KenW

I recall saying earlier – as did others – that there’s no need to go all the expensive way to Nihon to experience the femmie white skinned diminutive. Here’s some evidence to back that up, from Sunee Plaza. Jo: Jo and friends (the one on the right with the yellow T shirt is, like Jo, small and very white, quite good looking, both of them:

TAKE CARE! Is a volunteer charity project, formed in 2005, at the initiative of Dr Philippe Seur. Their mission is to help prevent the spread of HIV and other sexually transmitted infections by empowering and enabling service workers to practice safe sex. Prevention, they suggest, is vastly more cost effective and humane than is treatment. Safe sex packs (2 condoms, 1 sachet lube) are regularly provided to gay venues free of charge for use by their staff. Funds are generated through donations and fund raising events. All funds go directly to the purchase and distribution of safe sex packs in and around Pattaya. www.takecarepattaya.com

Lulu Even if by Angkor Wat They rode in their royal barges Paying homage as was done in times past, Their empire they could not construct once more, Save but to kneel before your perfect prick. For unlike the Primes of Fermat, Empires they come and they go; are not for the ages. I am but today’s scribe toiling to make you last, A vision eternal, a radiant black body to adore, Your reputation grand and solid as tons of temple brick.

Luverley pics Mate. I really like that framing technique.

Bad Liver & A Broken Heart - Tom Waits I got a bad liver, and a broken heart Drunk me a river since she tore me apart But I don't have a drinking problem 'Cept when I can't get a drink...

Welcome to the femboy infatuation club bubba. Where I'm staying in Sunee at the moment I'm sure you'd find something to match your desires, far cheaper than a trip to Nippon. And rather more fleshy than websites. I know you like milky white, but some of these are pretty light skinned too. As you well know, we differ on skin tone preferences. This little Hindu boy who had me last night must have weighed 32 or 33 kg at most. Dripping wet. But of course he was as black as a coalface.

How do I write the rest of this? I don’t know. Some FMs have said they want to hear the nitty gritty about what transpired with Lulu. For several days I have pondered how to provide that, how to end my tale. But I keep coming up with no ideas. The bare bones might be the way to go. Don’t try to tell the story Ken, for it’s just too difficult, for me at least, for the moment at least. The bare bones. By KenW. Lulu fucks. Lulu does not like to be fucked. Lulu does not tarry with fools. Lulu is a fucker, never the fuckee. That’s OK, I’m a utility player from way back. Or is that bare back. For, on the first night with her I had no condoms. Much to my amazement neither did Lulu. Too late and too lazy to do anything about that, I presumed the night would be reduced to a tale of sucks & kisses. But of course after such foreplay she wanted to fuck me, didn’t she, despite all the reasoning of that uncommonest of senses, common sense. Because she loved me, because she was horny, whatever. No, she had not had a drink. But I had, and was I going to let her. How about that. In Khmer she told me she was healthy, clean, had fucked no other fellas. (My daydream.) In Broken English she more or less told me M Faithful. You husband me (that bit in clear English). I go nobody. Lulu has completed grade 12. Clever girl. Strangely she must have gone through school in some poverty infested shithole, for I would have thought most PP high schools now would have English on their curriculum. She wants to study it, and even though it was said in neither English nor Khmer, I gathered that was being seen as a future role for me: funding her English language studies. Lulu is only 19 (said in English) which makes her 18 in our reckoning. When we go eat (before I knew we had no condom) she tells me through a translating waitstaff, she finished school last year. More bare bones. I remember lying there, face into my pillow, Lulu crawling all over my back, thinking to myself, should I die of AIDS as a direct outcome of this folly tonight will I regret it? My answer stunned me: no. But then I thought: I hope I haven’t got anything I don’t know about, that I’m passing on to this delightful child. I bet she didn’t even think of that. All her insistences were to the effect that she’s got no problem. She would not listen to my attempted warnings on the other aspect. Lulu is 48 kg. She has a perfect black prick, one that stands up like a flagpole, stiff and straight. Her hormones haven’t kicked in sufficiently yet for her to have incipient titlets, but she’s working on it. While facially she looks quite light skinned - as you can see from the pics on various threads - her body is Khmer dark, exactly to my taste. Mocha to mahogany on the colour spectrum. She is wiry, and when she’s on top of me I sense that wire inside her fit torso, in the way that only boys can flex flesh. One of my favourite attributes of LBs is just that: their bodies are almost always that cog or two tauter than many soft delicate pudgy GGs could know about. Or at least the LBs I’m attracted to, are that way. Lulu went straight from I go with you at the bar, to husband wife on the pillow. I have to add that such rapidity worried me vastly, for I knew immediately I could not live up to her expectations. And none of it seemed like bullshit, customer talk, a seduction spiel. She seems a genuine person, the real McBoy, an innocent even. It also alerted me to how desperate some of these Khmer are to be taken on, cared for, and maintained lovingly, lifted out of poverty. That a fat bellied ugly old fart with the skin of a Galapagos reptile, gnarled and sunblotched, and the mouth of Shane MacGowan, broken teeth bleeding gums and whiskey stains, could win immediate and unearned love from such a darling, really says far more about global economic having and not having than it does about Cary Grant charm. Lulu fucked me missionary, Lulu fucked me doggie, Lulu fucked me lizards, Lulu fucked me spoons. She fucked me with what seemed to be an idee fixee that while coitus takes place, as much other body as possible should be in contact. Chest to chest, chest to back, legs entwined, cheeks rubbing, lips smoushing, tongues jousting. I am overpowered by the loving erotica that drives that, motivates it, and puts it in place. All that kissing, whenever possible, is one of the big benefits of missionary position. Lulu fucked me with enthusiasm, and with what seemed for a while like endless energy. Then she gave in, and snored sniffled and snorted her way to dawn as I lay beside her, holding her cock in my left fist, falling in love and desperately trying not to fall in love at the same time. And that was only the first night. The next night (when I had condoms) at Rainbow Cabaret she comes over and sits with Bumblebee and I before the show begins. I feel ten miles high. Then the hanging judge came in… The concluding bit of bare bones. It ended badly, through no fault of Lulu’s. Absolutely no fault of Lulu’s. I managed to stuff up. Now as I contemplate, I can see at least I don’t have to worry about love and falling, about English and supported learning. But I do have to worry about shame folly regret. Genug. Enough. Next stop Pattaya.

A number of posters have warned about the dangers of this superstar idea. I also think the notion lacks a lot. Especially given that criteria for defining it are so ill-defined. Leaving it, as Larry says, as personal favourites. I give you an example. I will rate 3 LBs at a mark out of a possible 10, where 10 is bloody marvellous, as good as it gets, virtually. For contemporary relevance I will compare 3 LBs I have had sex with during the past week. The rating is made up of the following criteria: 1) how good the sex was; 2) what sort of a looker, what presence or charisma; 3) how nice to me (ie didn’t hassle me for tip, etc.) I will compare 3 LBs: The famous Ms May of the famous Famous Bar, soi VC, Pattaya (regarded by some on this thread as a superstar). The never heard-of Ms Mon, hostess at Nice Boys Night Club, soi VC, Pattaya. The ultra never heard-of Ms Lulu, of Rainbow Cabaret, 172 St, Phnom Penh, Cambodia. Here are my scores out of a possible 10: Ms May 6 Ms Mon 8 Ms Lulu 10 So much for superstars.

Try reading the thread, it's not that hard really. She freelances on 136 St among others.

Almost everything here in PP is more expensive than back home in Vietnam. But yesterday I found an item of parity. I needed a haircut, but had purposely not had one before I left on the trip. Because in the district where I live in the great metropolis, the only local haircutters are straight men or GGs. I figured being as I was embarking on some sex tourism I may as well take my chances in regard to haircut too. As you might expect Bumblebee knew where to go. Street 19 he told me, has a few barber shops staffed by femboys. Excellent, just what I was after. So yesterday I had time and energy to do it, whereupon Bb decided he would accompany me. In street 19, here's the place now: As you can see, even with my unskilled photography, some of the boys are decidedly attractive. The price for a haircut near my house in VN: 25,000 dong = 1.25 USD. Price in Best Haircut, street 19, Phnom Penh: 5,000 reil = 1.25 USD. The only disapointing thing was all the lads were on their best (or is that worst) behaviour. Not so much as a wink, much less any flirting, gentle brush of the arm, rub of the chest. Uncle sat at the back smiling sternly, taking the money, giving orders, and all the boys conformed to quiet professionalism of the haircutting kind. Damn & blast!

Sitting in 136 street watching the world go by. Looking out the front door of my hotel, opposite is a backpacker guesthouse called Nordic House. It has a pleasant eatery that does good cheap Western breakfasts. Then from within Nordic, looking back at the Golden House, a standard southeast Asian mini hotel style. The stairs beside an underground carpark mark the new trend in hotel design in this part of the world. You see lots of new hotels in Vietnam with this format now. Further down the street I sit at a site becoming famous in a little way, because of members of our forum: Isana Mart. The world goes by.

