Date: Tue, 24 Oct 2000 18:51:24 EDT
From: lesli 99 <lesli99@hotmail.com>
Subject: Transgendered Story  -  Lesli - part 17

Lesli Part 17

I awoke the next morning in extreme pain.  My ass felt as if someone was up
there with a hot iron.  I couldn't touch it, it hurt that much.  I lay in
bed whimpering and trying to find a position that hurt less than the
others, but I could find none.

The pain in my head was worse.  What had I done?  What had I become to let
these men have their way with me so?  Although I didn't remember it all, I
remembered enough.  Glimpses of last night in the stables would fill my
mind as nothing else had ever done.  Even the episodes with the Ahmed's dog
paled in comparison with what I had done last night.  No, I was at the
bottom of my moral slide from the innocent college student I had been just
last year.  I had come down on a level with animals.  Beneath that, even.
I had let my self be used, in the most perverse way, by men and animals
alike.  I had submitted, most willingly, to their abuses and I would never
be the same.  I had crossed an unmarked line in the spiral from what I had
been to what I was becoming.  And I had no idea how much further I would go
to hit bottom.

Nabil left me alone the whole day, alone to tend to my wounds.  Oh, the
physical pain I endured would eventually heal, my overstretched anus would
reform, although never as tight as before.  But my mental wounds would take
much more time before I regained some semblance of self respect.  Right now
I had absolutely zero self esteem, and that would serve Nabil and his
customers just fine.  I no longer had the will to resist any request they
made.  I would blindly obey anything Nabil said.  I had no choice, that was
what I told myself, and the fact that I had done what I had done on tape, I
felt, sealed my fate.  If the contents of that tape got back to anyone who
knew me, well I might as well be dead.

Everyone in the villa stayed away from me the first day, they all knew
something had happened but no one asked me a thing about it.  They left me
to my pain and misery.  Even Sankit knew enough to leave me alone.  I spent
the entire day in bed, getting up only to go to the bathroom when I needed
to.  By early evening I worked up enough courage to examine myself closely,
using my makeup mirror to get a good luck back there.  What I saw horrified
me.  The lips of my ass were stretched and red and at first I thought I was
bleeding.  But closer examination revealed no permanent damage.  The
insides of my anal cavity fairly hung out my distended lips, looking like
so much ravaged meat.  Everything was covered in white powdery dried cum,
and I gently cleaned myself with a damp cloth.  I was raw to the touch, and
it took several tries before I could stand the pain of the wet cloth on
myself.  I finally cleaned myself sufficiently to have a better look.
Clean of all the dried cum, I could see better now, and I seemed to be in
one piece.  I put a generous coating of baby oil on my ass lips and worked
it in gently, trying to work the soothing liquid inside me.  As loose as I
was, my finger fairly fell into my hole.  I lay on my back with my legs
draw up to my chest and poured it in.  It was cool and soothing and I
brought the mouth of the bottle up to my crack and squeezed til the
pressure forced it inside.

I needed relief for the mind now, and I went downstairs to the living room
and found a joint on the coffee table.  Smoke from the first drag rushed
into my empty lungs and had an almost immediate effect on my head, sending
me careening from reality into the foggy world of self gratification that
pot always took me to.  Within minutes I was in the clouds, not thinking,
not caring, not hurting.

And now, seeing this, the others relaxed and things got back to normal.  I
tried to explain to Sankit what had happened, leaving out the parts I
didn't remember.  He listened, spellbound, not interupting the first time.
I guess it shocked him as much as it had shocked me, but I had the distinct
impression that he was enjoying the telling.  At least he seemed like he
was.

Nabil came to me that night, all sweet and innocent with nothing, in his
mind at least, to apologize for.  I was cool toward him, the pot being the
only reason I'm sure.  He complimented me for what I had done, how I had
handled myself, and told me that the movie could be the start of a
wonderful thing for me.  I didn't believe him, but I had no will to argue
now.  I only wanted the soothing fog from the pot to take me away from all
this, and by the second joint, it did just that.

