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Spotting The Fakes: Trannys & Dolls vs. Real Women

  • Written by Anonymous
  • February 19th, 2016
  • 7 min read




I must have been on that bus forever… I say that only because I left the small little jungle town in the middle of nowhere fairly perked – but by the time I got off the bus, my alcohol level was dangerously low – I had red eyes and looked weak. I decided I would get a girl some other day, but not tonight…

The taxi dropped me off at Nana's – I didn't know any better back then – I pushed my luggage past the middle-aged sex tourists and whores and made my way to a hotel in the back of an alley. After a shower and a nap I went out for pizza and a drink – it was gonna be a short night. After I got some food I ended up in the maze of bars and bar brothels and lurking high-heeled pretties who aren't what they seem – it seemed a world away from the small little jungle town in the middle of nowhere. I ended up in Nana's Plaza, it had been seven years since I'd been there. I chose a random bar that looked interesting and walked in – honestly I chose it for the high-heels I saw on stage and the A/C I could feel permeating from inside.

Inside the bar it was all way too bizarre, the waitress sat me in a raised seating area, the girls on stage seemed all too eager to please, and made of plastic as well – their Michael Jackson noses and faces were getting no play from me – still they cooed to me from the stage, waving hello and hella wanting to sit with me in a way that let me know that something wasn't quite right… That's when she hopped off the stage and high-heeled it right on up to me – sitting down and introducing herself to me and asking me what my name was in a quick graceful swoop that was altogether amusing as much as it was confusing. I introduced myself and she began a deluge of questions like where am I" from", and what do I "do" and all that shit, but what I really wanted to know was whether she and the other girl up on the stage who were way to overly eager to catch my attention and desire, were even females at all…

She assured me that all the girls on stage were "real lady" and let me know that the "lady boys" were "upstairs."

"Is that what you want?"

"No! no I don't want that… but I'm noticing that girl's face is just so… plastic." I said to her, "c'mon, that's a lady boy, right?"

"No, all real lady…" She replied, but it was actually her that was even more plastic, and I had to get to the bottom of this, so I looked into her eyes – the only real foolproof way of sniffing out a transvestite that passes the preliminary exam – after all, only a woman has the soul of a woman and the eyes are the windows to the soul.

When I looked into her eyes, I noticed immediately that there did not appear to be anything there at all. Her big, perfectly cute, cartoon face seemed to hold two sewn on buttons for eyes. I looked deeper into her doll face, and into her doll soul, past her irises and into the depths of her pupils – a horrifying infinite black emptiness awaited me there, terrifying and surreal. She was quite a pretty, feminine and hospitable as she giggled and laughed, jabbering on about everything and absolutely nothing at all, all at the same time. The disco ball kept spinning and the music seemed to get all the more louder while the A/C put a fresh glaze of cool all over everything.

She sat there looking at me, waiting for me to say or do something. It was at this point that I became convinced that this girl was neither a girl nor a very gorgeous post-op transsexual, but rather a highly advanced cyborg from Japan. The Japanese have been creating robots for decades now and it was only a matter of time before all that science and technology led to this: a sex industry cyborg, a robot woman optimized to please men, a 'Real Doll' with a pulse. She was a prototype sent from Tokyo, the Japanese were field testing her in the most ruff and rugged real life environment of all – the sex industry of downtown Bangkok. Soon, copies of her would be everywhere. She would simultaneously spread havoc and save lives the world over. Human prostitutes would be rendered useless and put out of work permanently, while sex trafficking and exploitation of women and girls would go the way of the dinosaurs, instantaneously.

A waitress came over and handed me a laminated pricelist: I could have the pretty little cyborg for a shortime for 2000 baht, or I could be graced with the prolonged presence of her plastic face and instantaneous microchiped wit for the whole evening for only 4000 baht. She asked me if I wanted to test drive her body out in the back rooms. I said " I gotta go" and staggered outta there, not really sure of what had transpired. What happened in that bar? Who – and more importantly what – was that 'girl?' I have no idea, and I never will, more importantly, I don't want to know…

I stumbled into The Tavern, a bar with overpriced food and a bunch of average gals who are awesome for one thing – they are real women: you can count on that at the Tavern… Their average looks, regular breast size, and 2 inch heels let you know right away that these are real women – regular Thai ladies. I ordered a beer, and then another. Suddenly I was feeling pretty good – awake and alive. It was about 1am and the night seemed to be wrapping up – bars were closing and the last of the hookers and drags were pairing off with the rest of the westerners from who knows where west of here…

I made my way to a nightclub off the main street and walked in. There was a band playing Black Eyed Peas cover songs, the club was lit with blacklights and there were a few teams of girls at assorted tables looking to make some cash…

I took a Johnny Walker Red and a seat next to a couple of girls near the bar, one of them was dancing to the music with her back to me. She 'accidentaly' fell into my lap, and after some makeshift apologies, she was pushing her ass onto my lap and dancing all the same. This seemed to be headed in only one direction – back to my hotel room – where she offered to go for 1500 baht, so after a game of pool and another drink – we went.

I had forgotten how hilarious Thai women could be – There was a moment with she and I and a Pittbull song where she kept bouncing up and down on top of me saying "I know you want me, I want your money!" I grabbed ahold of her hips and bounced her on top of me and said "yes, yes!! Get that money!!! She had a sescarian section scar above the end of her pubic hair, "how many kids do you have" I asked. "Why do you care?" Her condescending response.

Afterward, we went out to eat, it was goin' down on the dirty, filthy, blackened Bangkok sidewalks that night, and as we ordered some shrimp and some beer the sky cracked in half and it started raining buckets. The rough Bangkok heat finally broke, all the west African hookers ran for cover – their huge high-heeled black asses in tight hooker dresses trucking them off, all the way – as the rain fell, the tarps went up. Guns & Roses' 'Paradise City' started playing on the stereo from one of the makeshift sidewalk bars – the food arrived. There was an overwhelming surrealness of it all: the whores, the bars, the traffic and smog, the women that were women, and the women that were not. The gorgeous grossness of all, that beautiful garbage, simmering like a stew in a pot. One night in Bangkok…

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