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(A Tale of a Tale: I originally posted this story on SGT, but after Beachball whined and cried enough – it must have hit a bit too close to home – jinx deleted it. Someone appreciated it though and it showed up on Baht Stop about a year later. Which was nice since I’d already wiped it from my hard drive. Since then it’s been sitting on my computer, lost and forgotten. With all the boards slow right now and no poster acting more outlandish than usual, rather than my regular Sunday Funnies post I thought I would revive The Beach Lover Diaries – with a bit of editing, updating, and expanding – which was going to be the first in a series of diary entries . . . ya never know, more may be coming.)

Dear Diary,

Fuckstick! Ooops! Sorry Diary, I’m just so excited that Mum brought you home to me as a reward for my not bringing any of the men from the nursing home for a sleep-over for a whole week! (And let me tell you that was a temptation difficult to resist!)

I am so glad I have you now Diary. I so needed a new mate ever since that rotten bitch Sally, my last friend in the whole world, dumped me because we got in that big argument which really wasn’t fair and made me so mad I wanted to yell, “Fuckstick!” But I know it isn’t good to come across as a yobbo and a girl has to show class if she wants to be treated like a lady. Boy! Life can be so difficult!

Sally knows I am a beach lover, but she is mean and said the Outback isn’t the coast. I told her sand is sand, besides the way the ranch hands at the sheep farm that Dad used to work at look at me is just how I imagine those dreamy octogenarians in their tiny little g-string bathing suits would look at me when I shimmy past on the beach at Pattaya. (I’m not really sure where that is, I think somewhere over by Perth. But I do know it is filled with 400 lb. old fat white guys . . . can you believe a paradise like that really exists on this earth!) I crack a fat just thinking about it!

Of course that bitch Sally said I wasn’t fooling anyone and my skimpy two piece swimsuit wasn’t big enough to hide my little wee wee, but I told her my fans at the nursing home all agree that when I paint it black it looks just like a beauty mark. Only smaller. That bitch is just jealous about catching me with her grandpa. I mean it wasn’t like we were doing anything wrong, we were just playing that Blow The Man Up game he invented for me, which just goes to show what a nice man he is because he said the game was a special secret that only he and I knew about. Sally is just jealous and doesn’t deserve me for a friend!

Dad gets mad at me when I dress up to be pretty and tells me to quit acting like a little girl, and I yell at Dad, “I am a Princess! I am a Princess!” and then he just gets mad and runs away like all men who can not stand up to a strong woman, though I don’t think the others head for the toilet to throw up like he does.

So let me introduce myself to you Dear Diary, because we all know it really is all about me. Of course a girl (even if I’m not officially one quite yet) has got to have some secrets, so I can’t tell you everything about me right off the bat. But I will share with you the basics: I’m a twenty-something Asian boy (Fuckstick! I don’t want to be a boy!) living in Australia. And yes, Dear Diary, I know ‘twenty-something’ is vague but I haven’t decided on an exact age yet. I was going to use twenty-one, but haven’t had real good luck with that number. Every time I play strip blackjack with my friends at the nursing home, they all get 21 on every hand and I always lose. Did you know decks for old people only have 22 cards? Me neither! But they do and I always get the 7 and 8 and all my friends get one of the ten aces and a face card. Fuckstick! I hate being a loser even if Dad does say that is my fate in life.

I really love my senior citizen friends but sometimes they talk way above my head (even when I’m not busy kneeling in front of them). Crikey! I don’t want to sound like I’ve got kangaroos loose in the top paddock, but just what is mentally incontinent supposed to mean? Anyway, I’m a beach lover (as you may have already guessed!) And I love nature, despite what it did to me. My biggest wish in the whole wide world is to save enough money from my allowance so I can buy a really pretty dress, move to Pattaya, and get a job on stage at Sunee Plaza. (I’ve been practicing lip-synching Don’t Cry For Me Argentina for two years now, but every time I perform it for my friends at the nursing home they act like I am really crying and try to console me which I just don’t get because I always thought it was your shoulder you were suppose to offer to someone to cry on but I guess the older generation just hasn’t worked their way that far up yet).

I think I have a real good chance of landing a job in Thailand because I’ve been busy cracking onto one of the club owners in Pattaya. I can’t tell you which one because it is a big secret. But I have to wonder if it is Just Me, or does everyone hope they can get hired by a grumpy 400 lb bar owner? Fortunately no one has noticed because even though I often profess my love for him and so want to work at his bar, I act like I hate Pattaya. I know that’s a little white lie and I shouldn’t tell them but when I asked my Mum about it she just laughed and said, “Beachy, your entire life is a lie.”

I was a bit worried about the future and my big career plans when I heard he’d given his bar away, but figured if I can invent one career I can invent another, and as the saying goes there’s more than one whale in the sea. And from what I hear with all the whales floundering on Pattaya’s beaches the pickings should be pretty good for me. I just hope I don’t run across some mean old man like that Mr. Thompson from the nursing home who told me he didn’t want to play with me. Well, actually what he said was, “Sorry, small objects like that are a choking hazard.”

