Transformation Blog | Advice & Resources for Trans People

Feb 201608

Stephanie - A Girl In A Million - Chapter 9

---cdata-eal-admin--- stephanie's story, transformation

Chapter 9 Transformation is Born Following all the publicity, I had received several letters from complete strangers. One of these came form a transsexual called Caroline who lived in Chester. Caroline told me she was a qualified accountant, and offered to use her knowledge and expertise to help me with my financial affairs. By this time I was in debt up to my ears and being threatened with bankruptcy demands on all sides. The only reason it didn't happen was because it would have cost my creditors at least £700 to issue a writ, and as they knew it would be impossible to recoup even this small amount the whole exercise would have been like flogging a dead horse. It was to be several years before I was in a position to pay them all off. By now things were just about as bad as they could get. Apart from the fact that I had a roof over my head and Bob and Sheba for company, my only real consolation was the feeling that things surely couldn't get any worse. As so often it was not long before I was to be wrong. I opened my mail one morning to find this letter from the Elders of the Jehovah's Witness Sect: Dear Keith, As indicated in reports and on television, the Elders believe that you have gone astray in a moral sense and displayed conduct contrary to good Christian behaviour. As you were baptised originally into the Christian congregation as Keith Hull, a male, you are, therefore, unacceptable to God as female. You are hereby summoned to appear before a judicial committee of Elders to examine your behaviour and determine whether you have contravened the Jehovah's Law. Deuteronomy Chapter 22, Verse 5. Although I had not been active in the religion of my parents for so long, I was, of course, aware of the very real consequences of being excommunicated ('disfellowshipped as they call it), Being excommunicated wasn't the problem; what worried me far more was the effect it would have on my parents as from the moment I was banished from the faith I would, to all intents and purposes, be considered 'dead' by every Jehovah's Witness, and if that were to happen, I knew that because my parents' devotion to the faith was absolute, any faint hope I might have of effecting a reconciliation in the future would be gone forever. Reluctantly, I concluded I had no choice but to attend. I obtained statements from every doctor and specialist I had seen, some of whom were even prepared to attend personally and swear that mine was a true medical condition and therefore, had been treated in the only way known to the medical science. On that basis, the biblical verse in question (which forbids the wearing of male and female clothing by members of the opposite sex) simply was not relevant. Immediately before the hearing I was informed that I could only take one companion into the hearing with me - and that person should be neither a doctor nor a legal representative. I was stumped. Clearly, the Elders of the faith saw only one way to deal with the bad publicity that they felt I had brought to their religion: dispose of me, and the publicity would disappear too. So on the appointed day I found myself seated alone before what can only be described as a kangaroo court of four grimfaced, self-appointed male 'judges'. What happened next can best be summed up by quoting the letter I subsequently sent to the committee: "Although informed on several occasions of my current medical condition which calls for the complete avoidance of stress and emotional upset, you have shown a total lack of empathy and have, by your actions, induced such conditions, thereby adversely affecting my health. I was amazed at your statement that 'as my problems are a result of my own actions I do not deserve any help'. Surely this is akin to refusing to give medical assistance to a child when it falls from a tree on the grounds that it should not have climbed it. I just cannot imagine that Jesus Christ would take such an attitude. The charge that was formally read to me was that I 'had gone astray in a moral sense and displayed conduct contrary to good Christian behaviour', and yet you have been completely unable to provide a sound Biblical basis for such a judgement, rather, basing your argument on the fact that as I was baptised whilst legally male, I am unacceptable to God as a female. From my own knowledge, both of the Bible's teachings and Society's, I am convinced that the way my case has been handled was fundamentally wrong and, therefore, is worthy of further investigation. Your religion teaches that Elders should show love, consideration and a desire to help the sick and needy back to full health, whether spiritually or physically. Yet your attitude towards me has been one of trying to dispose of a 'problem' as quickly and as quietly as possible. I believe it is obvious that I was tried and sentenced before the hearing actually took place." The actual letter I wrote was, of course, far longer than that, and showed all the emotional anxiety and frustration that their callous attitude caused me to feel. I was more than disappointed - I was devastated. To appeal would be futile. I just had to find a way of accepting my excommunication. Far worse than that, however, would be having to come to terms with the fact that as far as all Jehovah's Witnesses including my parents, were concerned, I was now officially dead. This final blow of permanently being estranged from my mum was almost too much to bear. Part of me simply felt like going to bed and wallowing in self-pity, but from the very beginning of my unemployed period I had been aware that the biggest danger was that I might grow lazy and undisciplined, finding that the less I had to do the less I would want to do. In order to combat this I imposed a very strict regimen upon myself, making sure that I got up early, took Sheba for her morning and afternoon walks, cleaned the house religiously and shopped whenever I needed to. The only people I saw or spoke to were Betty, Sandra, Richard Holman and Bob, who would pop over for a few hours every afternoon. Although I had found a measure of inner peace and contentment, I was becoming more wary and insular, preferring to avoid all but the tried and tested few. Far better, I reasoned, not to get involved with strangers, who only seemed to want to indulge their prurient curiosity about me. However, when two gay lads, John and Martin, moved into the house next door in West Houghton and appeared not to have any idea who I was, or show any curiosity about my strange lifestyle, I soon found I could relax in their company and warm to their friendly, easy-going ways. As I subsequently discovered gay men make the best male friends any woman can have. I stepped up my efforts to find a job, applying for every single marketing and sales director position advertised. My c.v. was a problem in that as all my experience had been achieved as Keith Michael Hull. Should I write a covering letter explaining why I was now calling myself Stephanie Anne Lloyd? Or should I simply substitute Stephanie's name for Keith's and let the recipients assume that I'd held my previous positions as a woman? I opted for the latter course, on the basis that explanation would only prove necessary immediately before any interviews I might be offered. Shortly afterwards, a job agency contacted me and asked me in for an interview. Although at £17,000 the salary was far less than half of what I was either used to or worth, in my present position it seemed like a fortune. The job was as a marketing controller for the Co-op and, despite the fact that I made no secret of my background, the interviewer thought my credentials were perfect. 'As the position's been vacant for around six months,' said the interviewer, 'I imagine they'll want to see you as soon as possible. Why don't I telephone them right now to fix an appointment?' 'That's fine by me,' I replied. 'But I'd prefer you to make my identity and ircumstances known to them before am interview.' He picked up the phone. From the way the conversation went, it soon became obvious that the Co-op were more than interested in me. That is until the interviewer added: 'There's just one thing. The applicant is with me now and she's insisted that before any interviews are arranged I should inform you that she has recently been the subject of a great deal of publicity. Her name is Stephanie Anne Lloyd.' I watched the expression on the interviewer's face turn from a smile to a frown. My heart sank. 'I see,' he commented before putting the receiver down. Hardly able to look me in the eye, he quietly said: 'I'm terribly sorry, but they simply don't want a transsexual.' As the Cooperative is renown as an ethical company who probably would be more likely to employ me, it rather sounded the death knell on any future as an employee of any company. I went home alone to face the stark reality of my situation: despite my excellent track record, I wasn't just unemployed - I was unemployable. For several hours I was miserable. Then my fighting spirit returned - from that moment on, I resolved I would never again work for anyone but myself. All I had to do now was find something that I could set up on my own. John, Martin and Bob were unfailingly kind and did their utmost to keep my spirits up while I thought hard about my professional future an my financial problems. I received an invitation form the BBC to take part in the Midweek programme presented by Libby Purves. This would entail spending a night in London with all expenses paid courtesy of the BBC. I had nothing to lose, and nothing else in my diary, so I decided to go along. When I arrived at the hotel I was amazed to discover that I had been allocated an entire suite. This was luxury indeed! After indulging in a long, hot bath I dressed for dinner and went upstairs to the restaurant, arming myself with a book which I hoped would deter any unwanted advances. By now, I was beginning to be aware of the dangers inherent in being a woman on your own. Men seem to view single women in hotels as easy pickings. I was seated close to a table where two men were involved in what seemed to be a business discussion. To my surprise, as I finished my main course the waiter came over and relayed an invitation to join them in a glass of champagne. My first instinct was to say no, but a little voice in my head said: 'This is probably the last opportunity you'll have to drink champagne in the years to come. What harm can it do?' So I accepted their invitation. Shortly afterwards, on of the men excused himself while I continued my discussion with his friend. It soon became apparent that my companion was nothing less than an Middle Eastern multimillionaire who seemed to have business interests in just about every field of commerce that existed. Much of his wealth, he informed me, had been inherited, but he had contributed greatly to his riches by his own business acumen. The conversation turned to me and, reluctant to reveal too much about myself, I talked a little about my background without going into any great detail. As the evening wore on, the restaurant slowly emptied until finally there were just the two of us left behind. Omar (yes, that really was his name!) asked me what kind of music I liked best. Then he wandered over to the grand piano and, just like a scene in a romantic movie, began to play . His champagne, his charm and his exceedingly good looks were beginning to work their magic and I sat gazing at him with a mixture of pleasure, embarrassment and concern. 'I'd like to see more of you. You're not like any other woman I've ever known,' he said when he returned to the table. Half of me was thrilled to pieces, the other half appalled - and the irony of his last statement was not lost on me either! I only knew one way to handle this delicate, uncomfortable moment, and that was to tell Omar the truth about myself, just as I had done with Bob. 'I'm going to tell you something about myself,' I began. 'And when I've finished, I just want to say goodnight and leave. But first, let me thank you for a very enjoyable evening, for your hospitality, your kindness, and for the immense pleasure you have given me tonight.' Then I told him. And when I'd finished, I gathered up my book and my handbag and rushed straight to my room. My last backward glance registered his handsome face composed in an expression of total shock as he sat there staring after me, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Tears were welling in my eyes as I sped upstairs and into my room where I lay on my bed weeping my heart out in the certain knowledge that this was a scenario I would surely have to face over and over again in my life. And yet I could not, would not deceive anyone. How long I lay there I don't know, but my weeping was ultimately interrupted by a knock on the door. Miserably I rose from my bed, not even bothering to clean my mascara-stained cheeks or straighten my rumpled clothes. What did it matter how I looked? I opened my door and stared in amazement, for standing in front of me was Omar with a tray, two glasses and a magnum of champagne in an ice bucket. 'I've thought about it...and it doesn't make any difference,' was all he said in that husky, accented voice that was so sexy it reduced my knees to jelly. I cried again, but this time it was for an entirely different reason. Then we were lying on the couch together and my tears were forgotten as he began kissing an caressing me. When he had made love to me he carried me to the bed where we made love again - more slowly, tenderly and more satisfying than I had ever known. He stayed with me all night as we exchanged intimate confidences about ourselves and our lives. He wanted me to have breakfast with him, but my interview was scheduled so early that it was impossible. 'Then meet me for lunch,' he said imperiously. Had I just gone from virgin to slut, now I had slept with two different men? The live interview went well, though I thought it rather odd that I should be sharing the slot with a vicar and an escapologist who performed what I believe to be the only escape live on radio (which was all the more strange as there were only five of us present in the studio to witness such a feat!). The moment the interview was over I rushed straight back to the hotel, left my baggage with the porter and called Omar on the house phone to let him know I had returned. 'Wait there,' was all he said. Within seconds he was bounding down the stairs and, to my utter stupefaction, hugging and kissing me in front of a hotel full of startled guests. I had feared that when the magic of the night and the champagne had worn off he might feel differently about me, but here he was, apparently just as keen. We ate lunch in a small Italian restaurant, holding hands and gazing lovingly at each other. When we had finished, Omar looked deeply into my eyes and said: 'Stephanie, will you marry me?' I was astounded that I couldn't think of anything rational or even appropriate to say. All I could think of was a number of reasons why marrying Omar would be the worst possible thing I could do. He was a Muslim; What would his parents say or do? It would be bad enough in their eyes for him to propose to someone he had known less than twenty-four hours, but how much worse would they feel knowing that I wasn't even legally a female? And what about the all the other implications? Somehow I managed to garble out all the objections and protestations that presented themselves to me, but Omar refused to take no for an answer. Finally, I said, 'Omar, I just can't make a decision of this magnitude at such short notice. You have to give me more time to think.' Reluctantly, he agreed. Then, brightening slightly, he asked the waiter to bring over a piece of string which he wound around my finger triumphantly before declaring: 'Wait here. I'll be gone just a few moments.' Then he disappeared out into the street. As I waited for Omar to return, I sipped my liqueur and gazed idly around me thinking, 'I don't believe this is happening to me.' My thoughts were in such a jumble that I'd lost the ability to think objectively or rationally. The only possible thing I could do was to play for time. I gave no thought to where Omar had gone, or for what reason but, true to his word, he was back within fifteen minutes saying: 'I know you've said you can't answer my question yet, but I would like you to do one thing for me.' Not wanting to commit myself to something I knew nothing about, I demurred, but the more I resisted the more he pressed. In the end, I caved in. Immediately he produced a small, square box form his jacket pocket and with a flourish presented me with the most extravagantly gorgeous ring I had ever seen. Twenty-five individual, sparkling diamonds winked at me as I gazed in awe at the beautiful sunburst-patterned ring. It must have cost an absolute fortune, and I was totally lost for words. Omar took my hand and placed the ring on my engagement finger. 'Please wear this ring - at least until you give me your decision.' I was so taken aback that I couldn't think of one single valid reason for either refusing or accepting, so I said nothing. 'Now,' he continued, 'you've said we do not know each other well enough. What I would like to suggest is that we go away for a few days together.' Without waiting for a reply (though, frankly, I was incapable of any coherent thought at all), Omar outlined his plan. We would fly to Geneva where he had some business to attend to, and then we would go anywhere in the world that I wanted to for a few days' relaxation, during which time we would get to know each other better. 'Omar!' I protested. 'That's impossible! I can't just disappear like that. I have a dog to take care of. I don't have my passport with me. I don't even have any suitable clothes with me!' Like a man who considered such concerns a mere inconvenience, Omar brushed my protestations aside. 'You can call someone who will look after your dog. We can buy whatever clothes you are in need of. And we can fly to Manchester to your home to collect your passport.' Omar's offer was sorely tempting after so many months of deprivation and loneliness, but somehow I knew that, if I accepted, I might well come to feel so obligated that things could get out of hand. Besides, while I was in his company I was patently unable to make rational decisions and in all probability would just be swept along by Omar's whims. So with a supreme effort I summoned up the determination I didn't really feel, I said no and insisted on returning home immediately. Despite being immensely disappointed, Omar insisted on taking me in his chauffeur-driven limousine to Heathrow and, after calling ahead for John to meet me at Manchester airport, saw me safely on to my plane. Throughout the short flight I was in a state of profound shock. I just couldn't believe what had happened to me! It must be every young woman's dream to be swept off her feet by a dark, handsome, rich stranger - but that it should happen to me! If it wasn't for the enormous, expensive ring sparkling merrily on my finger, I would have been convinced the whole episode had been nothing more than a fantastic dream. When I told the tale to John he seemed just as stupefied as I, although he did tell me that I must be mad not to have gone. 'How absolutely typical of a man!' I thought. Within days calls started arriving for me at John & Martin's house from all over the world. Wherever Omar went he telephoned me, and on every occasion he repeated his proposal. But despite hours spent walking amongst the fields surrounding West Houghton. Discussing my dilemma with Sheba my closest friend, but incapable of replying I still couldn't reach a decision. My relationship with Bob had by this time settled into no more than platonic friendship. I'd been disillusioned and surprised when I had first discovered that he was married, but the hurt turned into outrage when he announced his objections to my spending so much time with John & Martin who were a committed gay couple so it wasn't even as if they wanted anything from me that Bob might have felt was his. We still continued to be friends and to see each other in the afternoon, but I didn't want to continue a sexual relationship with him anymore; and though I'm sure he wasn't happy about that, he knew me well enough by now to realise that "no" was non-negotiable. Besides, I wasn't particularly happy or impressed by the fact that, apart from our first date and the night when he'd seduced me, he never took me out. Like a lot of wealthy married men, Bob didn't like parting with his money or being seen in public and though it simply didn't occur to me to ask for financial help, the fact that it was never even offered spoke volumes. I had been providing free, easy daytime sex to someone who really didn't want anymore from our relationship. Bob's extreme meanness was finally brought home to me on my birthday, when he came over for his usual afternoon game of backgammon and presented me with a package. Delighted that he had remembered, I tore the wrapping off to find that Bob had bought me a large wallet of coloured felt-tip pens! Convinced that this must be a joke and that his real present was to follow, I laughed. When I realised that this was my present, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the insult. I needed a set of felt tip pens like I needed a guided missile or another penis - either would have been about as much use to me in my present dire situation! Perhaps if I'd stayed with Bob until Christmas I'd have got the colouring book as well! Still, it was my birthday, and John and Martin had very thoughtfully decided to make me out for a meal, so at least there was one bright event to look forward to. If only I'd known then just how memorable that birthday would prove to be! Before we left, two significant events occurred. The first was a whole vanload of flowers. The second was the arrival of a reporter from the Manchester Evening News. I had confided the details of my meeting with Omar to only about six trusted friends, and yet here was the Manchester Evening news begging for more details! Once again I had been betrayed by somebody whom I considered to be a trusted friend. Within days the national Sunday papers were on to the story and, as if to remind me of the fact that I would never be able to lead a normal life again, once more what seemed like the whole world was prying into my private life. In the event, there were two good things that came out of that particular blaze of publicity. The first was that it forced me to concentrate my mind on the subject of marriage to Omar. Where would we live? Would his family reject me? What about his friends? If everyone in Omar's world refused to accept our relationship, wouldn't that make him resent me in time? The conclusion was staring me in the face. I must turn Omar's proposal down. When I broke the news to him he pleaded with me to change my mind, offering me every possible reassurance that he could. But I was adamant. The second benefit was that it made me realise how genuine John & Martin's friendship was and I have consistently found that gay men make the best friends for women. (Sadly they both died of AIDS which is why I can now use their real names). Until the moment I hadn't really been sure that they knew who I really was, so when the publicity broke I had begun to avoid them in the mistaken belief that they might not want to be associated with me. But they refused to let me to do this, telling me in no uncertain terms: 'When will you get it through your head that we love you for who you are'. The absence of Omar's phone calls proved more painful than I had imagined, and many times I cried over what I thought could well have been my most disastrous mistake. With hindsight, I can see clearly now that my decision was right. Granted, I would have enjoyed incredible wealth and a fantastic lifestyle, but I doubt whether I would have found the same degree of happiness and contentment that I now have. The time had come for me to give immediate consideration to my future. I knew I had to do something on my own, but what? I knew it had to be some venture in which my past and my background would not prove to be a major liability. Unfortunately, this ruled out most of the things I could think of. And even if I did come up with a suitable venture, what would I use for capital? I considered setting up a marketing constancy business, but then the thought occurred to me that I might be boycotted by any reputable companies because of my notoriety. It was whilst I was running through every possibility that I began to wonder where people like myself who were tall, or larger than 'normal' size, bought their clothes. This led me to pondering the problem of where transvestites - or cross dressers or TVs, as they are often known - got their female clothes, which in turn led to wondering about how many transvestites there might be in Britain. Researching this subject was far from easy, because by the very nature of their predilection transvestites do all they can to conceal this fact about themselves. But by visiting the local library, and through John's efforts to obtain specialist TV magazines for me, I was able to reach the conclusion that here was a market which was vastly under-catered to. Moreover, of those who were providing the means for TVs to indulge their relatively harmless hobby, the vast majority were exploiting the TVs' plight by selling shoddy goods at inflated prices in sleazy back street dives. The idea that started life as no more than idle wondering began to germinate , and before too long I had put together a complete proposal for a business that would cater exclusively to this market. Percentage-wise the market couldn't possibly be that extensive; therefore, if the venture was to have any chance of succeeding, I would need access to densely populated areas. The north-west seemed to serve my needs well in that respect, and it also attracted a great deal of passing trade. When I looked at a map I saw that the easiest place to reach from north, south, east and west was Junction 17 on the M62. My proposal included not just clothing, wigs, underwear and shoes, but absolutely everything a transvestite might conceivably need, including a beauty salon with trained staff to give advice on make-up and running, a confidential mail order service could easily reach the rest of the UK. (retrospectively I know that whereas the gay market represents about 10% of adult males, cross dressers account for a fraction of 1%). The only vital piece missing from my jigsaw was capital. Despite approaching numerous banks and finance companies, I reached the conclusion that the oft-repeated maxim was true: "banks are only happy to lend you an umbrella when there is no chance of rain". I think since 2008 everyone has discovered that banks are so much worse than we then believed, however without collateral I was stumped. No one was prepared to put up unsecured capital finance such a venture, so there was only one avenue left for me to explore. I placed an advert in the Manchester Evening News: 'Mature businesswoman with innovative idea wishes to meet partner with capital in return for fifty per cent of the equity.' I received thirty-six replies. Some were immediately disqualified because of their tone, others after the first telephone conversation. I was now down to just eight which seemed to warrant a meeting. One day over coffee I was telling Sandra, the beautician who had taught me so much about looking and behaving like a woman, of my plans. Suddenly she said: 'my brother Raiko's always fancied going into business'. She explained that Raiko was currently working for the British Shoe Corporation as a manager of one of their larger shops in Liverpool. A few days later I received a note through the post, asking me to ring Sandra urgently. 'I've mentioned the matter to my brother,' she said excitedly, 'and he's very interested in meeting you.' Sandra had an Italian mother and a Yugoslavian father; a nicer family one could ever expect to meet, and Raiko, it soon transpired, was just as nice as everyone else. We clicked immediately and within twenty minutes we'd sealed a bargain to go into partnership, with Raiko investing every penny he had (£6000) in our joint venture. The next step involved meeting the eight interested parties left on my list. Some were immediately put off as soon as they learned the nature of the business I intended to set up, while others I couldn't relate to and instinctively felt that a partnership would never work out. Only one of the eight, a woman, emerged as a front runner - until I made the mistake of inviting her round for a drink with John and Shaun one night. Unfortunately, John had rather too much to drink and insisted on telling this lady her fortune, which apparently consisted mainly of 'dark waters'. Whether it was John's dire predictions or something else that put her off I'll never know, but in the event I received a negative response from her two days later. All I had left now was one last note which I had initially disregarded on the basis that it was scribbled on the letter heading of a company called Booth's Supermarkets. It was a very brief message and the almost illegible scrawl that worried me, for it merely said 'Ring...' followed by a telephone number and a signature that was virtually indecipherable. But what did I have to lose? After all, there weren't any other runners left in the race now. In a far from optimistic mood I rang the number and spoke to Mr Booth, who arranged to visit me to discuss my proposition. Many months later I learned that it was literally only as he was setting off to meet me that David Booth discovered my identity from an item in the evening paper. Thank goodness David was not the kind of man who chooses to judge a book by its cover! Promptly at eight David arrived and, after being invited in, immediately took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and proceeded to make himself at home. Over coffee I explained that, with Raiko financing the retail side, I still needed capital for the mail order operation and beauty salon. David's response to my outline ideas was fairly non-committal: he only said that it would be essential for me to meet his wife, who was in partnership with him. Meanwhile, Raiko and I were busy trying to find the right premises in the location that I had pin-pointed, as well as suitable suppliers - the latter proved to be far more difficult than either of us had envisaged. On Raiko's one day off each week we would scour the locality visiting potential suppliers and inspecting premises. We must have made a very odd couple indeed, with me touching six feet in height and Raiko barely five feet four, but never once did Raiko give me any reason to imagine that he was either embarrassed to be seen with me or had any hang-ups about our relationship. We eventually found a suitable property which, despite being fairly run down, met with most our criteria. The fact that it had been reduced from £40,000 to £35,000 also helped make it more appealing. I approached the local shopkeepers' agency, who arranged to have the property surveyed on our behalf; they recommended that we didn't go above £30,000. To undercut the original asking price by £5000 when it had already been reduced by the same amount seemed a bit risky to me, but we did as we were advised. The plan was that the shopkeepers' agency were offering. I was undecided. On the one hand I didn't really want anyone interfering in our business; on the other, Bob and I were still good friends. Eventually, Bob said that if I rented the property from him, he would buy the freehold, rent it to me & leave it to me in his will. I was surprised for once by his apparent generosity. In the meantime, we could have it on a nine-year lease with an option to buy the freehold after six. The premises located at 428, Bury Old Road, Prestwich also has a 2-bedroom first floor accommodation along with a lounge, kitchen diner and bathroom so the obvious solution was to live in the flat above the shop, and that's precisely what I did. I moved into the flat on 5 July 1984, much to the consternation of the local Prestwich residents who were horrified to have such a notorious person as an immediate neighbour. A further three months were to elapse before we took possession of the shop premises, but what with the flat, a jungle of a garden to transform, stock to buy and a myriad of other details to sort out before we would finally be ready to do business, I had plenty to keep me occupied. In the meantime David Booth had arranged for me to meet his wife, Ethel over a drink. Ethel, it transpired, had been virtually blind with acute myopia when David and she had first met. Because this condition is very much linked to the state of the nerves, her ability to see would vary, though her sight was never particularly good and she relied very much on a guide dog to help her get around. The meeting went well, despite the fact (as I later learned) that Ethel was extremely nervous about meeting someone as infamous as me. A few days later David telephoned to say that, having been in the retail food business for fifteen years, he and Ethel had decided it was now time to expand their interests and take a chance on something different. Having been impressed with my proposals and my professional background, they both felt their money would be wisely invested in me. We decided to form several companies under the banner name of Transformation, with me as a 50 per cent shareholder and either Raiko or David holding the other 50 per cent according to the interests of the particular company. As so often happens, when things begin to sort themselves out in one area of your life, you find that everything else starts improving, too. I had been far too preoccupied with the launch of Transformation to give much thought to a social life, so when I received an invitation for drinks at the house of an acquaintance one evening I didn't fell particularly inclined to accept. In the event, I was ridiculously pleased that I had agreed to go, for it was there that I met what I thought was Mr. Right. At just twenty-eight Peter was not only ten years younger than I, but incredibly good-looking too. From the moment we were introduced he made it quite plain that he was interested in me, and I was immensely flattered. As we talked and relaxed in each other's company, I learned that he was only visiting Manchester for the weekend to attend a local authority conference and that he actually lived and worked in the north-east. Peter was so charming and attractive, and so obviously attracted to me, that I was hooked. By the end of the evening I felt like a starry-eyed teenager in love for the first time in her life, and when he offered to come down the following weekend just to see me I agreed immediately. Ours was a whirlwind romance and, like most such lightning affairs, it was exceedingly intense with ridiculously high peaks and painfully low troughs. We couldn't wait to be with each other at weekends, and during the week we would spend hours talking on the telephone. I was so infatuated that the only person who couldn't see the potential danger was me. Man number 3 was Mr. Right, or so I thought at the time. I was developing a love-live as a teenage girl and was just as naive Each weekend, for forty-eight passionate, romantic hours nothing could separate us; when we weren't in bed, Peter would be right alongside me helping to paint the walls in the shop or putting up shelves - anything, so long as he could be with me. Within a very short time he was like one of the family and both David and Raiko accepted his presence in my life (and, consequently, in theirs) without comment. Privately, however, Raiko had his doubts. Though he kept them to himself at the time, I later learned that he had always felt Peter was far too un-ambitious for me and leaned on me far more than was good for either of us. But I was so besotted with Peter that when he began to talk about finding a job in Manchester and of getting married I was too overjoyed and excited to worry about the fact that it was all happening much too soon. When I was with him at the weekends, my mind was full of him and the wonderful future we would have together, and when we were apart during the week I filled my thoughts with plans for Transformation. On 13 October we were finally ready to open. The Manchester Evening News had published a photograph of me standing outside the shop holding a notice declaring that we would be 'opening shortly', and our first weeks' business was encouraging. Obviously the female population thought we were a straight-forward beauty salon providing all the services that beauty salons provide, while the closet TV population of the area knew from our discreet ads in the Manchester Evening News and TV press that here was a local business that could provide for all their needs. However, as one might expect, this mix of clientele was not without its problematical (and hysterical) moments. We'd hired two young assistants, Maria and Karen, to help out in the shop so that Raiko could continue working at his day job, and quite often I'd be in the difficult position of having a woman in one cubicle having her legs waxed with a man in the next secretly having the same treatment! We worked long hours, opening seven days a week from 9am until 10pm, but it wasn't enough to make the business profitable. Even with our stringent budgetary controls and a hastily arranged overdraft it didn't take long to realise that we were struggling to keep afloat. As a trainee accountant, Peter proved very useful when it came to doing the books for us each weekend, but there was no hiding from the truth: we were heading for financial disaster. David took no part in the day-to-day running of the business because he had his supermarket chain to take care of. Besides, he trusted Raiko and myself to get on with the business of Transformation, and didn't see any need for anything more than a weekly update. Raiko and I began to feel depressed and concerned, and soon even Peter's weekly visits, welcome as they were, weren't enough to lift my spirits. By the time Christmas approached I was beginning to despair: if business didn't perk up soon, I'd be in the unhappy position of being responsible for letting down the only two people in the world who had had sufficient belief in me to invest their hard-earned money in my plans. And as if things weren't looking bleak enough, during one of Peter's weekend visits I realised that something else was obviously going wrong. His attitude was different, and though it was only a subtle change I began to fear the worst. By the Saturday my fears were confirmed: Peter wanted to finish our relationship. I was heartbroken. My first proper boyfriend, who just a few weeks previously had been discussing wedding plans, was now telling me he no longer wanted me. The pain I felt was indescribable. Peter had to stay with me all weekend because he had dropped his brother off in Leeds and wasn't able to collect him until Sunday. It must have been terrible for him: all I could do was mope around with tears streaming down my cheeks, begging him to tell me the reason why. He never did say, but I assume it had something to do with my background. When he walked out of my life that Sunday afternoon I was devastated. Once again I knew what it was like to be alone. If it hadn't been for Raiko's tremendous support, and the fact that I now had a business to bury myself in, I don't know how I would have coped. I was in such an emotional state that for the first five days I could hardly bring myself to get out of bed. All I could do was cry my heart out, alternating between dementedly ranting at fate and bitterly declaring that I now hated all men. Raiko tried his hardest to cheer me up, but he was fighting a losing battle. I could not sleep, eat nor summon any interest in work. As a weight loss programme I knew no equal. Physically, mentally and emotionally I was in such a hopeless mess that I felt the best thing I could do would be to leave both the flat and the business and start all over again. Fortunately, David and Raiko were both marvellously supportive and refused even to consider such a prospect. When sanity returned I realise that however much you love someone it can never make up for them not loving you back. With each passing week Transformation was doing less business. In an attempt to cut costs Raiko left his job and joined me full time so that we could manage without staff. We paid ourselves only £30 a week, yet despite every economy we would be facing bankruptcy if things didn't pick up soon. But when things are at their darkest, salvation often comes along in the strangest of forms and works in the most mysterious of ways.

