FROM THE VERY FIRST day we met over six years ago, outside a Ladyboy cabaret in Pattaya (as some readers will recall), Porn and I have always been close. We simply hit it off from the moment we saw each other. Don't ask me why, but we seemed to have an instant bonding, that instant recognition of a kindred spirit, that knowledge, however uncertain, that we were destined to meet.
Not only did we subsequently live together for a while, but it was really her encouragement and guidance which, when I look back, helped shape my Tranny lifestyle--after all, she was the one who nurtured my feminine side and brought it to the fore, convincing me that everyone is part male and part female. "Why live life constrained by the boundaries of what we traditionally think of as gender lines?" I remember her asking me one night when I'd confessed how I seemed to be sleeping with more and more Ladyboys, and more and more slipping into a Tranny mindset--yearning for the time and opportunity to dress as a woman.
Porn was always looking for new ideas, new things to do; she was always full of energy and we often talked about doing more 'business' together, preferably something to do with Trannies and some of those 'other' creatures of the night with whom Porn regularly came into contact.
I remember once she told me that, at various times in her life, apart from her hairdressing and make-up businesses, she had run a girly bar, hosted a massage centre (what type of massage I never asked), run a 'short-time' hotel and even been an unpaid counsellor to many of the 'girls' she came into contact with during the course of her various activities. Of course, there was also her male to female 'transformation' business in which I was, and still am, a silent partner.
"You should write a book about your experiences, Porn," I had often told her, "Put into print some of the stories you tell me about your 'girls', your acquaintances, the escapades of your 'stars' as you like to call them. That would probably sell a few million copies," I added, immediately aware of my gross exaggeration, "Well, a few thousand perhaps."
Usually, she just smiled and replied, "Yes, maybe I will one day. May be one day when I have the time."
But she never seemed to get round to it and time drifted by, months rolling into years--until one Friday afternoon I was in my office in Singapore, just finalising my flight schedule to Hong Kong for the following Monday, when my mobile rang.
"Oh, hello, is that Khun Chris?", a noticeably Thai accent.
"Yes it is, sawadee krup," I replied, reflexively uttering a Thai greeting, quite forgetting where I was.
'Oh, Khun Chris, Porn's fallen off her motorcycle, she's in hospital' the caller explained with urgency in his voice. 'I think she's okay, just hurt her leg but she keeps asking for you. Are you in Thailand?' Luckily enough, I was able to get a flight that night and, some six hours later, sat by Porn's bedside in one of the better Bangkok hospitals.
"Chris, thank you so much for coming, but I didn't mean for you to rush up here to see me," smiled Porn coyly, sipping a hot drink and clearly well on the way to recovery.
"But the doctor says I need to stay here for a few days. Let the bruising on my knee and the cut on my ankle begin to heal a bit."
"No problem, it's just nice to see you again Porn. It's been a while."
Porn went on to explain that her accident had given her more of a shock than anything and all she could think about in the ambulance on the way to the hospital was that she'd never actually written her book, never put into print all of her and her girls' 'sexperiences', as she liked to call them.
"So Chris, if you have time, maybe we can start this weekend?" she smiled, looking coyly at me for the second time in as many minutes. "You're not going to Hong Kong until Monday, right? You see, I can't write, my ankle hurts a lot…"
We? Not I? I thought. So that's it--looks like I'm going to end up being Porn's 'ghost writer' for her book. "Sure," I smiled, "so where do we begin?"
"Now that's a difficult question," Porn began, running her fingers through her long, black hair, and bunching it up behind her head. She bit her lower lip for a few seconds, and I felt my cock rise slightly as I thought, not for the first time, just how sexy and vulnerable Porn could make herself look when she wanted. Jeez, Chris, last thing you should be thinking of now is sex; or is it?
"Actually, maybe here's a good place to start to tell you about Carl. I don't think you ever met him," Porn added, narrowing her eyes, as she searched the annals of her mind, trying to recall whether indeed I'd met him.
"Name sounds familiar…" I began.
"No, no I don't think you met him. He was yet another British guy who was living in Thailand at the time. Mmm, I'm sure it was a few years before I met you. Anyway, I very clearly remember some of the stories he told . One of my very favourites goes something like this:
