Glamour Girl
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Glamour Photographer free porn video
Glamour Photographer
By Heather St. Claire
I love my work. Why? Because I get to spend my days making women happy....and
a few special men, who should have been born women, extremely happy.
On the surface, you wouldn't think there's anything special about me. I'm 51
years old (already!), tall, with a nicely proportioned figure and golden
blonde hair that's still shoulder length. I exercise, try to eat healthy
foods, and generally take care of myself. I beam with pride when someone
takes me to still be in my mid-30s.
Not that I'm vain, but I do take a lot of pleasure in my appearance,
especially since I wasn't always this good-looking. For the first 21 years of
my life, I was a male. How was I lucky enough to change? I'll tell you, but
first, you need to know about my business.
I'm a photographer, specializing in glamour shots for women. I live in a very
typical suburb, and my studio is in a typical suburban mini-mall. I get the
usual kind of women in this business...mostly from their late teens to their
early 40s, sometimes older. Mostly looking for a special gift for a boyfriend
or husband; sometimes just looking for a way to make themselves feel more
pampered.
And then, there are the others......the guys. That's where my "special
camera" comes in.
My path to womanhood began well over three decades ago, when I was a teenager
growing up in a large Midwestern city. I had dreamed since childhood of
becoming a woman; I had never felt comfortable as a male, and had always been
attracted to what were considered girlish things.
In my early teens, I read about Christine Jorgensen and other pioneering
transsexuals, and thought for a time that a sex-change operation offered me
my route to salvation. But the more I thought about it, the more I was
convinced that wasn't the way to go.
For one thing, I was too large to make a convincing woman. I had topped six
feet by the time I was 15, and still seemed to be growing. Yes, there were
six foot-tall women, but they seemed to have better a better proportioned
body; slimmer arms and legs, smaller hands and feet than a man of the same
size. No matter how thin I got, I was convinced I would always look like a
linebacker in drag.
But even more than that, I realized my greatest longing was to become a
mother one day. If I was going to have the female experience, I wanted the
complete experience; and to me, motherhood always seemed like a female's
ultimate fulfillment.
So I began researching magical means to womanhood. Let me tell you, in those
pre-Internet days, it wasn't easy! I found out about the Medallion of Zulo,
but could never track it down. I don't think Bikini Beach had opened yet. The
Wizard and his movable Spells-R-Us was in business back then, but given the
way most of his changes work out, I'm just as glad I never met the old man
until after I had changed (but that's another story....)
I had just about abandoned hope as I approached the summer of my junior year
of college. I was majoring in photojournalism, and my advisor had arranged a
job for me with a retired LIFE magazine photographer who still did freelance
assignments and some studio work.
Lance Burketts was quite a character. He had been all over the world during
LIFE's glory days from the 40s the 60s, and had tales of kings and queens,
war and peace, life and death. You name the celebrity...Edward VIII? Paul
McCartney? Ho Chi Min? Lance had photographed them. He had been to all seven
continents, and just about every country on the planet.
This helped to explain, I think, why he was blase about a lot of things that
excited me. Like the day he was out on an assignment, and I was processing
several rolls of film, and Elizabeth Taylor called for him, and wanted to
have dinner when she would be in town a couple of nights later. I couldn't
wait to tell him when he returned. All he did was shrug and say, "Dear Liz! I
first photographed her on the set of National Velvet. Such a sweet girl; I
wish I could convince her to get the stars out of her eyes when it comes to
men....."
I spent that summer working hard for Mr. Burketts; harder than I had ever
worked in my life. In exchange, he taught me a lot about the business....and
did something more for me, something wonderful.
It was getting on toward the middle of August; I began to think about heading
back to college for my senior year. My desire to be female hadn't abated; if
anything, it only burned more brightly with the passage of time.
One afternoon, Lance was in an unusually relaxed mood, and asked me to join
him for a cup of tea and some chat. He started by praising my work, and then
wanted to know all about me; why I wanted to be a photographer, about my
family, my background, my hopes and dreams; I talked a lot, of course,
holding back my big secret.
After a pause, he bit down on his pipe, turned directly toward me, and said,
"Is that all, Henry?"
"Is what all, Mr. Burketts?"
"Isn't there something else that you want?"
"I don't know what you mean?"
"Oh, I think you do, I think you do," he said with a soft chuckle. "I don't
mean to put you on the spot, but unless I'm crazy, you want to be a girl."
My cheeks suddenly flushed crimson. "No.....oh, damn, yes, it's true.
But...how did you guess?"