Feb 201602

Stephanie - A Girl In A Million - Chapter 10

---cdata-eal-admin--- stephanie's story, transformation

Chapter 10 Desperate Diversification With the loss of our trained beautician the only person left to do the salon treatments was me; I'd had no formal training, but had been practising long enough to feel reasonably competent. One of our regular customers was a lady called Yvonne, whom I'd become fairly friendly with in a business-like way who ran a massage parlour. When Yvonne casually asked one day how the business was doing, I told her how difficult we were finding things and confided my fears for the future. 'What you need, Stephanie, is to offer new service.' 'What do you mean?' I asked. 'Well, perhaps you should consider offering a massage service for gentlemen', she suggested. I couldn't even begin to imagine what Yvonne was trying to say. 'What do you mean? For gentlemen?' 'You know, with ''extras'' provided on the side. It would help to get you out of the financial mess you're in. And besides, it's perfectly legal if you do it in the right way.' I was so taken aback by Yvonne's suggestion and the casual way she had mentioned it that I didn't begin to consider it seriously, particularly as I was certain it couldn't be legal. However, when she next visited the salon and repeated her idea, I began to wonder. 'Look,' she insisted. 'It really is legal if it's only a single girl. If you don't believe me, why not give my solicitor a call? He'll certainly back up what I'm telling you.' I still couldn't take Yvonne's suggestion seriously - though I mentioned it in passing to Raiko, who agreed with me that it sounded highly illegal. A few weeks later Yvonne appeared in the salon again and asked whether I had spoken to her solicitor, Ian Burton yet. Exasperated when I confessed I hadn't, Yvonne took matters into her own hands and arranged an appointment. Raiko and I were by this time so worried about business that we decided we had nothing to lose by checking Yvonne's story out, so I went along to Ian Burton's impressive offices in Manchester to hear what he had to say. Ian turned out to be a highly intelligent and very successful solicitor who specialised in handling some of the more newsworthy criminal cases. He was very friendly, very personable and quite obviously very much a ladies' man, and when I told him of the reason for my visit he assured me that there was nothing in the law that prevented a girl from offering sexual favours to clients for reward, providing that she worked entirely on her own. I returned home in a thoughtful mood, conscious of the fact that I would have preferred it if Ian hadn't confirmed what Yvonne had said, because now I was presented with a dilemma that I had no real wish to face. Even if it was legal, could I really cope with doing such a thing? And if I could, was I capable of offering the kind of services that Yvonne had suggested? I recounted everything to an incredulous Raiko. As I wanted him to hear the facts from Ian himself, I arranged for us to visit him together, and this time we went along armed with a list of questions. Once again Ian assured us that, providing we stuck to the rules of just one girl working alone, I couldn't possibly be accused of doing anything outside the law. Raiko and I spent many hours trying on the idea for size, but before we were ready to give further consideration we felt it would be wise to invite Ian along to the shop to check out the premises. Raiko also felt that, as it was such a drastic step to take, it was a decision that only I could make. In the event, the decision was taken right out of my hands. For when Ian arrived the following evening, after giving his seal of approval to our premises, he astounded us both with a suggestion all of his own: that he should become my fist customer! I didn't even have time to digest what he had said before I found myself being taken upstairs, and then demonstrating what was soon to become part of a familiar repertoire of providing oral sex and full sex in return for monetary gain. When it was over, a clearly well-satisfied Ian turned to me and said: 'Now, how much do I owe you?' Caught off guard, highly embarrassed and unnerved by this matter-of-fact transaction, I flustered: 'Well, I'm not sure...I mean...hell, why don't you just pay me what you think it was worth?' Fifty pounds poorer, Ian departed leaving Raiko and me to discuss this amazing piece of providence. Both of us were amazed by the whole thing, and even more so by the fact that I had been able to handle the whole thing with emotional detachment. If £50 was the going rate, we thought, it wouldn't take us very long to get our business back on its feet! Emboldened by the exercise - and by the fifty crisp notes now filling our empty till - Raiko and I immediately went to a wholesaler's where we purchased a gross of condoms. Then we placed an advertisement in the personal column of the Manchester Evening News, which read: 'Massage and all facilities provided by attractive transsexual.' Can anyone believe how brazen & naive we were?? The phone calls began to pour in and, delighted but undoubtedly green as grass, we answered every call openly and honestly. I must confess it makes me go hot and cold to think of it now, but we were so innocent and believed so totally in what Ian had told us that we felt absolutely relaxed about being completely frank on the telephone. If a prospective customer asked what services were available, we would list everything we could think of from had relief to oral sex; bondage to domination; and just about every other conceivable sexual need that came to mind. Of course, neither of us was naive enough to inform David who was a very respectable businessman about what was going on. We both sensed that he would not only wholeheartedly disapprove, but would almost certainly raise every objection & possibly withdraw his investment which would immediately put us out of business So it was that I embarked on a new career which, in addition to saving Transformation, also provided some of the most enlightening and often hysterically humorous episodes of my entire career. Our decision had been made so suddenly that we weren't properly equipped to handle all the demands that our new services created. We had a massage couch, of course, because that was an integral piece of equipment for the salon, but apart from that we could only learn what was required as we went along. Thus the first customers who responded to our advertisements were very often closeted in a cubicle right next to another which was occupied by a woman undergoing a conventional (and, as it turned out, more legal) form of treatment. I soon learned to develop a loud, hasty cough to cover the potentially embarrassing noises that a client might make at certain 'sensitive' moments. We even installed a radio and started playing loud music to cover up the often unmistakable sounds of mounting sexual excitement that would deal with the problem of a gentleman's uncontrollably twitching feet sticking out through the curtains of a cubicle which had been designed for a totally different of treatment! Soon, playing this cat and mouse game of trying to prevent one side of the business from interfering with the more legitimate side was beginning to tax even Raiko's and my own far from limited ingenuity. Still, we were taking more money than we'd seen in months and very often we'd earn more in one day that we'd previously earned in an entire week! But Raiko and I still only took the same wage of £30 a week, because we wanted to plough all the money straight back into the business in order to get the company out of debt as quickly as we possibly could. However, it soon became obvious that we couldn't possibly continue to run the service in this way without causing major disruptions to the rest of the salon, so we carried the massage couch upstairs into the flat, which gave me more room and made Raiko's life downstairs a little less fraught. We bought a couple of chairs, a little table and a few bottles of spirits and put these at the bottom of the stairs so that clients could have free drinks and a magazine to read while they waited their turn. And, of course, with a bathroom and shower upstairs in the flat the problems of hygiene could also now be taken care of in a more discreet and thorough manner. Gradually, and by word of mouth my 'fame' was beginning to spread. Once again we were able to employ staff to run the salon downstairs under Raiko's eagle eye, while I was by now fully occupied upstairs earning the money to support our venture. With our more pressing financial problems easing, I was able to feel a certain sense of pride in my new 'business' guaranteeing that every customer left fully satisfied. David was still blithely ignorant of the true nature of our new 'business success'. When he innocently enquired, during one weekly visit, why I had a massage couch in the middle of my lounge, I convinced him that, as we were now so popular that we'd decided to invest in a second couch (for which there was no room downstairs) rather than lose out on potential business, which was true but slightly disingenuous. Human nature being as curious as it is, I'm sure many readers will be amused by some of the stranger (and more amusing) people, peccadilloes and requests that soon became an everyday part of my life. One of my first regular clients was a man whom we nicknamed Mr Blackburn, after the town from which he came. Mr B was a stoutly built individual who took to coming in late on Saturday evenings. During our first encounter he shyly told me that he was totally unable to enjoy 'normal' sex and was very much addicted do pain, complaining that no girl he had ever visited had been able to provide sufficient pain for him to experience complete pleasure and satisfaction. Far from being shocked, I was able to sympathise with Mr B's unfortunate plight. Armed with padlocks, whips and lengths of chain, I soon had him helplessly trussed like a chicken on the couch as I deployed my entire repertoire of domination techniques in order to provide him with the relief he so desperately sought. I tried a schoolroom cane first, discarding it in favour of a cat o'nine tails when it obviously proved inadequate. Unfortunately Mr B proved to be a tough customer in more ways than one, and at the end of his allotted time I was still no nearer to finding an effective solution to his problem because there were several impatient clients waiting for their turn. 'Look, don't worry about this. Come back next week and I promise you I'll do my utmost to come up with something that will work for you,' ( I called it a research & development project) I promised the crestfallen and "soft centred" Mr B as he departed down the stairs with a disappointed, hangdog expression on his chubby face. And I meant it! After all, my entire career success had been founded on the premise that if a job's worth doing, it's worth doing well. And just because I'd changed my career path, I didn't feel that was any reason to change my business methods. So it was that during the next week I spent all my spare time wrestling with the problem of how to satisfy poor Mr B's particular needs - without causing the man any permanent damage, that is! By the time he arrived for his next appointment, at the same time the following week, I was convinced I had come up with an idea that would produce the desired effect. Once again I shackled and bound him to the couch, this time face upwards. Then I proceeded to apply my brand-new state-of-the-art equipment - a dozen wooden clothes pegs! - which I attached to his ears, nipples and testicles. Now the amazing thing about clothes pegs is that, while they don't actually hurt when you pinch them on to skin, they do effectively cut off the circulation to the parts of the body to which they are applied - and if you leave them on long enough, when they're removed the pain caused by the free flow of blood and return of feeling to the affected parts is excruciating. Poor Mr B's face when he saw that my equipment consisted of nothing more than a set of clothes pegs was the most graphic picture of thwarted hopes I have ever seen. However I had another secret weapon up my sleeve! I lit a candle and dripped molten wax on to Mr B's exposed thighs, trailing a deliberately slow line upwards in the direction of his penis & testicles. 'Ha!' I thought to myself. 'That's certainly ought to do the trick,' as I watched his panic-stricken face when it dawned on him just what I had in mind. The look of terror in his fear maddened eyes grew in direct proportion to the size of the joyful life. Responding to my enquiring look, Mr B signalled that I should go on - at which point I was delighted to oblige, confident that this time I'd cracked what was, for him, a very difficult problem and finally bring him to the peak of fulfilment. Alas, I was wrong again and he remained flaccid. 