And then it happened. Bumblebee is doing a thread called A Night at the Rainbow Cabaret, which needs to be prerequisite reading – and its images absorbed - as background for this bit. I have been there with him Thursday and Friday evenings (I write this on Saturday morning). I’m told we’re going again tonight too. I don’t regret one moment of what has taken place thus far in this short hollie day trip to PP. The whole Lily Lisa triumvirate explorative adventure has been so well worth it. Lily the physically big but politely diminutive one. Lisa the big lummox, well meaning but galumphing about like a jabberwock in a crystal collection. She seems to attract and dispense filth with a frenzied zeal, accumulating black shit beneath her fingernails, creating snowmounds of wrinkled stained tissues and paper towelettes, knocking over drinks, standing on your foot, creating a Hansel & Gretel trail of grubby footprints across the hotel room tiles, leaving used towels and half used soap all over the room. O sorry sorry. It’s OK Lisa, it’s OK. All good fun from a pretty decent pair of kids (Lily aged 22, Lisa 21). However, said adventure has left me exhausted and showing my age. In Bumblebee’s Boot Camp, where we do our daily forced marches of ferocious speed walking up and down the uneven footpaths of city blocks, he turns his head wondering where I am, why aren’t I keeping up. Last evening at the Rainbow Cab while amateur hour was raging in front of us I almost fell asleep. I hasten to add by way of digression: Bumblebee has been a fantastic companion in all of this. He has not only been tutoring a poor quality pupil in the nuances of photography, but he has been a fount of info about the city as well, the bars and the hangouts, the LBs, most of whom he knows by name. But as I said in opening: then it happened. My attention was grabbed and any danger of falling asleep dispelled by one of the performers. I found this particular LB at that distance and in full theatrical garb, vastly attractive. If you go to Bb’s thread, look at his most recent post (#13) and scroll down the pix, counting as you go, then pause over images 8 and 9. (For example) As the show ends and many of the stars bolt, four or five hang about outside talking laughing deciding as if a happening is to follow. Bb and I hotfoot it out to join them. Where you go now, I ask in my best PP Barglish. Bb tells me he knows where they go to eat after the shows. As if imitating Major --- de Coverley, one LB answers me: go eat. I go with you, we go with you, I assert. Where, one asks in reply. I follow you, I keep saying, as my image number 8 & 9 joins our group. I find an excuse to ease my way through the throng to confront her, then proceed to tell her she is beautiful. Thank you. Thank you. All the while street workers bellow in our ears tuk tuk sir, motorbike sir, a RC staffer thanks us for coming, two of the LBs mount motorbikes and take off. What your name, I ask LB number 8 & 9. Lulu. Where you go Lulu? I go with you. O shit, it happened alright. Skip to my Lulu. Can this be for real? Her companion from the stage review stands beside her and Bb takes proper pix while I snap off a couple of beginner ones. Lulu and friend. Then Lulu alone.

Moaner Lisa, Moaner Lisa Men have named you; You’re so like the mystic lady with the smile; Do you smile to tempt a lover Moaner Lisa Or is this your way to hide a giant hard? Are you real, are you warm, Moaner Lisa Or just a cold & lonely lovely work of art? Judge for yourself Dear Reader: Lisa on her working beat, standing outside Sizzlers Bar on this occasion. (Excuse the poor pic of a learner.) Lisa pensively entertaining me at Isana Mart. I get a call from Bumblebee informing me he is about to eat a late lunch at a joint on the corner of 19 and 172 streets, called, I think, Leafage. I announce this. We go we three. The walk takes perhaps 10 minutes. I am pleasantly surprised to see them say hello and more to about 10 guys we encounter on foot and in tuk tuks. Customer, I ask each time. He come bar me, Lily replies enigmatically each time about hers. Lisa doesn't deign to answer in regard to her caterwauling. Who friend I, asks Lisa. (ie my friend that we're going to meet at Leafage.) I tell her. I know (him), she slyly informs us. We ensconce and they order expensive drinks. Sure enough, as Mr B. Bee comes striding down the road at the speed of a moving locomotive, she shrieks with glee, and as he finds a seat at our table she is all over him like a rash. Friend me, friend me. Ah, the sheer joy of it all. Then, while all this Lisa fascination is going on, let’s not forget Lily of the Fields.

It was a slip of the key punching fingers Sam. Bumblebee & I have been gossiping so much about various nicks and real names that that one just got typed in there sans thought. I doubt willie will be offended, and if you're cross, I'll sorry and boo hoo.

Well in Phnom Penh you'd die for a LB to approach you in a bar or anywhere else. When you're searching for hen's teeth any approach is welcome, whether that be from some feathered thing scratching around in the dirt or up a pole cockadoodledooing. (Mike Tyson with tits comes to mind immediately as some smart arse's rejoinder to that last comment, but I have to cope with that I guess - better than sticks & stones anyhow.)

