Bitch he screamed, as Salina slammed the flimsy wooden door in his face.
You’re not even a real bloody woman - the panting white tourist shouted, as he began descending the flaking stairwell.
Bloody queer - he yelled.
Angrily, the plump, greying, middle-age man exited the moss-streaked concrete building and greeted the equatorial sun with a scowl.
As he walking out his white, short-sleeved shirt was already beginning to reveal damp patches under his corpulent arms, while his ‘tropical’ shorts visibly took the strain of his unaccustomed exercise.
Streets like a jungle He walked, half on grass and half on gravel, mumbling to himself as he exited the compound. Salina could hear his footsteps faltering as he mounted uneven surfaces, but couldn’t, thankfully, hear his cursing. At the junction of the condominium compound and the main road, he hailed a red and white cab, climbed into the rear and barked a destination at the driver. The white tourist remained, moodily, unsatisfied.
So call the policeIn marked contrast to her client, Salina was brown, slim, well toned, a little tall for a half-Malay, half-Thai woman, and had a slight bust. Salina’s medium length brown hair, once black, could have benefitted from some attention as it snaked across her shoulders, dry and a little brittle, producing fragile split-ends. Snug, faded, designer jeans, sporting rhinestones, hugged her slim legs and thighs, a tight fitting cotton blouse revealed what figure she had, open to the top of her, obviously, floral brassier and petite breasts.
Following the herd Salina’s high cheek bones gave her the vague look of a model, but her slightly wider nose detracted from that. The beauty of her face stood on the sidelines between masculine and feminine, a cut of the hair - this way or that, could determine which the onlooker saw, and Salina used this knowledge to her full advantage. She was bodily aware, and adept enough with clothes, hair and make-up to present what she needed others to see.
Down to Greece - on holidayRelaxing a little, she dropped her tense shoulders, breathed deeply and involuntarily shook the upper part of her body. Salina stood in her modestly tiled bathroom and began to massage the backs of her aching hands, pushing her fingers deeper into the skin, exorcising his touch. She tenderly fingered the pink scar on her neck, a present from a previously unsatisfied customer, now completely healed, one of the hazards of her trade.
Love in the nineties Urgently she used creams and unguents to mask even the very essence of the greasy man they had just touched. In temper, and remembering his feel, Salina wanted to rip the very skin off her palms. She wanted, desperately, to eject the memory of his contact on her skin.
Is paranoidSalina wanted to be rid of the experience of him, the smell of him, the ugly sight and sound of him. She wanted to expel the sense and the smell of his oily, slightly salty fat flesh, smelling of warm vinegar, cheap and stringently nasty aftershave mixed with the distinctive scent of prickly heat power.
On sunny beachesIf possible she would erase that evil leer of his, wipe it entirely from his perspiring, pock-marked face, his obscene, quirky smile that spoke only of his lust, his longing and nothing more - making an object of her, a commodity to be bought and used like so much Chow Kit pasar meat.
Take your chances - looking for She shuddered at the very memory of touching his hairy, flabby flesh, now projecting all the negativity from her previous clients onto this one demanding fool. She felt nauseous and gagged at the thought of him, the thought of all of them. She could see the long line of demanding, expectant, lusty men all bent on slating their lust with her.
Girls who are boys Salina felt intensely disappointed with herself, her predicament - this is not the life she had imagined, nor wanted, but then she remembered her financial situation and sighed. She was over committed - life wasn’t easy.
Who like boys to be girlsShe looked across at her table, there, next to the cigarette pack and cheap pink plastic lighter, lay the money he had left for her, spread in a very poignant fan, placing it there, carefully, rather than putting it in her hands, it was, as if, somehow it exonerated him from the transaction, distanced him from all his lewd innuendo - a placation for his insults. But then he had ruined it by anger, when he didn’t get exactly what he wanted.
Who do boys like theyre girlsAs the scent of sandalwood wafted from her ceramic incense burner, Salina lit a calming menthol cigarette, slumped down into her green plastic armchair, and fingered a blackened cigarette burn on the right arm of the chair, another memory, another client.
Who do girls like they're boys A small frightened house gecko ran out from the chair, scampered up the magnolia wall then looked down at Salina, through bulbous eyes, quizzically.