'Next week, I promise you,' I said consolingly as I shepherded the forlorn man out of the door, though truth to tell I hadn't a clue what I could possibly dream up that might satisfy this one. Once again I spent an entire week's free thinking around and around Mr B's Problem, and it was only when he was finally due to appear again that I had a sudden flash of inspiration. Without any time for lengthy experimentation, I moved the necessary salon equipment upstairs to my lounge. When he arrived, with a pathetically hopeful look on his face, I was able this time to promise an unqualified success. We went through the now familiar ritual of trussing him up like a fowl, but on this occasion I added the further innovation of gagging him in order to heighten his sexual tension. As I uncovered my masterstroke before his disbelieving eyes and plugged the apparatus into the mains, the sheer terror on his face caused me to wonder whether it was possible for a human being to die either from the shock or the ecstasy. Momentarily I wondered whether I was doing the right thing, but fortunately Mr B's fervently nodding head assured me that I was. The equipment I had selected consisted of a sophisticated beauty treatment machine. Two glass rods were connected via thick leads to a unit which produced high-frequency galvanic and faradic impulses. When applied to the face for specific beauty treatments, the glass bulbs conducted and electrical charge into the lower levels of the skin in order to stimulate blood flow to its surface. Although this procedure can prove painful, most women swear the discomfort is worth it for the remarkable effects it has on skin tone. Placing the glass half an inch away from Mr B's nipples, I adjusted the controls to increase the output (and therefore, the amount of pain I would be inflicting) while at the same time keeping a watchful eye on his face in case he should decide that enough was far too much for him! Slowly I moved towards the organ that persistently refused to provide the satisfaction he so obviously craved. As the electrical charge shot through Mr B's nether parts the results were even more spectacular and rewarding than either of us had hoped. Within seconds Mr B's head was nodding and ever-increasing frantic dance of encouragement until finally (and thankfully) he gave a strangled yelp as the desired effect was achieved and at last produced a performance with a satisfying climatic end Mr B was so pathetically grateful that he couldn't thank me enough. He insisted on paying me twice the normal fee, and within a few days I was inundated with deliveries of champagne and chocolates. As for myself? Well, it was most gratifying to learn that at least there was one person in the world who was pleased to meet me. Then there was a strange man who always insisted on leaving his shoes and socks on while I gave him his 'massage'. Now, frankly, like most people I've always thought there is no sight more ludicrous than a man naked but for his socks and shoes. Still, if that was what the customer wanted, who was I to disagree? However, what really surprised me about this gent was that, when I went into the bathroom to chat with him for a while after one appointment, I was him standing in the shower stall beneath a cascade of steaming water still wearing those ubiquitous socks and shoes! When he left the flat and squelched down the stairs I could barely control my shaking shoulders. Another customer became known as 'The Wrestler' did manage to get a good enough grip to throw me around a bit, he never quite managed to do any real damage - because he' always get so excited he'd have to have sex with me on the floor right there and then. One incident taught me that the difference between a hero and a heel is just a matter of perception. A customer came to call, enjoyed both oral and full sex, and then sat chatting to me for the remainder of his allotted time before leaving. Imagine my surprise when the next day I opened up the Manchester Evening News to find this customer being hailed as a hero because, having arrived home the day before to find his wife in the very last stages of labour, he'd single-handedly delivered his own child before the ambulance crew arrived. I wonder what that same wife (or the press, for that matter) would have had to say had they known where he'd spent the afternoon. After some weeks of offering this new service, I was becoming quite blasé about the variety of odd predilections that my customers invariably seemed to favour. However, there were still one or two surprises in store for me. One day a new customer arrived for his appointment with a very strange request. Although I was momentarily nonplussed, I soon recovered my composure enough to rush down the stairs to the salon and say to Raiko, 'Quick, run down to the stationers and bring me back the largest cardboard box you can possibly find, together with lots of brown paper, sellotape and string.' Raiko's face was a picture. 'What on earth do you want a large box, paper, sellotape and string for? This is hardly the time or place to start practising origami!' 'Don't ask questions now - just go and get it!' I hissed in return. Poor Raiko did as he was told, but he could hardly contain his curiosity. The moment the customer had left he ran up the stairs two a time to find me collapsed in fits of laughter on the bed. 'What did he want?' he asked as I lay there giggling and saying, 'That was the easiest fifty pounds I've ever earned.' Eventually I calmed down enough to tell him what had transpired. When a more than bemused Raiko had returned with the 'equipment', my customer stripped his clothes off, climbed into the box and then bade me seal it up with sellotape, then wrap the brown paper around it, secure it with more sellotape and finally tie it up with string. After that was done I had to go through the whole process in reverse, with the strict instruction to jump back in feigned surprise as soon as my 'jack in the box' was revealed. This, apparently, was all it took to stimulate the poor man to climax. Then there was the man we christened 'Humpty Dumpty' because of his obsession with eggs. When he first appeared for his appointment you could have knocked me down with a feather when in reply to my usual question: 'Is there any other service you require, Sir?' he said, 'Yes, do you have a dozen eggs?' Surely he can't want me to cook an omelette? I thought to myself. I went into the kitchen, looked in the fridge and saw that we were right out of eggs. So, quick as a flash, I raced downstairs and hissed at Raiko: 'Nip round the corner and bring back a dozen eggs.' Fortunately, by that time Raiko was more than used to me running downstairs with all kinds of strange requests, and had long since learned to restrain himself from asking awkward questions until after the customers had all gone, when we would relax and have a little laugh about the day's odd events. Anyhow, Raiko returned with two cartons of eggs which he slapped into my hands with a smile, and back upstairs I went. 'I've got eggs,' I said to the customer. 'Well, then, perhaps we ought to go into the bathroom.' I was dying to discover what exactly he wanted to do with the eggs but managed to control my curiosity and wait until he was ready to show me. Once we were in the bathroom he asked me to dress him in a pair of my knickers and then carefully place the dozen eggs inside the knickers. Then I had to slap my hands against the eggs so that the shells would break and the gooey mixture would run down his thighs and legs - and that was it! When the recent eggs and salmonella scare was filling the newspapers, I did wonder whether Humpty Dumpty might have given up his little hobby for fear of catching the disease! One other inexplicable oddity was the man who liked to have gooey cream cakes thrown at him so that the light sponge and cream would stick to his body. He used to remind me of a dartboard. The only problem was that, as I've never had a particularly good aim, the cakes and cream would end up all over the place. Heaven knows what Karen used to think when I calmly went downstairs and asked her to clean up the bathroom as there were 'a load of cream cakes all over the floor'. Most men can get "normal" missionary sex at home so whilst there were a few for which that was sufficient most wanted something "kinky" One such young man was a very famous singer and actor, and no one was more surprised than me when he showed up for his appointment. To my relief, he didn't require anything extraordinary (which I'm sure would have shattered mine and a million other women's illusions about this gorgeous hunk of masculinity if he had), and throughout the session neither of us made any reference to his celebrity identity. Thus I was able to treat him just the same as any other customer. Sad to say, his 'performance' off stage and in my bed was pretty ordinary, too, despite the fact that I made one small concession and gave him an extra five minutes for his money. Still, he did move me to do one out-of-the-ordinary thing: I went out and bought his record, which was in the top ten at the time. He was just one of famous celebrities, politicians and other well known personalities to enjoy our "massage" service which by the way they did get before any "extras". Some fetishes that most people find hard to understand are, in reality, fairly common. For example, there are many men with shoe or feet fetishes, and I'm sure every prostitute has come across at least one of these in her time. I had one customer who was a 'shoe' man, and all he required was that I make an extremely slow and sensuous display of smoothing on a pair of stockings, raising my skirt and fastening them to my suspenders, and then sliding my feet into a pair of preposterously high stiletto heels. I merely had to walk around for a few minutes before, equally slowly, reversing the process. I didn't need to undress or remove any other article of clothing, nor did I have to touch him or perform any other service, for throughout the whole performance my client would sit across the other side of the room and masturbate himself to orgasm. That was enough for him - and, of course, it was more than all right with me. Famous personalities appearing in a Manchester shows turned up on my doorstep, followed by several judges, policemen and VIPs as the news my "unique" services had spread fast. The story went around that not only was I unique, but I was committed to providing total satisfaction and I was also remarkably discreet. Following sensational stories in the national press (I was a client of Max Clifford) some of which were "massaged" by him I had become notorious, Inevitably this led the tabloid press to reveal all the private details of my long list of clients. In fact, one national editor, Stuart Kuttner of The News of the World once remarked: 'If Christine Keeler could bring Profumo down and Sara Keays could do the same for Cecil Parkinson, with what you know, Stephanie, you could probably single-handedly bring the entire government to its knees!' My response then was the same as it is now: I just give an enigmatic smile and shrug my shoulders. Transformation and myself have prospered because of our guarantee of total confidentiality and despite their status or fame, we have never ever revealed a single name. Only Raiko and myself know what dynamite my unexpurgated memoirs would really be - but I've taken a vow of confidentiality towards all my past personal clients, to every customer who uses my mail order service or ventures into any of my shops. Should my vow of confidentiality need any explanation, it becomes obvious when I tell you that a large proportion of my more famous clients were (and probably still are) into kinky sex. One VIP whom I shall refer to as Frank spent his entire hour with me as happy as a sand boy because I allowed him to clean my oven and toilet clad only in stockings, suspenders and a little maid's cap, with me scolding and berating him for being a naughty boy. That hour always culminated in the same scenario, in which I'd have to spank him for not doing his jobs properly. Then there was the politician who liked me to dress him up in outsize baby clothes, spoon-feed him with tinned baby food and then allow him to lie curled up in the foetal position suckling a full bottle of milk! Yet another politician wanted to be suspended by a chain wrapped around his testicles so that he was forced to stand on extreme tippy-toe, while all I had to do was return to him every fifteen minutes and whip his buttocks. There were, of course, many others who adored being chained, spanked or dressed in one humiliating fashion or another - and all of these were overjoyed if I allowed them to paint my flat, dig my garden, act as my footstool or be my slave and lick my feet and shoes. In fact, the more important they were, the more desperately they seemed to crave domination and humiliation. Before too long most of our regular customers had nicknames like those I've mentioned. One rule we made was that we never asked a customer to supply his real name, and I never asked any leading questions that might possibly identify who they were and what they did. Sometimes I would have been hard pushed even to recognise them if I was them out in the street. Yet on more than one occasion after business, when Raiko and I popped out for a meal at a local restaurant, we couldn't help but become aware of a table full of men (or a man who might be out for a meal with his wife or girlfriend) suddenly start shifting uncomfortably in their seats, or even change seats so their backs were to me. One highly embarrassed customer even went so far as to dive beneath the table to avoid being recognised by me! He really shouldn't have bothered, because invariably Raiko would turn to me and say: 'Do you recognise that man who's trying to pretend not to see you?' And I'd reply: 'No. Should I?' 'You ought to,' Raiko would say, 'he was in last night...and him in that corner...and those guys over there have been in on several occasions. Unlike Raiko I was able to blank out names and faces. Without doubt, the most bizarre encounter of my career occurred when Raiko ushered in a new customer one day. I took one look at the man's eminently recognisable face and nearly fainted in shock. What compounded my surprise was the fact that, apart from being a very important cabinet minister, he and I had actually met before! Years before, when Marilyn and I were still living together, she had been working part-time for the local Tory Party agent. One night we attended a function in honour of a well-known politician who had recently been embroiled in a scandal. We'd shook hands and then spent several minutes exchanging small talk. Now here he was in my flat, eager to part with £50 for my services - and, by all accounts, totally unaware of the fact that we had already met when I had been a man! Needless to say, like the consummate professional I prided myself on being, I swiftly managed to overcome my surprise and get on with the business at hand. But I must confess to having to stifle a secret chuckle at the thought of his reaction were I to remind him of the circumstances in which we had met before - somehow I don't think he would have been too pleased! Every prostitute who has ever gone on record about her profession has likened herself to being a combination of whore, sister, mother, agony aunt and social worker - and I guess I felt just the same, for it gave me great pleasure to be able to solve people's problems for them. One young man in particular I remember well because he was so desperately shy and so badly wanted to lose his virginity. He was just nineteen and a poor foreign student, and though in an attempt to solve his problem we went beyond the hour he had paid for, it gave me immense satisfaction finally to bring this lad to fulfilment and to know that because of me he will never again be terrified of having sex with a woman. I lost track of the sheer numbers of men who wanted to don female underwear or baby wear, or to be tied up and spanked, and over the months I began to understand why prostitutes are so much in demand when regular girlfriends and wives are so reluctant to do anything outside the 'norm'. Certainly the majority of my customers were outwardly happily married men, but the very fact that they needed to indulge their more secret fantasies only with me often made me wonder how happily married they might really be were it their wives who were catering for their special needs out of love rather than a hooker who did it for cash. My only rules were no sex without a condom and no kissing or touching my face Without doubt prostitution is a very difficult profession, and to all those who think it consists of nothing more than lying there examining cracks in the ceiling or mentally