Well I'll be damned travis, Lisa told me that was her name in Khmer! ...just joking :rolleyes:

Thanks jimmy. Yes, as I said in the post, they certainly are swimmer's shoulders alright. Lodgings are OK. Staff are excellent, as is security. Bed comfy. Shower and conveniences modern & clean. Wifi in room problem free. Front desk manager is superbly helpful young mother with top English and brains. One small problem is paying 30 USD/night, for I have stayed in many a place exactly the same for 20 or so. Never mind, it is location location. And, importantly, LB friendly.

Poor Bumblebee had an early start teaching, so needed an equally early night. I bade him farewell and went to collect Her Bigness from Ben’s. There we are walking back to the hotel. And what should befall us but another big loud talking gorgeous LB all full of limp wrist greetings and guttural guffaws. Earlier, at Isaana, while quietly drinking a few beers waiting for Bb to finish his evening class, I had seen this large good looking heffalump, thrashing about, walking up and down, clowning around with the GGs and the tuk tuk drivers. So full of life was she I had no chance of catching her eye or her anything else. Now, several hours later, here she is standing before me, being introduced by Lily. Hello, was the first thing she said in English. (They had been blabbering in Khmer.) The second thing she said in English was: threesome? I had found my Rosemary. Lily, Rosemary & the Jack of Hearts swan off down the drag. Then Lily took her dress off Bandied it away No longer has your luck run out, she laughed at him I guess ya musta known it would turn someday… [apologies to Mr Zimmermann] Yes, Dear FMs, from where I sit adjacent my bedsheets, it appears for the moment my luck is in. Hubris go away. My Rosemary’s name is Lisa, and she is gorgeous (subjective judgment). Better looking than Lily, 55 kg, with the most perfect chocolate coloured titlets and jet black nipples. Cleavage on show. Her pure black prick, about the same size as Lily’s, stands straighter and growing, glows redder. She street walks and freelances, mainly in 136 street. Surprisingly, like Lily, she is quite shy in the room and the bed. The following day is spent lounging around the room and being seen in expensive eateries (their choices). Here we are lunching in a joint on the Quay with shit food. Lots of nudge nudge wink wink from fellow patrons playing spot the ladyboy with their chums. Later I would ask Bumblebee: does it get any better?

A black cock with a glowing red glans revealed by a hood falling back as the thing erects reminds me of the way female baboon rumps swell up bright red when they are in heat. It is said these attract horny males as the babettes bend forward flashing their flushes like card sharks with winning hands. Well, I can assure you a bright red head gets my attention too, sets my lips and tongue moving just like those nethers do for randy male baboons. Lily’s dark dick with its striking head to match, got me going no end, or rather, right down to her red end. Another image. Southeast Asian family shrines often have globes painted red, sticking up out of dark sockets, so when the power is on they glow and flash, in imitation of flames atop a candle stick. Such are these dark Cambodian cocks, ushering me, daring me, divining me, commanding me, to fall at their front, worshipping and praying (or is that preying?) for and on whatever offerings are being made. Lily wouldn’t let me show you an image of her dick, but perhaps you get the picture. By way of a compromise let me show you a pic of Lily dressing next morning. This does 3 things; it gives an allowable image of her; shows her body proportions including those swimmer’s shoulders; and lets you see a Golden House hotel room. Then the main task of the day was to call and meet Bumblebee. This done we adjourned to an eatery via the speed walking tour he takes you on wherever he goes. I figured the exercise would either help me lose some of my ugly belly fat, or it would kill me. One or the other. The rest of the day will be spent at Isaana Mart on 136 where Bb, PDogg and others like to gather for drinkies and chat, and at an Indian eatery on the Quay. O, and to call by Ben’s to barfine the big gal again. There’s my Lily. If my rave about red qualifies me for the role of Jack of Hearts, all we need now for our play is a Rosemary. That would be my next task.

Thanks FanOfTS. I am in PP for a week in total. I leave next Monday 16th.

