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Transsexuals or female sex workers in Kuala Lumpur

How much one night?

How much one night?

‘I accepted his friendship, and we started dating regularly. One day, he took me to his apartment, and we made love. On that first session, he noticed I was different from a woman. I guess he must’ve slept around with many prostitutes; otherwise, he wouldn’t be so which silicone implants had been inserted into my chest. He confronted me as to my real gender, and I confessed to him I was formerly a male.’

She spoons a slice of hard-boiled egg into her mouth and continues: ‘At first, he cried in my arms, said he was extremely sad as he deeply loved me; later, he got angry with me and accused me of having cheated him. I assured him I had been a female emotionally and mentally since I was a child, female in every way except for physically. I told him I was not capable of loving a woman but a man. In the end, he said he was confused and asked me to leave him alone. Two weeks later, he called me. He said since I could not give him children, there was no hope of me becoming his life partner. I got depressed again.

‘To forget him, I came to KL, and took a hairdressing course. This is my fourth month here, and I work in a salon. At night I street-walk this area but as this is low-class, I won’t be around long. Maybe I’ll go to Phuket or Pattaya to work in an a-go-go bar. Over there, people like us are much in demand by the mat salleh (white men), but competition is stiff from the kateoys. Maybe, I’ll meet a mat salleh lover who will understand me and marry me. See how things go. Or I may consider opening a hairdressing salon if I have the capital.’

‘How much do you make a night?’

‘One hundred fifty to two hundred ringgit.’ She winces, dissolving her feminine expression, causing a feathery chill across my skin. ‘But not every night. Sometimes, on a rainy night, I don’t get a single customer.’

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Transsexual workers in Kuala Lumpur

Transsexual workers in Kuala Lumpur

‘What’s a typical day for you?’ I take a sip of teh tarik.

‘I wake up late, usually past noon or 1 pm.’ She turns her attention away from me, smiles at a transsexual walking past, and continues: ‘After bathing, I wash my clothes and towels. If business has been good, lots of towels are used. Then, I take lunch followed by a quick visit to the cyber café. Check emails, chat online, surf a bit. I have a blog where I advertise my services as escort. Once in a while, I get business. Then I come back to watch TV or read magazines.

‘Late in the evening, I start my makeup, which takes almost an hour. I use a few make-up techniques that are popular with mak nyah. For example, I cover my brows with glue stick, then I apply pressed powder on the glue. After that, I apply liquid foundation all over and I use stencil to draw my brows. These are things they don’t teach in makeup courses. Make-up is the magic that turns a man into a woman.’ She smirks with a gleam in her eyes. ‘Even if you meet me tomorrow, you won’t recognize me without my makeup.’

Sophia sucks at her soft drink, belches repletion, and rises from her chair. ‘That’s all I’ve to say. Minta maaf (sorry), I’ve to go. Bye-bye.’ She smiles apologetically and her shadow slowly melts away in the orange light of the street-lamps.

After finishing my drink, I take my leave and head to the night bazaar. Dozens of makeshift stalls are packed with new and used jeans, handbags, t-shirts, porn CDs, DIY tools, stolen shoes and sandals and steaming local food. Standing on the periphery of a row of stalls, a brothel’s tout is scanning the crowd for prospects, and pickpockets are lurking among the shoppers, and Indonesians without travel papers are masquerading as locals amongst the traders.

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Escort service customers in KL

Escort service customers in KL

In the corner of a five-foot way, a dark-skinned man is peddling aphrodisiacs and other sex paraphernalia from his James Bond attache case – opened and laid atop an iron X-stand. Displayed are imitation Viagra, novelty condoms, French ticklers, premature-ejaculation rings, long-endurance lotions and Tongkat Ali (eurycoma longifilia) pills.

Several stalls are starting to close, and the throng is thinning. I start my amble to a bar at Lorong Haji Taib 2. Earlier, while walking from the carpark, I saw its neon sign that says ‘Diamond Musical Hall.’ Dozens of transsexuals are hanging around the five-foot ways on both sides, and a few perform a variety of daring tactics to lure customers. The strong-willed resist; the weak-willed crumble like sandcastles.

A fair-skinned transsexual, somewhat plump, leans her back against a wall, and bends one knee to rest her foot on it. Her knee-length dress is pulled back to expose her whole leg, thigh and all. It resembles a pig’s trotter. Probably in her mid-twenties, another shemale with breasts like Solo papayas, puts her clenched fist to her lips, and shamelessly moves it back and forth. ‘Mari, bang, enam puluh, bang [Come, Brother, sixty, Brother.],’ she says to passers-by. Moments later, my eyes bulge in their sockets when a brown-skinned shemale lifts her Manchester United jersey to momentarily expose a solid breast to a passing white-haired grandpa. Unable to fight the temptation, he follows her upstairs without preamble. The traffic of cars, motorcycles and pedestrians on the one-way street is continual as onlookers and potential customers come to gawp at the third sex.

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Transsexuals or female sex workers?

Transsexuals or female sex workers?

After passing Nam Sing Pub, I reach Diamond Musical Hall, decorated with a row of colourful lights hanging over its doorway downstairs. What is it like inside? My stomach churns and I furrow my eyebrows and release them as I trudge up the stairs to enter a room lit by red bulbs. Six or seven transsexuals are sitting on sofas and bar stools. A transsexual with a small head, low forehead and wide, mean mouth approaches me, pulls me towards her by my hand and croaks ‘Mari, sayang, duduk dengan saya [Come, darling, sit with me]’, while her other hand – muscular and strong – starts fondling my crotch!

Another transsexual, sinewy and square-jawed, tugs at my other hand, pursing her red, rubbery lips, cocks her head and leans toward to my cheek! ‘Mari sini, sayang [Come here, darling],’ she growls. Yikes! Their voices, as rough as sandpaper, indicate that they are pre-op transsexuals. Fear tears through my solar plexus and my heart kicks off into a steady, galloping tachycardia. I pull my hands away from their grip, and bolt down the stairway, two steps at a time, and flee to a coffee shop.

Why do men seek out transsexuals instead of female sex workers? To get answers to that question, I later return to Hell’s Kitchen of KL to interview customers. Several refuse to talk and wave me off; a few play dumb and ignore me, but my persistent attempts over two hours produce five interviews.

Devadas, a twenty-four year old electrician, says: ‘I don’t mind having sex with a pondan [transsexual] as long as he’s gone for a sex-change operation. With my salary, I can’t afford high-class prostitutes. On the other hand, I don’t fancy a cheap ayam, [prostitute] who’s old and ugly. I’ve got taste, man, and I go for appearance. So, I come here to look for pretty pondans.’

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Transsexuals instead of female sex workers in Kuala Lumpur Malaysia
Transsexuals instead of female sex workers in Kuala Lumpur Malaysia
Transsexuals instead of female sex workers in Kuala Lumpur Malaysia
Transsexuals instead of female sex workers in Kuala Lumpur Malaysia

About

Why do men seek out transsexuals instead of female sex workers? To get answers to that question, I later return to Hell’s Kitchen of Kuala Lumpur to interview customers. Several refuse to talk and wave me off; a few play dumb and ignore me, but my persistent attempts over two hours produce five interviews.

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