compiling shopping lists while a series of men hand over lots of money in return for little effort, all I can say is: you couldn't be more misinformed. We were open seven days a week from nine in the morning till ten at night, and I was on the go the entire time. Regular meals were strangers to me, and with a continuous stream of clients arriving and leaving there was little time even for the fastest of 'fast-food'. I rarely left the flat apart from our once-a-week early shopping trip at Sainsbury's. Now I dread to think of what people must have thought as Raiko and I rushed around the aisles throwing food into our trolley, with me dressed in the highest of heels, the tiniest of mini-skirts (time as in such short supply that I had to dress for 'work' before we went to the supermarket) and the flimsiest of tops, with a coat hastily thrown on over this bizarre ensemble. Business was booming, and to help cope with the increasing number of telephone calls we received we hired a nice young Jewish girl to handle the calls and book appointments. Despite the odd nature of our business she applied herself as assiduously to her duties as if she were working for the local dentist, and was soon providing verbal details of the services on offer over the phone and assisting transvestites in the shop without so much as batting an eyelid. Raiko, being a natural-born wheeler-dealer, soon became adept at bartering my services and obtaining many bargains too. Many was the time he'd show a new client up the stairs and slip me a note saying something like 'This one's a freebie - we're getting a new carpet for the salon', and I'd just as often pass back a note which said something incredibly boring and normal like 'Don't forget to defrost the prawns for supper!' before disappearing into my lounge or bedroom to perform my latest exotic party trick. Ultimately, of course, things couldn't possibly go on as they were; through outside interference, the Happy Hooker episode in my life came to an abrupt end. But before I relate how that came about, let me forestall the inevitable question: 'How on earth could you bring yourself to do all those degrading things?' with this explanation. The answer is, under normal circumstances I wouldn't have had to. Unfortunately, necessity is a very powerful motivator indeed. If you doubt that, just think about the survivors of plane crashes who have had to resort to cannibalism in order to stay alive. In my case, if I had been the only person involved in the Transformation business, nothing would have induced me to go to such lengths to save it. But as it was, to lose the money of the only two people in the world who had shown such personal faith and trust in me was, to my mind, a far worse alternative than prostitution. (Besides, let's not forget that I had been assured on very good authority that what I was doing was legal.) I owed everything to David and Raiko, and given the same circumstances I would do it all over again. The second thing I have to say about what I did may surprise some people. I didn't find it at all difficult to cater to those unfortunate men's needs, because I never allowed what was happening physically to affect me emotionally or mentally. Kissing (which I believe is far more intimate and personal than anything I might ever have done with other parts of my body) was strictly taboo, as was touching my hair, fondling my face or any other kind of contact above the neck. I could use my mouth and lips to perform oral sex on my clients (never without a condom) only because that was a necessary part of the service and because I remained in control - not them. By remaining in control mentally, I was able to train myself to live outside my body during moments of physical intimacy. Every prostitute will tell you that every client wants to believe he is the very best - which is why prostitutes are experts when it comes to faking orgasms. Even when I appeared to be in the throes of the noisiest and most earth-shattering orgasm any man could ever dram of giving a woman, my brain was always totally disconnected. But mentally distanced or not, this part of my career soon came to an end. Early one afternoon I was in the early stages of massaging a client who had already paid me for full sex. My client was lying face down on his stomach while I was standing beside him, stark naked, massaging his back and shoulders. Suddenly we were interrupted by three men who crashed through the door. My first thought was to wonder what on earth Raiko must be thinking of to send three men up at once. 'Is your name Stephanie Anne Lloyd?' one of the men asked as he flashed his warrant card. Dumbly I nodded. 'You are not obliged to say anything, but anything you do say will be taken down and may be given in evidence.' All I could see was this poor man, who had just parted with his money for a little bit of heaven, now clinging ashen-faced to both his dignity and the couch and feeling like hell. 'Do you think I could be allowed to get dressed?' I enquired politely. One of the detectives nodded and so I went into the bedroom - closely followed, I might add, by the other two, who stood and watched me with undisguised interest while I put on my underwear and a dress before they escorted me out of the shop and into a waiting unmarked police car. I later learned that the raid had been sparked off by a complaint from a neighbour who, it transpired, had been busily employed in spying on me for several months. Apparently, by having stupidly placed a large mirror on the wall directly opposite the upstairs window, I had unwittingly nullified the effect of the net curtain at the windows and offered this fortunate man a totally uninterrupted view of everything that was going on in my living room. Why this outraged member of the local community didn't simply come across and complain to us personally I shall never understand - or why it had taken him so long to report us, either! Suffice it to say that, whatever his motives, he did finally make a complaint and the police, bless them, responded in a style that would have justified the kind of operation put into effect following the Great Train Robbery. Rooms in the house opposite had been commandeered to allow visual observation; plain clothes officers were sent in with radio receivers and microphones wired up for sound; and the same exercise was conducted with all the fanfare - and the same amount of comical bungling - as a Keystone Kops film. For, as I later found out, by sheer coincidence a young rep on her first working day for L'Amor cosmetics had arrived just before the police with her area manager. The rep and her manager were apparently speaking to Raiko when two men came in and asked whether he was the owner of a green Renault car parked round the corner. When Raiko confirmed that the car belonged to him, the men said they were terribly sorry but they'd accidentally bumped into the car while parking. If he'd like to step outside now, they could assess the likely damage immediately. Having nor reason to suspect that the gentlemen were lying, naturally Raiko did as they suggested - only to find himself handcuffed, under arrest and on his way to Bury Police Station the moment he stepped outside the door. Now the two representatives were left alone in the shop with just Tracy, our Jewish assistant, for company. A few moments later, however, Tracy was approached by two young ladies who asked to see the white Basque displayed in the window. 'Come outside and we'll show you which one it is,' they said. Once she was outside, they had arrested her too. Just imagine the scene! These two poor reps had just seen Raiko disappear without explanation, then Tracy. Now they watched spellbound as three burly men burst into the shop, bounded up the stairs and then came marching down with a bemused me and a shame-faced, cringing man in tow. Several minutes passed. No one appeared. The ringing phones went unanswered. They stood there, alone, unsure of what to do and gradually convincing themselves that they were the unwitting victims of a candid camera stunt. For half an hour they tentatively answered what were undoubtedly some of the strangest telephone calls they had ever received, and then, unable to fathom out what was going on, the departed too, leaving an empty, unlocked shop with nobody to guard either the premises or the full till other than my beloved Sheba. When I arrived at Bury Police Station I was put into an interview room and subjected to the indignities of having all the personal belongings in my handbag checked through, my jewellery removed and my body searched before being put into a filthy, rank cell which contained only a hard, concrete bunk with an inch-thin plastic-covered mattress and a stinking old army blanket. Mercifully there was at least a toilet, though it lacked all accompanying refinements such as a seat, toilet paper and any handle by which it could be flushed. However, when I discovered that there was a spy hole strategically placed in the door through which I could be observed, I rather lost the urge for relief! It was four hours before anyone came along to take a statement, and during that time I'd been given nothing to eat or drink. Eventually I was taken outside to make a statement. I asked if I could at least call a member of staff to lock up the shop and ensure Sheba was fed for the night, and grudgingly this was agreed. The police officers who took down my statement were amazed at my frankness. Without prompting I told them everything I had been doing for the past year and why, because I didn't see any reason why I shouldn't be honest with them. The only information I flatly refused to supply was the names of my clients. 'We have a tape recording of you offering sexual services to a police officer', one of them accused. 'I didn't just offer them to police officers,' I said, seeing no reason to lie. 'I offered them to everybody'. I was then taken to another room, photographed with a number across my chest, fingerprinted for posterity and then returned to my cheerless cell where I was served with a soggy offering of corned beef accompanied by a few chips. The conditions, the filth and the extreme cold and loneliness were indescribable. Several times I asked for another blanket before I was eventually given one every bit as filthy as the first. Later on there was a scuffing noise and a great deal of bad language as another victim was bundled into a cell. Banging loudly on the wall, I said to the officer, 'I don't wish to be awkward, but I find your swearing highly offensive.' The poor man was so taken aback that he blushed and apologised. As the night wore on, I began to despair. Where were Raiko and Tracy? Would Sheba be all right on her own? And then, Oh my God! What on earth would David say when he found out! It was time to take one of my daily hormone pills, but even this simple request was denied. Now I was becoming angry & frustrated 'Right, then,' I said to the sergeant. 'Are you prepared to sign a declaration stating that you accept full responsibility for withholding prescribed medical treatment for me?' Confronted with such determination, the sergeant retreated for a hasty conference with his superiors, who decided that he had better let me take my pill. Considering that Britain is a country where the law presumes a person's innocence until he or she is found guilty, such behaviour was shocking. Finally a call was put through on my behalf to my solicitor, who made sufficient fuss to ensure that I at least received the items of make-up that Karen had brought in so that I could make myself presentable before the following morning's appearance in court. I spent a fitful night, dozing and worrying about Raiko, Tracy, Sheba, David and the shop, huddled in my thin summer dress beneath the two disgusting blankets. In the morning, I was shepherded out to a waiting van where I found Raiko, wearing handcuffs and minus his shoes. I was outraged - I just couldn't believe that they would have the nerve to force such an inoffensive person as Raiko to wear handcuffs and that they had even had the gall to remove his shoes in case he should try to hang himself with his shoelaces. The whole affair was beginning to seem quite ludicrous. Four hours later we were formally charged with keeping a bawdy house. I was an ancient piece of legislation, so rarely invoked that my solicitor could hardly be blamed for having advised me in the first place that I wasn't breaking the law. Ian Burton, who had given me the misguided advice that I wasn't breaking the law, represented us in court and immediately managed to get us out on unconditional bail with a hearing set for the following month. It was with great relief that we stumbled out into the sunshine and were taken to our respective homes by Ian. The first thing I needed was a bath. I felt so filthy that I didn't think I would ever feel clean again. I hugged Sheba, who accompanied me upstairs and stayed with me as if to protect me while I stripped off and scrubbed myself clean. Now I had to face the worst ordeal of all: I had to telephone David and confess what had happened - and I had to do it fast because the local radio station were broadcasting half-hourly bulletins recounting the story of my arrest. Trembling, I picked up the telephone and dialled David's number. I was so nervous that I have absolutely no recollection of what I said or even how I said it. All I know is that I stumbled over my words, sobbing and begging David to believe that I had only done it in order to save the business. David listened patiently while I rambled on, and when I eventually ran out of words he cleared his throat and said in measured tones: 'Stephanie, I believe you did the wrong thing...but for the right reason.' If he had shouted at me, told me off, called me a silly bitch or any other kind of name I could have taken it, but to hear those kind, understanding words reduced me to tears all over again. 'Stephanie, I'll call round later and we'll discuss it then,' David said. Of course the media had a field day - every paper carried the story of my disgrace and it even made the evening TV news. When David called round that evening I cried copiously, convinced I had made a mess of everything. I felt sure that we would now be boycotted by all our legitimate cross-dressing customers, hounded by the media, reviled by the neighbours and forced to allow our little business to shrivel up and die. I was absolutely mortified to see the results of my actions, and I blamed myself totally for dragging my two best and dearest friends down with me into the mire. But David and Raiko were wonderful, refusing to allow me to take the blame or to martyr myself. But though I was grateful for their unswerving devotion and their loyalty and support. I could only dread what the future now held in store. Once again, I was in a situation where my future looked bleak.

