Blaise O'Glory - How An Iranian Transgender Chorus Girl Spied On Official Washington

Blaise O'Glory, aka Ahmed Razavi, top Iranian spy posing as one of Las Vegas' best-known strippers, line dancers, and chorus girls, managed to catch the eye of a senior State Department official known for his interest in sequins and tinsel, especially when worn by cross-dressing transvestites.  The official, who must remain nameless, had always been particularly attracted to Persian belly-dancers.  He had spent much time in Tehran and Isfahan as a young diplomat before the 1979 Revolution, never forgot those idyllic days, and wished they would return. 

 

Then Blaise O'Glory came into his life, not tarted up and pimped out for the Vegas runway, but modestly dressed in Armani and Chanel, a secret agent of the Iranian Revolutionary Guard on mission to penetrate the inner reaches of the US security and intelligence apparatus. 

It was a bold move and took years of planning - the transgender alter ego, a place in the chorus line of Bellagio, casual encounters with Mr. X, his eventual mark, and a subtle elision from Nevada to Constitution Avenue. 

Razavi was a 'sexual transfer' as transgenders are called in Iran - a special, unique, very small breed of individuals given recognition and a surprising free pass by the mullahs.  Islam, they said amongst themselves, was  religion of tolerance and accommodation, and while abhorring the excesses of the West with regards sexual anomalies, nevertheless accepted Allah's will and divine wisdom when it came to his creation.

 

Razavi was a devout Muslim and one as loudly outspoken about the need to eliminate the Zionist state and its patron, the United States, and convinced officials that he alone, given America's feverish endorsement of sexual deviance, could make his way into the corridors of power.  The Iranian secret service had already identified liberal members of Congress who were convinced conciliators, friends of Iran, and peacemakers, and deeper intelligence revealed certain sexual interests that could be used to enter the inner sanctum of American foreign affairs. 

So, it was serendipitous and very, very fortunate that the paths of Razavi and the VAJA (formerly Sevak, the Shah's secret police) high command crossed. Razavi, already an American citizen, could indeed infiltrate the ranks of the State Department thanks to its endemic moral corruption.  Mr. X, the target of this well-planned, high unusual subterfuge, was also known to the Iranian regime because of his earlier dalliances in the country's pre-revolutionary days, all recorded by the Shah's men and later the property of the new regime. 

 

Of course, for all the Islamic fervor of mullahs and their government operatives, many had had their own dalliances with the cross-dressing dervishes of Isfahan - an Islamic sect not entirely approved by the Shiite clerics of Tehran, but of titillating interest nonetheless - and it was there that Razavi had his first sexual encounters with men of revolutionary authority.  Sex with Razavi in high-class establishments of superior taste and class was sought after and prized; so when Razavi approached one of this former clandestine lovers in Tehran and proposed his espionage, he was warmly received. 

Now, Mr. X saw through the chic clothing of Blaise/Razavi and knew who he/she was, and immediately was taken by her, smitten actually as only the closeted gay man can know.  After many meetings, Blaise revealed herself, and in private audiences with Mr. X performed the most erotic dances and dramatic scenes imaginable; and it wasn't long before secrets of national interest were shared during pillow talk. 

The information shared by Mr. X was transmitted via secret channels to VAJA, the mullahs, and the Ayatollah himself who decided to 'confirm, convey, consolidate, and act' on the intelligence provided.  The nuclear facilities at Fordo were alerted, fissionable materials shifted to other locations, and the staff  prepared for evasive action.

 

Razavi of course never kept a dime of the emoluments provided by Mr. X, although he did buy himself some new clothes, made to order by Finkelstein & Sons of Las Vegas, bright frilly, showy things for his erotic seances with Mr. X; and a cute Armani ensemble for more public appearances. 

Despite the rather raunchy aspect of Razavi's life, he remained a devote Muslim, performed his five daily prayers unless compromised by his dalliances with Mr. X, and when in the privacy of his own apartment, cried out 'God Is Great, Allahu Akbar, Hamdi Ullah' in obedience to the Creator of the Universe. 

When the well had run dry and Razavi had drawn as much intelligence as he could from the unsuspecting Mr. X, he left Washington for Tehran and was welcomed as a conquering hero - quietly, of course, for it wouldn't do to have VAJA's successful espionage operations outed; and it was important to keep Mr. X as a possible return asset, given the growing restiveness of the American government concerning Iran's nuclear ambitions. 

Many in Iran's clerical ranks wondered at the sexual appeal of Razavi.  They of course knew of his earlier years in Isfahan, and not a few were attracted to the idea if not the reality of the likes of Razavi and his sexual dervishes; so it was not long that he became the lover of the holiest of holies and feathered his own nest quite nicely.  He was given a luxurious apartment, fully appointed and outfitted, a staff of servants, and a generous expense account. 

As far as Mr. X was concerned, he was never the wiser until the counter-espionage unit of the Department began to be suspicious about the Iranian regimes movements around military and nuclear installations and wondered if there was a mole in Washington.  Mr. X grew nervous, although he never suspected that he might be the source of the leaks, so confident was he of his adored Blaise; but as the circle tightened, he thought it best to take an innocuous leave of absence until the clouds of suspicion blew over. 

He was disappointed and unhappy at Blaise's disappearance, and searched for him in Las Vegas; but no one there knew anything, so disconsolate and concerned, he repaired to his cottage in Key West where his leave ran out, he submitted his resignation, and finally, once and for all, he came out of the closet and became the toast of the town. 

When Donald Trump blew up the nuclear reactors in Fordo, Mr. X cheered, and hoped that if his lover had indeed returned to Iran, that he was safe; but of course he was probably in bed with a mullah, he thought jealously.