I would be all alone in the world (Except for You Diary!) but I have many mates on the internet. I found a whole bunch of message boards to make friends on. But some of those mean old men do not understand you only tease the ones you love and they ban me from playing with them. It really hurt when my #1 crush, GB, told me I couldn’t play with him anymore. I heard he is really old and really fat and I think he would discipline me with his iron fist every night so he sounds like he is just the perfect man for me. I’m learning to speak Thai so he will really, really like me! I’ve only learned one word so far, samoke – which means fun – and I know when GB and me finally meet it will be samoke, samoke, samoke all day long!.

But I have to be patient because money is tight since Dad lost his job at the ranch over something about the wrong end of a sheep. Mum and Dad had a terrible row over that and he said something about it being better than having to do it with a fat old cow. Then Mum started yelling about the sheep again and said, “Look how well that turned out last time,” while making funny looks at me with her eyes. Mum and dad sure argue a lot; you’d think they would get along better being siblings and all.

I am so mad I could scream!!!!!! Sometimes it seems like I am a ladyboy trapped in a little boy’s body (okay, so I am a ladyboy trapped in a little boy’s body, but my fabulousness transcends all!) This morning when I walked down to the store to buy Mum her breakfast pint, Mr. Davies who used to work with Dad at the sheep ranch pulled up next to me in his car and said, “Little boy? Oh little boy! You want a piece of candy?” and it just wasn’t fair because of course I wanted a piece of candy but Mr. Davies knows he is not supposed to call me a little boy because we’ve played the free candy game before and I told him I want to be called Lady Beach. Fuckstick! Fuckstick! Fuckstick!

I feel bad for Dad because now all he has to look forward to is his hobby collecting aluminum cans. Mum makes him sell his collection every time it gets big, and I know how much that hurts because Mr. Roberts from the nursing home gave me a collection of pictures he took of me (He is such a funny man! He had all sorts of cute costumes for me to wear but then kept getting it wrong and taking pictures before I got the next outfit on!) and when Dad saw them he took them away and sold them to some other collector. Or maybe to Mr. Roberts because I heard him talking to Mr. Roberts, something about an Abo and the mail and then Dad got lots of money and the icebox was filled with bottles of Carling Black Label. He even had enough money to buy Mum a new tooth. She looks so beautiful now with four of them in her mouth!

I told Dad about my plans to move to Pattaya and become a star of the stage and he just dismissed my dreams saying, “You will never be the man your mother was!” while grunting and groaning and telling me how a hard-on doesn’t count as personal growth which just goes to show you he lacks self-awareness – and I would know because I practice my self-awareness almost every night – so I told him, “Dad! Get off my back!”

Well Dear Diary I will have to stop for now because it is getting late and it is almost 8 pm so I have to go to bed because Dad will come to tuck me in soon and play that bouncing horsey game he likes so much. Next time I will tell you about my new school. Finally! No more home schooling! Mom had to really fight to get me into a real school, but I have to start in a class with younger kids because I ate so many lead paint chips when I was just a wee tot.

Oh! And Mum says I can open a lemonade stand again this year, so I will be a business lady again soon, too! Fuckstick! I am so excited! Mom’s belief in my entrepreneurial skills just proves it really has nothing to do with getting me out of the house so she can entertain her friends in private – which is just silly because those are the same friends Dad entertains in private when he has his boys night out – even though my lemonade stand last year wasn’t quite the success I’d hoped it would be. Okay, so I didn’t make any money, but it was my first business and how was I suppose to know when you offer to pull your pants down and show customers your wee wee with every glass of lemonade they buy that you need to collect the money up front? And that one nasty man who said I short-changed him was just being rude! Besides, Mr. Thomas from down the street, told me I had a real head for business. I think. Sometimes it’s so hard to understand those 90-year-olds when they don’t have their teeth in so it sounded more like something about a business giving head, but I know what he meant. And I could understand him perfectly when he told me I had real talent.

Ooops! Fuckstick! Here comes Dad doing his funny Jack Nicholson impression again, even though I saw The Shining and Jack wasn’t naked when he says, “Heeeere’s Johnny!” and – obviously it’s Johnny and not Johnson – but I’ll laugh again anyway otherwise Dad will make one of his rude comments like “Gee Beach, the last time I saw a dick that small was in a dumpster behind an abortion clinic!” So I gotta run.

Think good thoughts for me and thank you for being my only mate in the whole world!
Until next time –

XXX
OOO
Luv,
Beach Lover

(This is a work of fiction. All characters in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, persons, made up on line personas – living, dead, or brain-dead – is purely coincidental. No little Australian Asian ladyboys were harmed during the wrriting of this diary; although one did get its butt spanked when it peed on the carpet.)

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