The unmistakeable sounds of high heels raced my mind as I dressed for a big night out with a group of people I had met that day. The shoes counted to four twice more, then paused and turned about on the sidewalk below my hotel window.

Waling up to the cab I was confronted by the wearer of the shoes, she was very glamorous but discernible as a male.

“Come to my room, I suck you dry, I give you good time etc’ was her spiel, directed at my amused face with animated and over-painted lips.

“Not tonight Darl”, I said to her and continued walking, but she stayed with me replaying her special offers.

The thoughts that revolved in my mind were very interesting, I’d be quite happy to let a woman like her suck my cock, so why not her? Why are transvestites the epitome of profanity? Because they go to the heart of the contradictions in our sexual selves, displaying like peacocks from beyond the taboos. She certainly was sexy in her separate sense.

The night was a boor. The woman I longed for liked one of the German doctors and I felt very much left out. We danced and drank until late and then I left them feeling disappointed and rejected.

“About 2:30 am I arrived back at the New China. The rickshaw driver was hassling about money, I’d given all I’d promised so I turned my back on him and began banging on the steel concertina grille that kept me out; having learnt that was the way to rouse the night-watch. A dead body lay half in the gutter on the far side of the road and I just wanted to get to my room and sleep.

After a cold shower I stood dripping at the window above the street, the bitumen was black and mostly in shadow. A couple of weak globes held up cones of insect-filled light. The dead man lay there all alone on his shadow like a hot-dog on a bun.

Then again I heard the speaking sound of shoe’s on asphalt. The stride I’d heard so many instants gone on past. The sister-brother, the cock-sucking medium, the person who went to kneel and pray for the insoluble man.