Tuesday, 8 October 2013

Jacqueline George - Her Master's Voice

There is something about transgender girls that has always fascinated me. I can't say why. It doesn't make any rational sense at all, but I would love the opportunity to take one to dinner. Or to be taken to dinner, whatever. To be honest, I would even be open to a little after dinner fun as well.
I am stupid. If I want a man, there are plenty who would volunteer (yes, even for me!) If I wanted a woman, she might be more difficult to find but not impossible. If I wanted a threesome, that can be arranged, although probably not in my little village. So why the yen for some-one who is neither man nor woman? No, I should say, some-one who is both man and woman.
It would be naughty and that makes the idea attractive, but there is more to it. If you believe the photos you see on the internet, shemales seem to bask  in the eye of the camera. They want to be stared at, they want to flaunt their sexuality. Far more than ordinary woman, they see themselves as sex objects and that is how they present themselves. Some of them make stunning models. Others might be physically larger than average for a woman, but no man is going to overlook them. Imagine sitting in a restaurant with a glamorous woman like that - certainly no-one would be looking at me.
And then, back home, how would that feel? It must be fun to run your hands through a girl's hair for a change. Will she lie back and let me explore, or will she be doing the exploring? What does it feel like to cuddle a broad chested person with breasts? It's all very well to say her breasts will feel just like mine, but I feel mine from the inside. It must fun to give pleasure by twisting and teasing her nipples, and I guess that pleasure will be far in excess of what any man experiences.
And she will have a cock, of course. Well, I know all about them, but this one will be different. Again judging from the pictures, it will be completely hairless and hidng in sexy lingerie. I like that idea. It seems, well, spicy. Will she just lie there and let me play with it? Will she whimper as I show her what I can do to a hungry cock? Will she take over and climb on top of me, or can I take charge and ride her? I would like that because I can play with her breasts and, most important for me, I can see it all happen.
Ah, dreaming... Well, who would be without their dreams?
Tim, an oilfield engineer based in Singapore, has taken his wife and two local friends out to Bugis Street. It has been completely sanitised now but, back then, Bugis Street was famous for its wonderful, friendly shemales. It was the top of the tourist list then...

They picked their way through the gathering crowd and caught a stallholder bringing out another table. They commandeered it and waited for him to return with the chairs. They sat and looked around them as they waited for their drinks to arrive. The place looked old and run down. Stuccoed shop houses with heavy piers supporting their upper floors over the narrow pavement. Dirty pastel colours, different for each shop, gave the street a sort of grubby charm.
To one side, not far from their table, stood the famous Bugis Street toilet. God knows what arrangements people had made before this flash of enlightment, but now they had a public toilet. True, it did not fit in with Bugis Street architecture and ambiance. True, its linear godfather was Josef Stalin but, never mind, it was free, available and it worked. The locals accepted the dour, faceless roughcast block with its machinegun ports, set high up in place of windows, just below a flat concrete roof. Such a miserable piece of municipal architecture grew to be an internationally recognised artistic venue. Its concrete roof made the perfect al fresco stage to display dancing girls and the annual Queen of Bugis Street competition.
Tim sipped gratefully at his beer and half listened to the girls’ chatter. He liked sitting at a table with three pretty girls, and enjoyed the questioning glances they collected from passers by. Not that they noticed. Beautiful women are used to being looked at, especially when they are dressed up for an evening on the town.
They were satisfied and pushing their bowls away when an excited buzz announced the arrival of the girls. They picked their way through the tables in twos and threes, stopping to banter with the diners and moving on. They were glamorous, dressed like film stars. All had long hair, either their own or a luxuriant wig in chestnut or honey blonde. In their walk, their talk and their coyness they painted a provocative parody of real women. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, male about them but their fertile, sexy femaleness hardly felt feminine either. They were what they were, and right now they were the stars of the show. They slowly fanned out to sit with the tourists, gracefully accepting the offer of a drink and posing for photographs with fat Australian couples. The music switched to disco and the volume cranked up.
Darti’s eyes were bright and she clapped her hands as she watched the display. She, at least, had no problem with billy boys. The atmosphere warmed and a couple of the girls got up to dance together for the cameras. They blossomed in the photo flashes.
Darti wanted a photograph and called out in Indonesian to a pair of short, dark girls. They came slowly, shyly to the table. One wore a long blue cocktail dress with a halter neck and a dramatic d├ęcolletage to show off her adolescent breasts. The other had a knee length red dress, light and flared. Tim recognised it. Janice came up to the table, embarrassed and determined not to know him.
“Janice! What the hell are you doing here?” The rest of the table stared at him.
Janice whispered something to Darti who clapped her hands again and shrieked with laughter.
“You know her!” accused Sherry.
“Yes. I met her offshore last month. She works on one of the crane barges. Or she did then. She’s a camp hand, with Renaldo the cook. I told you about him.”
Darti laughed again. “Timmee suck cock!” she teased. “Very good, no?”
Sherry was scandalised. Tim just sat there, looking a little uncomfortable it was true, but he had been playing with this—this person beside her. She could hardly believe it, and Darti said he had sucked her cock. She just could not imagine it.
Darti noticed her. “Oh-oh! Sherry cross.”
“No, no!” she denied it. “Not at all. Why should I be cross?” She held her hand out to Janice and invited her to sit down. Her friend had already squeezed onto Darti’s chair so in a show of defiance she moved her bottom over and pulled Janice down to share. All the time her mind was turning somersaults.
Jacqueline lives in far North Queensland, on the shore of the Coral sea. She keeps herself busy with her cats and garden, and by writing books - some of which are far too naughty for her own good. You can find out more about jacqueline and her books at www.jacquelinegeorgewriter.com

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