I awoke the next morning in a better mood.  The physical pain was still
there, I didn't think I could ever take anything inside me again, but it
wasn't quite as bad as yesterday and I could apply the baby oil without
cringing today.  I coated my insides with it now and began to feel as if I
might live.

My mind, too, was beginning to heal.  I had an early morning joint to
refresh the fog and get me through the day.  I was still shaken by the
episode, but I was beginning to remember more and more of it, and I even
found myself thinking that it was an experience, the pain notwithstanding,
that wasn't all that bad.  I mean, and this is the part that surprised me,
as fucked up on pot as I was, it had been a very sexy experience.  Thinking
back on it, I was slightly aroused at the idea of what I had done, and I
had done it in front of a camera and at least six men.  Did they like it?
Did it turn them on to see me naked, on my knees under the horse, taking
his gigantic cock in my mouth, servicing him.  And the fuck, were they
excited to see me take the massive horse cock in my ass?  How far had he
gone up me?  >From the soreness it seemed as if he had invaded me
completely, but I remembered the size of him and doubted I could have taken
all that.

A lot of my questions were answered that evening when Nabil showed up with
a copy of the tape.  The girls were working, so Sankit and I were the only
ones to see it.  I didn't mind Sankit seeing it, and we sat on the couch
passing a joint back and forth between us as the spellbinding scenes played
out on the TV screen.  I was shaking when it was over, partly a case of the
nerves and partly out of arousal.  It was, on the whole, a very erotic
tape, and seeing it filled in the pot induced holes in my memory.  I still
couldn't believe that I had done it, but the tape was proof that I had done
so willingly.  The expression on my face was one of pure lust and the
camera had captured it all.  I would never be able to deny it, as long as
the tape was there for proof.

I would never see the tape again, although in later years I understand it
made the rounds of the 'bizarre' theatres, most notable one in the redlight
district of Amsterdam.  Nabil did
  give me a few of the stills for 'souvenirs' but in all my moving over the
next years, only one remains as proof of that incredible night.  I still
have it with me today.

By the third day a combination of aspirin, baby oil, and pot had me in a
much more relaxed frame of body and mind.  Things were getting back to
normal, and my reaction to the tape proved that normal for me could be
anything I adjusted to.

I finally admitted to myself something I had suspected for a long time.  I
was, to put it simply and precisely, a slut.  Transexuality had nothing to
do with it.  I would do anything for arousal.  I would do anything to
please a man because what I wanted, at the bottom of my soul, was to do
just that.  Please men.  I would do whatever they wanted, no matter how
perverse.  I would suck cock, I would let them fuck me, I would service
animals.  Anything.

The pot made it all go down so easy, but even without the pot I realized
that I was a slut.  And the funny thing was, I didn't mind.  It didn't
bother me in the least.

The fourth day after my experience with Prince, Sankit and I made love for
the second time.  We were just sitting around the villa, nothing to do, and
it happened.  I don't know if I instigated or Sankit, but we ended up on
the living room couch, naked, sucking and fucking each other to climax.  I
was surprised that my ass could take it, but it did. There was no real
pain, and the pleasure was certainly there.  Over the next few weeks we
repeated the scene almost every single day.  I suppose we were reaching out
for each other, fellow prisoners in Nabil's lurid game of 'pleasure'.

A full week went by before I tricked again, this time it was a fairly short
trip to Abu Dhabi and an American businessman.  He treated me nice, but the
sex was nothing special.  The thought came to my mind that I had seen and
done more than most people my age and I wasn't impressed by just anything
now, although I must say I did my enthusiastic best to please him.

And so it went, as the weeks stretched into months, and before I knew it, I
had been 'working' for Nabil for six months.  That was longer than I had
ever done anything before, excepting high school, and a combination of the
grind and the pot had me spinning in a fog all the time now.  I really
didn't know, or care, what happened most of the time.  I did my job, quite
well from the complements I received, and hung out at the villa the rest of
the time.  Sankit and I became regular lovers during this period, making
love at least once a day.  It was different with him, we were kindred
spirits, and we provided each other a little genuine love.