Jan 201631

Stephanie - A Girl In A Million - Chapter 11

---cdata-eal-admin--- stephanie's story, transformation

Chapter 11 Rollercoaster The effect on our business and our lives was immediate. Suppliers suddenly started experiencing 'problems' with the fulfilment of our orders, goods failed to turn up, and many of the people with whom we had previously traded quite happily and satisfactorily began to find excuses for not being able to trade with us at all now. All our female customers deserted us, apart from one or two stragglers who were motivated more by curiosity than by desire to remain loyal. Clearly, we could no longer continue trying to cater for both the male and female market; there were enough other beauty parlours around to take care of the women who no longer wanted to be associated with us, but very few, if any, outlets catering exclusively to the male transvestite market. Theoretically, the decision was an easy one to make; practically, however, the problems that the publicity was causing us had the potential to scupper all our well-laid plans. But they say there's no such thing as bad publicity, and though our arrest seemed like a disaster at the time it soon transpired that the publicity had achieved the one thing we had never been able to do - it had promoted the nature of our business to a nationwide audience, and within days we were deluged with mail from transvestites requesting information on the products we supplied. Naturally, the neighbours were appalled to think that they had had a practising transsexual prostitute living in their midst all this time. Tongues wagged, curtains twitched and the 'strange goings-on' at 413, Bury Old Road became the hottest topic of the year. We had a visit from a local council official who informed us that we were trading illegally by opening on Sundays and that in future we could only stay open until eight in the evening on weekdays with just one late-night opening till nine. Several attempts were made to get our shop classified as a 'sex-shop', to which I responded by stating that I had no objections to this classification providing Marks and Spencer, Dorothy Perkins and all the other shops and stores retailing female lingerie were reclassified too! Obviously, my extra-curricular activities ceased the moment I was arrested. Frankly I wasn't too unhappy, because I was quite looking forward to the fresh challenge that lay in front of me: putting into operation some of the many plans that Raiko, David and I had for expanding our business, moving into publishing and setting up a mail order operation. David's wife, Ethel was absolutely furious when she read the newspapers, and commanded him to withdraw his financial backing and sever all his connections with Raiko and myself. But David, being David, calmly told Ethel that he saw no good reason for dissolving such a good business partnership. Then Ethel played her trump card. She gave him an ultimatum: 'Either break off this business relationship or we're finished.' None of this was made known to me until several weeks had passed, which again is a measure of the kind of man David is, for he'd no more consider dumping his problems on other people than he would going back on his word. Now that there were no barriers between us, David, Raiko and I began to spend more time together planning the new direction our business was to take; and, whilst David still continued to run his supermarkets and have little day-to-day involvement in Transformation, the three of us inevitably grew closer as friends. One Tuesday evening, when David called round for his normal weekly update on thebusiness, he finally informed me in a typically understated fashion that he was experiencing domestic problems. 'What kind of domestic problems, David?' I enquired, thinking he would tell me of some little difficulty he and Ethel might be having with one of their daughters. 'Ethel's given me an ultimatum: Transformation or divorce.' My stomach turned over as the full implication of David's simple statement sank in. 'Then you must pull out of Transformation, Raiko and I will do all we can to repay your investment, although it might take us years before we're in a position to repay you in full.' Characteristically, David made no further comment and merely carried on discussing how far we had got with our new business plan. When David left I immediately rang Raiko to inform him of this latest turn of events. Although the prospect of losing David as a business partner was a bitter blow professionally, both of us felt equally devastated at the thought of losing him as a friend. Moreover, I just couldn't understand Ethel's extreme reaction: 'How can anyone put the person they love in such a position, Raiko?' I asked in despair. With wisdom far beyond his years, Raiko merely replied: 'Because Ethel obviously doesn't love David, Stephanie.' Knowing there was nothing we could do that wouldn't make matters worse for David, Raiko and I agreed that, as neither of us wanted to make his life more difficult or complicated than we had seemingly already done, we should leave it up to David to dictate what should be done and how. David continued to make his Tuesday night visits to the flat, but made no more mention of Ethel's ultimatum. Naturally I was concerned for David's sake, but I didn't feel that it was up to me to raise the subject with him. Then one evening, six weeks later, he arrived looking tired, scruffy and slightly the worse for wear. 'David, what's wrong with you?' You look as if you've been sleeping rough,' I chided him. Without a word David produced from his briefcase a solicitor's letter asking him to vacate the material home. Then the whole story came tumbling out. I listened in horror as David told me how he had been sleeping on the floor of his office for the past four nights and living on biscuits and snacks. 'For Christ's sake, David, why didn't you tell me? You're a shareholder in this business. You have every right to seek our support and help. You know there's a spare bedroom here that you could have used.' I was very upset that David hadn't confided in either Raiko or myself, and ashamed and mortified that we hadn't had the insight to see how bed things really were for him. Throughout the time I had known him, and no matter what I had been through or done, David had never offered me anything other than kindness, generosity and support. I wanted to do whatever I could for him now, in his hour of need. Briskly, I started ordering him around. 'Right, get out of those clothes and into the bath. I'm going to wash your shirt and underwear, press your suit and cook you a good square meal.' Too tired to argue or resist, David meekly did as he was told. Refreshed by his bath and relieved at finally having shared his problems with someone, David allowed his tongue to loosen as we shared a bottle of good red wine over dinner. Soon he was pouring out all the details of the unhappy years of his marriage - Ethel's apparent disinterest in sex, her lapses on two occasions when she had left him for another man and, finally, that the only reason he had stayed with Ethel was for the sake of their children. Ashamed, I could only reflect on how vastly I had underestimated this man. I had - wrongly, I now knew - assumed that he would dissolve our partnership, but clearly his commitment to Transformation, Raiko and myself was far more binding than I had ever imagined. Like a mother hen, I made up a bed in the spare room and shooed David off for a good night's rest. As I lay in my own bed, unable to sleep, all I could think about was how unfair life was and how it always seemed that the nicest of people were appreciated the least. Maternal feelings welled up in me: I wanted to look after David, to protect him from the world, to offer comfort and to hold him - and to tell him that I, at least, cared. Impulsively I rose from my bed, slipped into my dressing gown and knocked on David's bedroom door. 'Can't you sleep, either?' I said when he invited me in. 'No.' 'Then why don't you come into my bed and stay awake with me?' Taking him by the hand, I drew David out of his room and into my own. We lay together in the darkness, our arms loosely draped around one another as we talked and I tried to offer what comfort I could. Then our embrace tightened and we were kissing. Within moments we were making passionate love. Afterwards, we talked some more and then, slowly, gently and in total contrast to his previous wild abandon, David made love to me a second time. From that moment on there was no question of David ever going home again. We continued to live together and from a firm basis of friendship and trust, our love for one another slowly grew and grew into total devotion and a marriage that has now survived for over 30 years. The following Sunday I invited Raiko to join me on my daily walk with Sheba in the park. We stopped to buy and ice cream, and as we sat there enjoying the glorious sunshine I told him what had happened between David and myself, desperately wanting - and needing - his approval. In the event Raiko was delighted for us, though he couldn't resist impishly declaring: 'At least now we can keep all shares in the family!' Terrified that the police might try and harass me if I appeared still to be involved in Transformation, I officially resigned as a director and kept a low profile, basing myself at one of David's supermarkets involving myself in marketing side of his business, As in everything we have done together since, David and I both put in the same amount of effort and hard work. Before long the lovely, lazy Sunday I had so briefly enjoyed became a thing of the past as I worked with David in the supermarket from seven in the morning till eleven at night, seven days a week. On Monday, 2 December 1985, Raiko and I were finally hauled up in court. However, despite the fact that they'd had nine months to prepare, the police still hadn't managed to file all the necessary papers on time. The judge was obviously so annoyed and exasperated by the police and the prosecution's bungling of the whole affair that, much to my amusement and their dismay, he actually gave them a public ticking off in court before adjourning the trial for 24 hours to give himself time to read all the information that had been compiled against me. Back we went the next day. This time, we were approached by the police before the trial even started. They wanted to do a deal: in return for changing my plea from not guilty to guilty they'd drop all charges against Raiko. But Raiko was insistent that I should not be allowed to take all the blame. I argued the point on the grounds that Raiko had a family whose lives would be affected if he was found guilty, while the only person who would be affected if I were convicted would be David - and we knew he'd stand by me no matter what ensued. Besides, I pointed out, if Raiko were free at least he could take care of the business if I did get a prison sentence. Privately, we both felt that we stood a very good chance of getting acquitted, but in the end the safest bet seemed to be to accept the deal. My barrister submitted a plea of mitigation, during which he recounted in melodramatic detail all the misfortunes of my unusual life and stressed the fact that we had taken the best legal advice available and had sincerely believed that what we proposed to do was not illegal. Furthermore, he pleaded, the fact that we had been so open about our activities was surely proof enough that we were genuinely convinced we had been complying with the law. Then came the moment I'm sure every defendant dreads; the actual summing up and sentencing by the judge. I knew the law did not recognise me as a woman, so if I was found guilty I would be sent to a male prison. The thought of the horrors that would undoubtedly befall me there made me feel faint. It also struck me as ludicrous that I could be charged as a female prostitute plying her trade and then be sentenced as a man! After stating that, whilst all the evidence had proved that my transgressions had been committed in complete ignorance of the law, ignorance was no plea in relation to the law and therefore was not recognised by the law, the judge looked me straight in the eye and solemnly declared: 'Stephanie Anne Lloyd, I sentence you to twelve months' imprisonment suspended for twelve months.' He then went on to say that he was not imposing any fines and that all costs were awarded against the Crown. By this time, however, I was in such a state of shock that I was totally unable to comprehend what was happening. Seeking some interpretation of what had just occurred, I looked across at Raiko's jubilant face in the public gallery. But it was only when the prison officer standing behind me moved forward to touch me on the shoulder and inform me that I was free to go that I realised I wasn't actually heading for a cell. As Raiko and I hugged each other, with a mixture of elation and disbelief, the media swooped. That evening all the local papers had a field day. The Bolton Evening news devoted its entire front page and page two to reporting every sordid little detail, and the following day the Sun broadcast the story under the headlined: 'CALL ME MADAM - Sex-swap executive became a vice queen.' No matter how much I hated it, it seemed I was forever destined to be in the news. As always, David proved to be a tower of strength and a tremendous comfort to me, telling me that in a few days the story would be yesterday's news and life would soon return to normal for us. But as it turned out, our problems were still far from being over. The very next day David received a telephone call from his father, who bluntly asked him whether he was the mysterious 'other businessman' mentioned in the articles about me. As always, David was unable to lie. When he told me what had transpired I was immediately how upset he was, and it didn't take much imagination to understand how distraught his parents must be too. 