introduced them to ranking officers at the military base close to the school. “G” avoided that even though life was not easy in the rice paddies. She had class. At 16 she married a cop. He was a good cop if you interpret good as being good at murder, bribery and theft. He stole heavy farm equipment and took it across the border for sale along with any impounded vehicles he could fined. I saved her. I taught her English and French and read the classics to her at night. After that I taught her the finer techniques of certain aspects of sex and how to suppress her gag reflex. She was a quick study.

Always good at make up, she found a job as a cosmetics line girl and in no time was the rep for Chanel. No straight men in the cosmetics department, she seduced the Chairman of the Board of the department store and soon she was flying to Paris and Rome as the company buyer. Her palate belied her early upbringing on jungle food and peppers and she developed a taste for Bordeaux wines and millionaires. Quickly she had a cellar full of wine, a garage full of expensive cars and a bedroom filled by a wealthy husband. I learned about women from her.

Mo was a Chula PhD; I know because I was her editor. She parlayed the degree into a job as an IT VP in Bangkok and also owned a chain of Internet cafes. It was her loyal manager in the cafe nearest my home that told her I had a trading account worth 3 million CHF (Swiss Francs). I had a trading account worth 3 million THB (Thai Baht) but her loyal manager did not read encrypted English very well. It was then that Mo, the light-skinned, Chinese-Thai intellectual business tycoon introduced me to her parents. Not being a slouch with keystroke loggers, my laptop came in handy on long trips to discover Mo had an in depth knowledge of CHF and Swiss lesbian women. I learned about classy women from her.

In the West I was married to a beauty queen, medical business specialist and a ballroom dancer, all class acts in their own right.

Not to take credit for an idea that I didn't originate I feel obligated to quote some Rudyard Kipling poetry to answer Jay's statement, “I'm going to make this real easy to understand. If a woman has sex for a price, then we can reasonably concluded that she isn't actually classy at all.”


Excerpts from, The Ladies, Rudyard Kipling.

I've taken my fun where I've found it;
I've rogued an' I've ranged in my time;
I've 'ad my pickin' o' sweet'earts,
An' four o' the lot was prime.
One was an 'arf-caste widow,
One was a woman at Prome,
One was the wife of a jemadar-sais,
An' one is a girl at 'ome.

Now I aren't no 'and with the ladies,
For, takin' 'em all along,
You never can say till you've tried 'em,
An' then you are like to be wrong.

I was a young un at 'Oogli,
Shy as a girl to begin;
Aggie de Castrer she made me,
An' Aggie was clever as sin;
Older than me, but my first un–
More like a mother she were–
Showed me the way to promotion an' pay,
An' I learned about women from 'er!

Then we was shifted to Neemuch
(Or I might ha' been keepin' 'er now),
An' I took with a shiny she-devil,
The wife of a n**** at Mhow;

'Taught me the gipsy-folks' bolee;
Kind o' volcano she were,
For she knifed me one night 'cause I wished she was white,
And I learned about women from 'er!

I've taken my fun where I've found it,
An' now I must pay for my fun,
For the more you 'ave known o' the others
The less will you settle to one;

An' the end of it's sittin' and thinkin',
An' dreamin' Hell-fires to see;
So be warned by my lot (which I know you will not),
An' learn about women from me!

What did the Colonel's Lady think?
Nobody never knew.
Somebody asked the Sergeant's wife,
An' she told 'em true!
When you get to a man in the case,
They're like as a row of pins–
For the Colonel's Lady an' Judy O'Grady
Are sisters under their skins!


Excerpts from, “The Ladies, Chiang Mai Kelly.

If you're a young feller with a classy lady.
A lady nothing like Judy O'Grady.

Loosen your purse strings a bit.
And let the satang flow out of your mitt.

But take if from me (which I know you'll not see)
Mother Theresa's don't have pretty buns
and them that do are usually nuns.

So look down her back. Just above her crack.
Don't be surprised if what you should see, is a four color tattoo
of the Union Jack.


Stickman's thoughts:

I think the study of women takes many of us a lifetime, and even then, many of us still don't get it.