At Sankit's urging, I had a talk with Nabil, explaining to him that I
wanted to do something else with my life.  I had made him a lot of money,
we all had, and I felt the debt had been covered now.  I simply wanted out
of his world.

He surprised me by agreeing that he considered my debt to be paid, and
agreed to 'think' about setting me free.  Out of the country, of course,
because if I tried to live a regular life there I would just get back into
trouble.  I was a whore, he said, and whores always came to the same end if
they weren't looked after.  His logic was hard to argue against.  Deep down
I knew he was right, I was a whore.  And, surprisingly enough, I wasn't
angry at him for his opinion.

"You want to be a woman, no?  A real woman" his querie almost knocked me
down.

"Uh..well..yes.  Yes I do." I responded, honestly.  I had thought of
nothing else for the past 8 months now.  I wanted to take the final step,
to the charade of a life I had been living.

"Then maybe..just maybe I can help.  These things are done in Thailand, at
a very reduced price compared to the rest of the world.  Perhaps we can
arrange for you to...to earn enough money to have this done."

"How..I mean..where?"  I was confused.  I had heard that the operation,
Sexual Reassignment Surgery, was extremely expensive, running into the
thousands of dollars.

"In Thailand, of course.  Maybe I can arrange things for you.  I have
connections you know."  I was bewildered, but Nabil assured me that he
would work on a plan and tell me as soon as arrangements could be made.  I
was apprehensive at first, was this just a plot to keep me working for him?
What arrangements could he make?  I had many more questions than he was
willing to answer at this point.  I would have to be patient, he said.  I
had no choice, I thought.

The whole idea was enough to get me back into my old self, and I began to
look forward to life again.  Not so much that I gave up the pot, it was
just to available and I liked the way it made me feel.  But I found myself
thinking about the future again, something I hadn't done since I had been
banished from the Ahmen circle.

Within a few days Nabil came to me with a proposition.  He could arrange,
thru some of his 'connections' for me to work in club in Bangkok, earning
real money which I could save for the operation.  Thai doctors were
specializing in SRS now, making Thailand the premiere spot for transexuals.
The price was less than $2,000, excluding the mandatory rehabilitation
period, but that too was cheaper than the States.  According to Nabil's
sources, the work was excellent, rivalling anything done in the US or
Europe.  I would have to take his word for it, I thought, as I didn't know
a single post operative transexual.

My leaving the Gulf was as simple as my arriving, a Gulf Air flight from
Abu Dhabi, my passport returned to me with no trace of ever entering Dubai.
Again someone high up had greased the skids, and I found myself wondering
if there was any record of me at all since I left the States.  I would find
out, much later, that I was officially a missing person, my parents having
given me up for dead.  But that would be another story.

The flight was a blur as my emotions at leaving had overpowered any
rational thought, and I had to pinch myself over and over to really believe
it was finally happening.  The only regret I had was in leaving Sankit.  I
think now that I had actually fell in love with the softspoken young gay.
To this day I think about him and wonder what it is that he's doing.
Whatever it is, I hope he is happy.  If, by chance, you read this Sankit, I
love you.

Landing in Bangkok was a world apart from where I had been.  I checked thru
immigration without the first problem.  The temporary visa stapled inside
my passport listed my visit 'medical' , and under 'gender' was the neatly
typed TRANSEXUAL, signifying for the first time in my life some sort of
acceptance of my orientation.

One thing that Bangkok has in common with the Gulf is heat.  It was as hot
and muggy in Bangkok as it had been in Abu Dhabi, the temperature over 100
when I arrived.  I was dressed for tropical travel, wearing one of the
summer dresses I had brought from the States.  I had adopted the tropic
habit of not wearing hose, the heat was just too much for that, but still
the warm humid atmosphere of Thailand made me perspire, and I felt trickles
of sweat forming on my face and back.

The low heels of my white strap sandals clicked on the immaculately clean
marble floors of the airport baggage claim area, my long blonde hair and
bare legs causing eyes to turn as I walked on.  Thankfully my baggage was
there, and I made my way thru customs in no time, exiting into a throng of
waiting Thais.  It didn't take me long to find the sign with 'LESLI"
printed on it, and the old man took my suitcase and motioned for me to
follow him, exiting the terminal and making for the parking lot.