'There's only one thing to do, David,' I said. 'We should go over there straightaway, and I must tell your father the whole story myself.' David's father, who lived with his second wife in Bolton, (David's mother had previously died) had been far from pleased when David and Ethel had split up. So I could imagine only too well how he must be felling now that he had discovered that not only was David living with another woman who had undergone a sex change operation, but that that same woman was also a convicted prostitute...! In the light of that knowledge, the fact that David's parents agreed to see me at all was nothing short of a miracle. When we arrived the first thing I said was 'All I ask of you,' I said, 'is that you give me an hour to tell you my story.' I then gave David's parents a brief resume of my life story over a pot of tea. When I had finished, I merely said: 'And I'd like to reassure you that, no matter what you might think afterwards, I don't want anything ever to come between you and your relationship with David.' To their credit and my astonishment, David's parents sat in silence while I told them all the details. Even more remarkably, they didn't reject me out of hand when I had finished. Whatever their private fears for their son and their thoughts about me, they made a decision to give me a chance to prove my love for David and, in doing so, to prove myself to them. Subsequently, they saw us still happy with one another, still very much in love and still totally committed to a future together - and these two exceptional people have, I know, taken me as much to their hearts as I have taken them to mine. (sadly neither are still with us) How many people, I sometimes ask myself, would have been so tolerant and accepted me so openly and warm-heartedly as these dear parents-in-law of mine? And how very lucky I am to have found not only a husband as wonderful as David, but two loving new parents as well! When I consider my good fortune, it makes me feel humble and I can only marvel at the proof they have all given to me: that given time and the opportunity, love can indeed transcend all problems and barriers. With the traumas of the trial and David's difficulties with his parents now behind us, our life together began to take on a new sweetness. One evening when we were in bed together after a celebratory meal with Raiko, David took me in his arms and whispered words that took my breath away: 'Stephanie, I love you. Will you marry me?' I could hardly believe my ears . David had never before said the words 'I love you', though his actions had never left me in any doubt that he did. My response was to burst into tears. Poor David didn't know what to think as my sobs made incoherent nonsense of my attempts to say 'yes'. Much later, as David lay sleeping, I gazed at his face and marvelled at my incredible good fortune in having met this man who had come to mean so very much to me. Contrary to what people who don't know David often imagine, he was - and is - a normal, well-adjusted, heterosexual male. He's also considerate, thoughtful and probably the most dependable person I've ever met in my entire life. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that David wasn't interested in me out of some bizarre form of curiosity. He didn't want me for money, for power or for anything else other than pure love, and that he should not only love me - a person whom most of the world had rejected - but had every intention of proving his love in the eyes of a disbelieving world by actually marrying me struck me as quite the most astonishing miracle that had ever happened to me. As I lay there that night, mentally hugging myself with unbelievable joy, I resolved that whatever else I did in my life, my first priority would be always to make David happy. (Unfortunately being human there have been a few times over the years when I haven't) Accepting David's proposal was the easiest thing in the world for me, but actually marrying him in the eyes of both the church and the law of England was, of course, quite impossible. My birth certificate (which could not be changed under current British law) proclaimed I was a man, and therefore legally I could only ever marry a female. David went to great lengths to seek expert legal advice and was advised that, though there were some countries in which we could be legally married, our marriage would never be officially recognised in Britain. Confirmation of that fact, however, merely served to increase David's efforts to find a way for us to get married. In February 1986 we flew to Sri Lanka armed with all the necessary documentation, and on 14 February, Valentine's Day, we finally became husband and wife in what, for me, will always remain one of the most romantic locations in the world. I had brought a beautiful off-white dress (white seemed somehow inappropriate)with me to wear for the ceremony and despite our regret that our families and closest friends could not be with us, we had a perfect wedding. Strangers quickly became friends, especially when the "Wettanmy" brothers who owned the hotel and who had played cricket professionally for the Sri Lankan team volunteered to be the witnesses to fulfil the legal requirements. As we stood there together, the thought ran through my mind, 'Could this man who had already brought so much happiness and joy into my life really want me as his wife? Could he be so sure of his love for me that he would bind himself to me for the rest of our lives?' All my doubts were swept away when David said the immortal words, 'I do'. I tearfully echoed David's pronouncement and happily committed the remainder of my life to the man who had taught me what true love really means. now nearing 30 years together seems to suggest it will last. Our fairytale honeymoon was to be the last break David and I were to have together in a long, long time, for once we returned to England we both knew that all our energies would have to be concentrated on turning Transformation from a fledgling company that showed promise into the kind of multifaceted group we both knew it had the potential to become. Gradually our self-imposed punishing schedule of working long hours seven days a week began to pay off, but on the personal front we were still beset by problems. David's ex-wife, Ethel, refused to be content with the generous settlement she had received on their divorce. As a loving and devoting father, David had fought for access to Lisa and her sister, Dawn. Despite Ethel's' attempts to wage a bitter war against us, primarily on the grounds that I was a bad influence, both girls had maintained that they wished to see both their father and myself. Their statement had gone a long way towards convincing the courts that as I was not a threat David should be allowed to see his daughters and bring them to our home, the only proviso being that we would not be allowed to take Lisa and Dawn out of the country together. Effectively, this meant that if David wanted to take the girls on holiday abroad I would not be allowed to accompany them. Though neither of us could work out the reasoning behind such a judgement, it seemed like a small price to pay at the time. I still missed my own children dreadfully and although I had written a personal letter to each of them I had not received a reply. Even though Lisa and Dawn could never replace Stephen, Andrew and Rebecca in my heart, we soon developed a warm, friendly relationship which helped to assuage the pain and sorrow I still felt at missing so much of my own children's growing years. From the very first, though, I laid down some ground rules with the girls. 'Two parents are enough to wish on any child,' I told them frankly. 'Therefore I have no wish to replace your mother, or even to be a stepmother to you both. You have one mother - you don't need another. But I would like to be your friend.' And that's exactly what we have become: friends. Soon afterwards Lisa had an almighty row with her mother, after which we received a telephone call from Ethel announcing that she was bringing Lisa over 'with all her things'. So at two in the morning Lisa was dumped on our doorstep with five carrier bags, and she stayed with us for several months. Unfortunately, the knowledge that Lisa was quite content to stay with us for several months must have been the last straw for poor Ethel. A few months later we received a telephone call from a reporter working on the Sunday People who claimed to have been given the story by the ex-Mrs Booth, alleging that David had not only left her penniless and stolen her daughter, but that she was living in penury in a council flat (after having been evicted 'because David had not kept up the mortgage payments' on their house) while we were living like millionaires! I was outraged. The truth was that David had signed the house over to Ethel and had made a substantial financial settlement which she had been advised to accept by no less than five different solicitors whom she had consulted in turn. All of this I coolly pointed out to the reporter. 'If you don't believe me,' I said, 'I will give you the names of both her solicitor and ours, and you can check the facts out for yourself.' Two weeks later a damaging - and patently untrue - story appeared in the Sunday People, outlining Ethel's account. I was incensed, because not only was there not one grain of truth in the report, but they clearly hadn't bothered to check any of the facts or to print one word of David's version. I wasn't bothered for my own sake, but I was very angry on David's behalf. Immediately I complained to the Press Council, and after much fighting, wrangling and a large number of solicitor's letters flying back and forth a hearing was set. And what a farce it was! Suffice it to say that, while the Sunday People were rebuked for not bothering to check the facts, the complaint was not upheld. I'm afraid that none of my brushes with British law or the establishment have caused me to revise my opinion that British law is laughable and that there is no such thing as honour, truth and justice when it comes to British press.

Dec 201502

Realistic Silicone Breast Forms That Last A Lifetime

Administrator frequently asked questions

REALISTIC SILICONE BREAST FORMS THAT LAST A LIFETIME

Female breasts are the biggest outward sign of a male to female transformation and you should only ever need to purchase one pair to last you an entire lifetime so it is important that you choose wisely.

As well as a guarantee that they will last you a lifetime, you will want realism. The look and movement of a natural female breast can only be replicated if the weight and density of the filling are correct. It also needs to be heat conductive so it attains body temperature so as well as moving in a natural way it also feels right to the touch.

You will see inferior grades of silicone breasts advertised elsewhere, usually massed produced in China which will quickly degrade & split.

Using medical-grade siloxane silicone we have perfected breasts that are authentic replicas of the female breast. Made exclusively for us in Germany they are simply so good and durable that we provide a lifetime guarantee so you can actually view them as an investment rather than a purchase. We supply both private clinics and the NHS who use them when reconstructive surgery is unviable following mastectomy but we do not sell any of our products through third parties

It took us several further years of research & development to perfect reactive nipples which are offered as an option for those seeking total realism.

You can wear these life-like breasts in a bra or choose to use our special medical adhesive allowing you to replicate the unfettered movement of your breasts as you move.

Many of our customers choose to develop their own breasts using our exclusive oestrogen-based hormone products but meantime or as an alternative, our superior siloxane silicone breasts are an ideal way of achieving an instant he-to-she transformation. You can even complete the female naked look by wearing with our hand-made vagina latex panties.

Wearing realistic breasts is such a sensual feeling and one that will give you years of pleasure.