Always should be someone you really love Puffing out her frustration with each exhalation, Salina absentmindedly lost herself in the stroking of Cavafy - her mottled ginger cat, he, at least, showed her the affection she so longed for, especially now that Mark had finally gone.
Girls who are boysShe and Mark had been together for four loving years. First in their rented bungalow in Kedah, and then, when life became too difficult in that provincial town, they moved back to Kuala Lumpur and bought this apartment. Finally Mark had to leave to find work outside of Malaysia, promising to return - six months ago.
Sometimes, Salina reflected, her occupation as a masseuse was horrendous. It stank. It was hateful. It was as dark as the liver spots on the men she touched for a living. As vile as the breath they tried to disguise with Listerine or minted chewing gum. She involuntarily shuddered at her thoughts.
Who like boys to be girlsWith the vaguest glimmer of a smile she recalled other times – better times when being a masseuse was a sheer joy. She recalled when she massaged the hardened muscles of a handsome young, fit man and smelled the delicious scent of his electric, vibrant body. The essence of his manliness pervaded her nostrils like a delicate perfume, the sweetest bouquet she would do anything to embrace, but restrained herself. Gladly she massaged his knotted tendons and muscles, accidently stroke thighs, kneaded wrists, smelled the scent at the nape of his neck, and near swooned.
Who do boys like they're girlsOver her career she would caress the cottons and flannels of many young men as they coyly discarded them, folding them neatly as an excuse to inhale their aromas, turn mock shyly away as they shed their final items and clothed themselves in the towels she kept for the purpose. And, when she was done, when the last drop of massage oil had been caressed into their skins, after they had changed, left, she would stand and gladly smell the essence upon her, and wistfully dream.
Who do girls like theyre boys The flipside was when she was forced to go on autopilot, and, somehow, just get through the dragging hour without throwing up. It wasn’t easy. Sometimes the course detritus of male society trudged through her apartment, lugging their swollen, misshapen, frequently unclean bodies with them. Many were not there for the promised massage, they asked for extras, and sometimes, depending upon the man, his smile, his eyes, she gave extras, but it was at her discretion and very much depended upon her current mood. This is what had riled her last client – Salina had refused him, she hadn’t the stomach for it today – the anniversary of her marriage.
It was her body. She had the right to give, or not to give it to another. No price was high enough, if she didn’t feel she wanted to give.
Always should be someone you really love You’re not even a real bloody woman - those words haunted Salina, stuck in her heart like Macbeth’s knife, she could sense the imaginary blood ooze out of her, bringing apathetic weakness. Salina’s head sagged a little in the lounger.
Avoiding all workShe knew what she was; she didn’t need any reminders from the likes of that white tourist.
Cos theres none available Never once, since her divorce, did she hide what she was. In fact, ever since her marriage had broken up she had been determined to live her life honestly and openly, even if that meant derision from others, their sneers and scorn - often directly to her face. The small children, who, until this very day, still rapped upon her door and ran away, goading her, wanting her to know that she was different. Salina all ready knew how different she was,Salina owed it to herself to be herself, regardless of what other people might say or think. But it was never easy.
Like battery thinkersWind them tight...tighter, you don’t want the other children seeing those do you.
Said Fakhrul’s mother pointing to the boy’s growing breasts.
Count your thoughts - on one two three four five fingersThe bandages were already so tight that Fakhrul could hardly breathe. He gave a little sob.
Nothing is wastedIt’s bad enough that you are cursed with them - you don’t have to display them too do you.
Only reproduced His mother couldn’t bring herself to say the word breasts, for fear that she might, unwittingly, condone these unsightly appendages growing on her son’s chest.
Why can’t you be like other boys, why do you have to have them? Aiyee Allah I am cursed.....
You get nasty blistersIt was a question Fakhrul couldn’t answer, he didn’t know. He wanted to be like the rest of the boys, but knew that he would always be different from them, half boy half girl.
I’ve given you a note to give to the teacher, excluding you from exercise.
Du bist sehr schenBut Ma I want to play please let me play.