The heat hit me full blast outside, and the sweat fairly poured off me
during the short walk across traffic to the car.  He hoisted my bags into
the trunk and opened the back door for me, closing it after I had slid
inside.  He spoke not a word, I don't know if he didn't speak English or he
just didn't have anything to say.  I tried to make small talk but all I got
back were smiles and grunts to my comments.  It was just as well, I was
taking in the scenery as he drove, getting a first look at what was to be
my new home, temporary I hoped.

Bangkok is an incredible city in an incredible country.  Traffic is
horrendous, making the Gulf seem almost countrylike in comparison.  Cars,
trucks, scooters, motorcycles all vie for the road, and plenty of road
there is.  But even so, traffic seldom moves at a speed anything
approaching the wide open spaces of the Middle East or the US.  We made the
short, in distance, trip in an hour, arriving in the 'city' where the
traffic was even worse, if that's possible.

'City' is a vague term here, the concentration of buildings is fairly
constant from the airport to the river, with concentrations of high rise
buildings indicating the city.  They were absolutely impressive, massive
glass spires erected with the money that flowed into this SouthEast Asian
center of business.  All the major corporations are represented, in
addition to a puzzling number of Asian companies I had never heard of.
They all flocked here in response to Bangkok becoming a financial center
for the region.

The streets, while broad and clean, were crowded with throngs of people
making there way I know not where.  At every steet light mobs waited, or
crossed.  Congestion personified.

The Patpong district was our destination.  I would come later to know it's
history and reputation, but now it was just another mangle of high rises,
dumpy apartments, bars and shops, rather it's own little microcosm of
Bangkok.  Broad avenues with alleys, streets I suppose, going off in all
directions, teeming with the unknown draw of the Orient.  I drank it all
in, a new life experience for me.

The airconditioned ride from the airport had me comfortable again, so much
so that the blast of hot air that hit me when I stepped from the car nearly
suffocated me.  And the smells.....god the smells.  Food everywhere, and
unlike anything I had ever smelled before.  I would get used to it in a
short time, but for now every odor was new, some pleasant, some not.

We were on a small street in the district, in front of a line of bars
intermingled with food shops.  I might just as well have been on the dark
side of the moon.  The driver took my bag from the trunk and led me up a
short flight of broad stairs with a sign above them indicating that this
was the 'World Famous Cleopatra Club' complete with a curious looking
painting of the famous Egyptian fellatrix.  I wondered if the connection
was any other than in name only.

Opening a side door, he led the way into the bar.  It was mercifully
airconditioned, a fact that I came to appreciate more and more with each
passing day.

It was dark and reeked of a mixture of stale beer and cigarette smoke and
reminded me immediately of Rufus' place.  Over time I would come to realize
that all these places were basically the same, a refuge of sex - or at
least the promise of sex - that lured men to them.  But the main difference
was that Thai bars cater to tourists.  Rufus had just catered to the local
crowd.

The taxi driver, his mission accomplished, set my bag down and called out
something in Thai before taking his leave.

"Ahhhh..missy...Lesli....oh, you soooo nice, nice ladyboy!"  It came from a
middle aged old woman, in her forties I would guess, but that body, that
face, had seen miles and miles in those 40 years.  She came out of the
darkened interior of the bar to greet me at the door.  "Welcome, welcome,
welcome to Cleopatra."

Her name was Minga, but she was 'mama' to all the girls in the bar, and her
job was what would be referred to as 'manager' in the States.  She saw to
every aspect of the club except the money.  The owner, a slight,
surprisingly younger woman was the owner and she handled the financial side
of things with an efficiency bordering on fanaticism.

Minga saw me to my temporaty quarters, an unused storeroom with a small
cot, in which I would live until I could find either an apartment to share
or one of my own.  I would soon realize that the days were short and
boring, but the nights were long.

And the first long night of this new phase of my life would begin in three
hours.

To be continued
lesli99@hotmail.com