Bangkok The lady of the night sauntered through the blistering day, her mammoth cleavage sparkling with golden glitter and glinting artfully and quite artificially in the harsh midday sun. She bounced slowly past the beer sodden balcony, on which Paul and Andrew had just found some respite from that fireball overhead, her stilettoes singing sharply on the concrete as her denim shorts rode higher with each stride. Paul thought she looked marvellous. She had poise. Class. Had he been born female he had no doubt he would have gone for a similar look. The tart with no heart! Common yet uncommon. In fact there had been occasions he’d worn such attire – but he chose not to think about them, for now he was in traveller mode. Butch and adventurous. There was no way he’d be slipping into a pair of high heels anytime soon, unless, of course, some high heel paid him an awful lot of money! Anyone could take six inches for the right price! A small old woman with just a few teeth approached them. She offered Paul a green orange, obviously with some payment in mind. Paul felt a pang of condescending sympathy as he looked at her threadbare, once pink blouse and worn knees and so offered up what change he had. He then watched in amazed amusement as the peddlar peeled the fruit very slowly and then ate it piece by piece herself […]
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