But we havent been introduced.Not as long as you have those, no, I don’t want you to bring any more shame on this family.
Girls who are boysThose powerful words festered in the boy’s head, ached in his heart and buried into his memory. He needed to please his mother - his father had absented himself at the boy’s birth, never to return. Fakhrul needed to be the boy his mother wanted him to be, although his mother made his life hell for him. Even with his growing breasts and their enlarged nipples, which effectively separated him from the other boys, he still wanted to please his mother.
Who like boys to be girlsIt had begun at puberty. First one, then the second breast started to enlarge beyond that which was normal for a pubescent boy. The clinic doctor said that the condition would disappear, in time. But it hadn’t. Fakhrul’s breasts developed on a par with the girls of his age. One doctor called the condition mild Klinefelter syndrome – something to do with ‘x’ and ‘y’ chromosomes and low testosterone, but neither the boy nor his mother could remember that. What they did understand was that the breast condition was irreversible without surgery, or hormone treatment. Fakhrul’s mother couldn’t afford the fees for either.
Who do boys like they're girls
Time slipped away. Fakhrul tried desperately to be a boy for his mother, and then, later, a young man. He wanted to be normal, act like the other boys, have girlfriends, fall in love, get married and produce grandchildren for his mother - so he tried.
Who do girls like they're boysFor years he buried his feelings under a weight of normalcy, strapped his emotions and longings under a harshly pulled belt of conformity, denying any urgings for his same sex and lying to his small, crushed, inner voice.
Always should be someone you really loveFakhrul’s heart was not in his marriage. He tried so very hard to be the husband his wife deserved, the father the children needed, but he knew that he was living the worse kind of lie as he was untrue to himself, and to his own growing feelings, untrue to the very feminine sensitivities of his soul.
Girls who are boys Depressed, Fakhrul walked an ever thinning line between the man he was supposed to be and the person he really wanted to be. As days drifted he fell into malaise, wrestling between his feelings and duty, his mind torn, tortured, skirting the outer circle of his private hell.
Who like boys to be girlsAs he matured, Fakhrul’s feelings of living a lie increased, the constraints of being something other than his true nature pulled him down mentally. The once innocently happy boy had evolved into a morose man, snappy, discontented with his lot. He began taking alcohol, easing the growing pain, frequently being drunk in the evening, lying almost comatose on the hall floor, unable to walk to the bedroom.
His wife despaired at the man Fakhrul had become, cursing her choices but still supportive of the man she wanted him to be. She knew, somewhere deep inside, that this situation could not last, Fakhrul was too unhappy, and growing more so daily - then came a day, at work, when Fakhrul met the American, Mark.
Who do boys like they're girlsMark’s brightly ginger, heavy hair was cut short to break the insistent waves of curls from cascading over his tanned, strong, benign face. His soft blue eyes sparkled intelligence, a neatly trimmed moustache revealed his fastidiousness.
Who do girls like they're boys He chose to dress in a Thomas Pink Lewis stripe Winchester shirt, open at the neck and tailored at the waist, supported by a dark brown pair of Alexander McQueen black wool trousers, and matching accessories. Mark enjoyed wearing fine clothes. In his younger days Mark had been a tennis pro, and there was still the slender, athletic tone to his body. He kept in shape by frequenting a gym and running three, long, miles every morning before work - his health and looks being especially important to him.
Always should be someone you really loveHello, may I.
Streets like a jungleAt six foot one inch Mark was stooping a little to reach the controls on the copier. This is why he, accidentally on purpose, stumbled and touched Fakhrul.
So call the policeOh, sorry, how clumsy of me.
Following the herd My name’s Mark, I hadn’t noticed you here before, and I would have noticed you, if you were here.
Down to Greece - on holidayIt was, until then, an ordinary day for Fakhrul - text to re-write, sentences to be made sense of, paragraphs to re-arrange - he was sublimely unaware that it was the day which was to exponentially change his entire life.
Love in the ninetiesShyly, Fakhrul mumbled some inane comment in return.
Is paranoidDo you come here often, Mark uttered with as much irony as he could muster, giving the slightest of winks.