Dec 201502

Female Body Shaping

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FEMALE BODY SHAPING

You are starting off with a male body shape which is pretty well straight up & down apart from the tummy if you are older and you want to achieve a female body shape often referred to as an 'hourglass' figure, you do this by using our female body shaping hormones. As muscle weighs more than fat you need to convert it and that is achieved by reducing your level of testosterone the primary male hormone by taking anti-androgens and converting muscle into subcutaneous fat to the breast area, buttocks and a thin layer under the skin to give a softer smoother outline

Beautiful back of a young woman isolated on white background

For a male to female transformation reduce your weight if necessary using the licensed proven weight loss tablets (Reductamin) which we stock, take the primary female hormone, oestrogen available in a variety of delivery methods, creams, gel, atomisers, suppositories, nasal spray, capsules and tablets are available. To get the best results from any transdermal treatment it is vital that you wash the treatment area and then thoroughly cleanse it using transdermal hormone skin prep which will remove the skins natural barrier oils and dead cells to facilitate maximum absorption

Slim spa women covering her breast, looking down.

It is important to be committed to sustained treatment as just like a girl at puberty it takes 3/4 years to achieve full development at which point you can switch to a low maintenance dosage. Please remember if you stop treatment development will gradually regress so perseverance and commitment is required but like Tanya below showing her breast development after 1 years treatment and again after 39 months Transformation Transgender experts since 1984

Dec 201502

Look At What You Can Achieve

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LOOK AT WHAT YOU CAN ACHIEVE I like most, kept putting off starting hormone treatment, but the day came when I mad my resolution to go all out for feminisation and I stuck to it. below are photographs of me before treatment and 4 years later. Me in 1980 Me in 1984 I established Transformation in 1984 and as well as all of the usual products that TV suppliers offer, I wanted to pioneer the development of female hormones that could safely and effectively replicate the physical changes that happen to a girl at puberty. I was introduced in 1986 to Doctor Temperli who was already world renown for his work in the field of endocrinology as a consultant to the Swiss Government and he agreed to lead our research and development into feminising hormone therapy Over nearly 30 years , Dr. Temperli has produced landmark developments using 'molecular technology' , time release mechanisms (some for which he has received prodigious awards for)and much more so that today we can offer a form of effective treatment that is suitable for everyone regardless of age or medical condition You may not want to 'go all the way' but that is no longer a problem because with the latest female hormones you can be selective about the degree of development you achieve. and then maintain. I had real problems in accessing female hormones when I started my feminising journey but you don't have to as now they are just one click away HERE IS MY HERO Doctor Temperli Do I have any regrets? Just one - I wish I had started sooner Best wishes, Stephanie Anne Lloyd Transsexual founder of Transformation with 30 years of real life experience

Dec 201502

Achieving A Female Bum

Administrator frequently asked questions, how to guides

bum

LET'S GET TO THE BOTTOM OF THIS

Whatever you call it, bottom, bum, butt, ass, arse etc male & female bottoms differ significantly.

To appreciate how different observe a couple walking ahead of you and note the difference for yourself and you'll see that the woman's wiggles from side to side. The shape and movement define it as female and next to breasts creates the coveted hourglass shape of the female figure.

Whether you simply want to look convincing just when you crossdress or develop your own feminine bottom.

You will find all sorts of pads for bottom shaping but they simply will not move naturally, therefore we have created a silicone shaping solution that like our range of breasts provide you with the realistic look, feel and movement.

For those who want to transform their bottom from male to female, we have a range of feminising hormones that will stimulate the production of the subcutaneous layer of natural fat deposits exactly as it does for a girl transitioning through puberty.

This male-to-female butt transformation takes place on a cumulative basis so can be disguised if needed to looser-fitting clothing.

For those who wish to progress through to the shemale (ladyboy) stage or intend to undergo gender reassignment surgery, then a fully inclusive treatment course is the best option but for those that want just selective development we also provide specific transdermal hormones for feminising just the bottom area.

Since 1984 we have helped hundreds of thousands of trans people all over the world achieve the degree of male to female butt transition that they required and below you can read some of the many testimonials they have sent us and some of their own before and after treatment photos.

For over 31 years we have been at the cutting edge of female hormones for men and our consultant endocrinologist is acknowledged as the world's leading expert having won many prestigious awards.

Every product or treatment we supply comes with a 100% satisfaction or money-back guarantee and we have a support team that you can rely on for unlimited advice and support.

Nov 201523

POTENTIAL PITFALLS OF CROSSDRESSING IN PUBLIC

Administrator frequently asked questions, how to guides

POTENTIAL PITFALLS OF CROSSDRESSING IN PUBLIC

We appreciate that all of our customers have their personal goals relating to feminisation. Many purely wish to crossdress convincingly, others to develop their own female breasts while a minority see complete gender reassignment as their future and we cater for everyone right across the transgender spectrum.

Free expert advice is available to advise you on the best and most cost effective course to attain exactly what you personally require.

Doctor Temperli is the worlds leading endocrinologist and is at the leading edge of feminising hormone research whilst our founder, Stephanie Anne Lloyd has personally undertaken the entire journey from male to female being one of the early pioneers of sex-change surgery

We are here to support you in every way we can, with advice on how to look convincingly feminine, with free advice on the legalities, how to change official documents, which hormone treatment is best for you and in fact anything pertaining to male-to-female feminisation

With over 30 years of experience we guess there is not a lot of situations we haven't learnt to deal with to provide the desired outcome but if one arises we will find the answer for you.

Crossdressing in public presents some legal problems dependant on where you live. We can provide a medical document which is accepted in the UK as sufficient for you to be protected from the risk of prosecution in the event you have to use female public toilets and if stopped when driving by the police (please remember NEVER to drive a car in high heels as they constitute dangerous driving whomsoever is wearing them, all women have a pair of flat shoes in the car

Rules vary in differing countries, in Saudi Arabia no women are allowed to drive, in most western countries considerable freedom means that unless you do something else (speeding, or being stopped for a breathalyser test, faulty lights or a complaint re using female toilets you are relatively safe but should you be arrested the fact that you were crossdressed may well be reported in the local press when a case comes to court. Perversely you are far less likely to encounter any problems in daylight than at night as that is the time criminals usually start work and women feel at their most vulnerable.

Stephanie used her transsexual status before her birth certificate was legally changed to join Lancashire Cricket Club (LCC) and turned up to at their AGM successfully gaining entry to this male only bastion to successfully overturn their ban on women members. You can read about this and other rights she has campaigned for in her autobiography which is FREE to read online here

Team Transformation is here to help and advise you regarding any issues or problems you encounter so please do not hesitate to contact us. As the world's leading experts if we can't help you then certainly no one else can and we do it all for free

info@transformation.co.uk

PROVIDING FREE ADVICE & SUPPORT SINCE 1984

Nov 201523

WARDROBE BASICS FOR ALL T-GIRLS

Administrator frequently asked questions, how to guides

WARDROBE BASICS FOR ALL T-GIRLS

Assuming you are going for an INSTANT MALE TO FEMALE TRANSFORMATION then the following is the essential items you will need for your feminine wardrobe.

Breast forms - For the authentic feel, look & movement of real female breasts then guaranteed for life Siloxane Silicone Breasts are the best investment but cheaper foam & latex alternatives are available, some crossdressers even use water filled balloons!!

Bra - Choose a full cup bra and get one white and one black to start with

Body Shaping - You want to achieve an hourglass shape so a waist clincher or corset is necessary to achieve a narrower waistline and then add thigh and bottom shapers. A cache-sex or latex vagina panties will ensure that your manhood does not make an unwelcome appearance

Tights/Stockings - Choose sheer black or dark tan but avoid fishnet and seamed variants during the daytime

Outerwear - Every woman has a black outfit as it is so versatile and slimming. An A-line or flared skirt will feminise your shape. Avoid tight clingy tops or horizontal stripes and wear a contrast loose fitting jacket to disguise large shoulders

Footwear - Choose black court shoes with low heels or boots or sandals according to the season

Wig - Choose a colour similar to your natural hair colour but avoid black at all costs. One with highlights is a good choice and a length in keeping with your age with curls or waves soften and feminise your face

Neck Scarf - Wearing a colourful neck scarf can add a splash of colour to your outfit and also disguise your Adam's apple This is not an exhaustive list but gives you the basics to begin with. Use black as your default colour choice and remember to wear a white bra under white or light coloured tops. The clothes women choose to wear is governed by the weather, time of day and occasion so once again spend time observing them and their outfits avoiding anything that will draw undue attention to you. Better to be understated than overdressed and although it may seem an anathema to you, feminine trousers (again in black) can form the basis of a great look. Being a woman is never easy even when you are born one and if genetic females agonise over what to wear don't beat yourself up if it takes some time and experimentation to achieve a look that makes you fell comfortable in your own skin Happy window shopping and if you need help just send us a photo and we will provide some personal advice and as always it will be free Very best wishes from your T-Girl sister, Stephanie

Nov 201523

DEVELOPING YOUR SELF CONFIDENCE

Administrator frequently asked questions

DEVELOPING YOUR SELF CONFIDENCE

Apart from having 2 eyes everything about being male and female is as different as an apple and an orange. The book "Men are from Mars - Women are from Venus' encapsulates just how different the genders really are. From the way brains work, emotions, gestures, walking, talking (even inflections). Sitting, getting in & out of cars, greeting others, yup pretty much is different. Even MTFtranssexuals who have female brain sex have to work hard to feminise their every waking moment. Nervous, sweating, feeling uncomfortable all send out adverse signals so self-confidence as a woman is an absolute essential. So how do you get from A all the way to Z? OBSERVATION You need to study women in detail without getting arrested!! Watch them on chat shows, in cafes, when out walking, note the small details, how they fiddle with their hair or earrings when they talk, listen to the 'breathy' way they talk and the difference in speech inflection. Observe how they greet friends & strangers, men and women. Women are so much more tactile and animated then men, they also feel comfortable touching their female friends, no problem sharing a bed whereas men would find this uncomfortable. You will notice friends will often go to the loos together and will coinfide quite intimate details of their relationships with close friends. PRACTICE Practise makes perfect and never has this been truer in behaving naturally as a woman without the need for conscious thought. Forget practising in front of a mirror, that involves multi-tasking a skill that eludes most men. Instead record yourself by using the video function on your smart phone one action at a time only moving on when you have perfected that aspect. Same with voice, use the recording function to practise, you'll need to breath from your tummy instead of your chest, it helps to place your hand on your stomach until you perfect this. Please don't try a talk in a falsetto voice which will only result you sounding like the 'last gay in the village'. Our Speech Therapy Training Course consisting of 3 CD';s and a manual is a great investment if you are really serious about sounding convincing. The toughest test is using the telephone. In person, if you look convincing then the other party makes the assumption that they are hearing a woman speak but without such an image the recipient will judge your gender solely on how you sound. Here is a great tip that I learnt ALWAYS begin by saying your name first "Hello this is Stephanie Anne Lloyd speaking" sets the scene perfectly and if the refer to you as 'Sir' or 'Mr' use your self confidence to correct them 'actually your are talking to Miss Lloyd'. You will find that it is they who are flustered and who will apologise blaming a 'poor line' I have lived for over 35 years as a woman and do not experience any problems despite appearing in two BBC television series in 'Hotel Stephanie' and being the editor of a large circulation lifestyle magazine having a reasonably high profile in the UK I did it and so can you, practise will make perfect and please remember Team Transformation are always here with free advice and support

We will be with you every step of the way, Best wishes from your T-Girl sister, Stephanie

Stephanie - A Girl In A Million - Chapter 9

Stephanie - A Girl In A Million - Chapter 10

Stephanie - A Girl In A Million - Chapter 11

Realistic Silicone Breast Forms That Last A Lifetime

REALISTIC SILICONE BREAST FORMS THAT LAST A LIFETIME

Female Body Shaping

FEMALE BODY SHAPING

Look At What You Can Achieve

Achieving A Female Bum

POTENTIAL PITFALLS OF CROSSDRESSING IN PUBLIC

POTENTIAL PITFALLS OF CROSSDRESSING IN PUBLIC

WARDROBE BASICS FOR ALL T-GIRLS

WARDROBE BASICS FOR ALL T-GIRLS

DEVELOPING YOUR SELF CONFIDENCE

DEVELOPING YOUR SELF CONFIDENCE

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REALISTIC SILICONE BREAST FORMS THAT LAST A LIFETIME

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DEVELOPING YOUR SELF CONFIDENCE

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