Down a sidestreet. It should be something of a law to be remembered: when in doubt, go down a sidestreet. A couple of blocks, mostly very local small businesses, eateries, sugar cane factory of some sort, a bar, the only one on the block. Question. Answer: have. They go inside, and return with a plumpish girl, and in the gloom I cannot be sure if they’re winding me up or she’s really a LB. I hae mee doots. (But later, 2 days later in fact, I’ll be shown to be wrong.) I walk on to the T junction. Opposite are a row of small bars, again a gaggle of girls gathered by their doors. This is 110 street. I approach a joint called BEN ’SBAR [sic]. Question: Answer (again): have. They usher me inside where I am invited to sit at bar table. A group of falang have GGs draped all over them, attending their every whim. Out from behind the bar comes my assignation. Tall and quite good looking. Name Lily. Biggish, 54 kg, with shoulders like a boy who’s played good teen sport. Polite, attentive, some English, enough to make out. PP Barglish. I drink 3 beers while some girls and foreigners play pool, laughing and shrieking. Lily has one girl drink at 3 bucks. Some kind of strong spirit with coke. I barfine her (10 USD) and we head up the road (110) to satiate my winelust. Out the front of a plush looking French place. Lily of the Fields asks politely: Can I eat? Of course my petal. I drink a chilled carafe. She gets more attractive by the sip. She gives me a couple of mouthfuls (ha!) of her delicious fish, fried in white wine. My mind wanders to delicious mouthfuls of another kind. No shrinking violet, she is a lovely girl nonetheless. We walk. In Ulysses Joyce managed to cram a large proportion of the tiny Dublin of his time. A vast wordmap at play. If anyone ever writes the great PP novel, it will be even easier to accommodate all the streets and the beats and the bars and the cars. Two short blocks and we’re home. Home being where the hard is. Was it really only this morning I left Saigon? Aircon shower soap her down towel her down and up, gentle kiss, short suck, TV on (her), lights dimmed (me), comfy clean stark white sheets that act as sharp ground for her big black body. Then to follow a night of you know what.

I really like Phnom Penh. Yes, it is small, has a kind of tourist village feel to it, such that you keep seeing or bumping into lots of folks you’ve already encountered. It is quite tiny too, able to be walked around in reasonable comfort. Coming from Saigon’s teeming millions, densely packed, like North Sea brislings in a seething tin, the place also seems calm to me, or calmer anyhow. The traffic is manageable and the pollution almost unnoticeable. So there’s my BBC doco introduction. Hunkered down in 136 street which all say is the centre of action, I look left, look right, walk a little, get my bearings. Having arrived on the bus late afternoon, priorities after a shower and little rest, are beer, food and action in that chronological order. First two are easily taken care of as I sit in a wicker armchair enjoying the breeze off the river, and telling the waitboy he has a beautiful pink shirt. But he’s only polite in reply. OK, try elsewhere. Walking again, but not far. Within 50m each way from the Golden House hotel, as the gloom turns into serious night time, the old fart pines again to be a honky tonk man. Ah, where are the glows of yesteryear? Gone the way of age. Never mind, this is holidays, and small lights attract me like a moth to flame. Beneath the lights girls now occupy stools and seats outside the doors of various bars that snuggle against each other, like wood swallows bedding down for the night, all along 136. Hello, hello, please come in. Where have I had heard that before? My perennial question, following polite greeting: any ladyboy here? No have. The equally invariant and slightly deflating reply. Sizzlers, 69, 136, Candy, the lot. No have, no have. I remain optimistic and trudge on. The night is but a pup.

Mnnnn-mmm here I cum...legs 11 with sweet dispos...Malted's milk...

randiuno, that is such a fine sentiment I would like to see it as some kind of mission statement for our type of man. Of course like any sensible ratbag I shut up if the only alternative is a mouthful of knuckle. But whenever I can get a gentle sensible logical point across I always try to. I personally think that's one thing a forum such as this can reinforce and support: open tolerant understanding. (Unlike some other forums which shall remain nameless.) RocketSquirrel I agree. It has crossed my mind more than once to begin a book on such a topic, collecting stories and tales. Difficult, but if achievable, the reward for effort would be worth it.

Wonderful post Uncle. I've not only been thinking about it all afternoon since I read it, but it's an issue I've been thinking about for some years now. As an old fart, and like you, a bit cheesed by the flippancy of many young things who merely want a new iphone or handbag - for their mother, I ponder the oldies. I don't have any interesting rejoinder, much less profound. But that doesn't mean I aint giving it thought. Many times I have asked subtly here in VN: where do all the ageing LBs go? This question has to be asked circumspectly, for all my social scene - with the exception of my FM mate bubba of Jomtien fame - are dead straight beings, bigots and homophobes even. Those FMs who ploughed into my VN LBs thread will have read about my first ever Asian LB encounter back in 1994 when we had a 4-some, 3 LBs and I. I often pause to reflect: where are those 3 now, as after all these years they approach 40 years old? I would love to know. I would like to meet some, talk to them, get their stories, their life plans, hoping they're not all just looking - as you say - to be washups back in the village.