On sunny beachesFakhrul was already intoxicated with Mark’s delicate scent and that slight, electric touch on the back of his hand, at the photocopier, sent Fakhrul’s blood racing and his heart pounding hard enough to almost cause him to faint. Giddily Fakhrul looked up into Mark’s smiling eyes and immediately felt lost in their deep warm gaze.
Take your chances - looking for
Fakhrul smiled a pathetically weak smile – it was all he could manage as he struggled to control the emotions stirring within him, and to try to stop his body from melting in its entirety, over the copy-room floor.
Through a haze Fakhrul heard the words...
What time do you get off.
Girls who are boys It was as if the sun shone, the sky rendered blue and the trees the most brilliant green. Fakhrul finally opened his eyes to the possibilities within him and smiled the most genuine smile he had ever smiled.
Who like boys to be girlsFour, er four-thirty, whispered Fakhrul.
Who do boys like they're girlsThey met, and continued to meet throughout that week, and into the next. Then there was no time limit on their meeting, the minutes slipped into hours, the hours into days, days into weeks.
Who do girls like they're boysAs the sweet honey bee pollinates the expectantly waiting flower, bringing forth the delectable bud of fruit, so Mark’s enduring care enabled Fakhrul to become more than he had been, facilitated him to become the person he had always wanted to be - Salina. Fakhrul finally found the wonder of profound love in his heart.
Always should be someone you really loveIt was like breathing for the very first time - that feeling of being oneself. It was impossible for Fakhrul to deny the satisfaction which he gleaned from the freedom of Salina.
Girls who are boysAnd with the intense pleasure came the pain, guilt of his inner revelation.
Fakhrul struggled with his feelings for his wife and children, balanced against the new awakening inside of him. He had never been so torn in his entire life, knowing that finding a resolution would be a struggle. But Salina, this growing new persona was difficult to ignore, if, indeed, he had wanted to ignore her.
Who like boys to be girlsAll throughout this transformation Mark was there, giving comfort, supporting Fakhrul in whatever decisions he was making. It seemed as though Mark was without any personal agenda, just being a true caring friend.
Who do boys like they're girls In time Fakhrul left his job sub-editing at the newspaper, left his former life, his so-called friends and retrained as a masseuse. As Salina, she moved out from her previous home, leaving wife and children amidst much tears and heartache, and moved to Kedah with Mark to begin life afresh.
Who do girls like they're boys Fakhrul knew there was no turning back, only moving forward into the new life as Salina. She grew her hair longer, bought a petite brassiere for the very first time and adjusted life to awakening the feminine within.
Always should be someone you really love The transition period, from Fakhrul to Salina, was not without its difficulties – like learning to walk all over again, in high heels. But with each obstacle came the sublime relief of conquest and the intensely gratifying feeling of Salina’s progression.
Girls who are boys Salina had opened herself to new possibilities, new potentialities which had come flooding in. Mark was at her side during those four, vital, transition years, to facilitate her change, supporting the woman Salina was to become. Then, suddenly, he was there no longer.
Who like boys to be girlsThe armchair creaked. Cavafy leapt from his comfy position on Salina’s lap, hastening to the French-window doorway. A slight breeze tinkled the hanging aluminium chimes. A small yellow bird, with a black mask, took flight from the worn concrete balcony.
Who do boys like they're girlsSalina could hear footsteps mounting the stairway, pausing at the second floor - a knock on the door.
Who do girls like they're boysSalina straightened her clothing and walked unhurriedly to the door, steadying herself for a confrontation, believing her last client to have returned. Cautiously she drew back the rusting bolt, clicked the door catch and slowly opened the door to the extent allowed by the protective metal chain.
Always should be someone you really loveHi honey, I’m home.
Mark gave a huge, toothy, ironic smile from beneath his immaculately crafted ginger moustache.
Salina turned the MP3 player off.
text in italics is the song Girls and Boys by Blur and is copyrighted to them
The tiny, yet historic, Perak town of Gopeng, is easily bypassed. Travellers speed down the highway, stopping, briefly, at tolls, then race onwards to the North. Other travellers, not so concerned with haste, drive cautiously through the main Gopeng thoroughfare, unaware of streets and avenues spreading inward towards the forest and back in time to its own heritage.