"I've seen you studying my files. All the glamour and fashion work I've done,
you weren't looking at it the way most young men your age would, with a bit
of lust in your heart. No, I could recognize longing when I saw it." He
paused. "And the clincher? Remember our conversation about Christine
Jorgensen a few months ago? (Lance had done the first big spread about her in
LIFE) You just seemed so fascinated by her."
I stared down at my lap, still fearing to look him in the eye.
"Okay, it's true. So what difference does it make to you?" I felt myself on
the verge of tears.
His tone was surprisingly gentle. "Son, I didn't ask you to upset you or
embarrass you. I asked you because I think I can help you."
That caused me to snap to attention. "But--how?"
He reached across his desk for a large, old portrait camera that looked to
have been manufactured in the 1930s. "I picked this up from a street vendor
in Casablanca years ago. A strange old woman. She said it was a magic camera,
that it would change the sex of whoever was photographed by it. Of course I
thought that was a lot of bull; I just wanted it for my collection of old
cameras.
"But then I got it home and tried it out on my male cat."
I paused, waiting for the payoff. "All I can say is, Buster was no longer an
appropriate name for her after the shoot was done. She had her first litter
just a few weeks later. I've never used it since, but there's no reason to
think it wouldn't work on a person."
Now the tears came, but they were tears of joy. "Oh my God, this is
incredible!" I gushed. "Will you use it on me? Please?" Now he looked a bit
pensive. "Yes, but not right away. I know you want to know why. It's because
it's such a momentous step for anyone to take, and because you're not 21 yet.
I don't think anyone should make that decision until they're legally an
adult. But, if you still want me to use it on you next summer, when you
finish school, I'll be glad to."
I was momentarily disappointed that I would have to spend nine more months as
a male. But when I balanced that against a lifetime of womanhood ahead, it
seemed like a fantastic deal. "I don't know how I can ever thank you, Mr.
Burketts," I said. I wanted to hug him. He grinned slightly and said, a bit
cryptically, "You already have." Returning to school for my senior year
seemed like such an anti-climax! I had a big calendar on my wall, and started
counting down the days until I could change. All was going along fine until
cold winter day when I was in the school library, leafing through the New
York Times, when the obituary caught my eye:
Famed Life Magazine Photographer Burketts dies at 62
My hands were shaking so badly that I could hardly read the text. It turned
out that Burketts had been found dead of an apparent heart attack by his
cleaning woman. I was soon weeping; for the loss of a man who had been a
friend and mentor to me, and the loss of my impending womanhood.
I spent the next six weeks in a fog. I had a terrible time forcing myself to
get out of bed, bathe, dress and get to class each day. I don't remember much
of anything until that day in mid-March when I went to the campus post office
to pick up my mail. There was a notice in my box to pick up a package at the
counter. What could it be? I got in line, handed the student clerk the slip,
and received a box in return.
I walked over to a table sat down, and tried to figure out what it was and
who it was from. I noticed the return address label. It was from Chicago;
from a lawyer's office. Still puzzled, I took out my pocket knife, and
carefully slit the top of the box open. Inside it was the camera, carefully
packed. I wanted to laugh; I wanted to shout; I wanted to scream; but I was
in a building filled with people, and somehow had to contain my emotions.
How had this happened? I searched among the packing materials, and found a
letter:
"Dear Mr. Weatherby:
"We represent the estate of Mr. Lance Burketts. Just a few weeks before his
untimely death, he contacted us to revise his last will and testament. He
only made a couple of changes, one of which was to include a provision making
sure that this camera was to be left to you. He indicated that you were
familiar with it and he was sure you would use it wisely.
"Best wishes....."
I hurried back to my dorm room as fast as I could and carefully stored the
precious camera in the back of my closet.
I had a hard time concentrating in class that afternoon. My wish was going to
come true after all! Now, it was a question of making plans for the
transition to my new life. First of all, I figured, was how to tell my
mother.
She was the only relative who mattered to me; I had been an only child, and
my father died when I was 12.
I finally resolved that the only way to tell her....was to tell her. Luckily,
it was the week before spring break, so I could get it over with fairly soon.
I drove home that Friday evening, sat down to a wonderful dinner of spaghetti
with her special sauce, and headed for bed. I told her that I had something
very important I wanted to discuss with her the next day. She seemed
intrigued, but didn't press me for details.
Somehow, despite my anxiety, I didn't have too much trouble getting to sleep
that night. Maybe it was just sheer exhaustion. That night, I dreamed about
being a woman; and I was incredibly happy. I reveled in the sensations of my
new body; its gracefulness, its beauty, the sheer rightness of how it felt. I
considered it a good omen.
I woke up happy and refreshed, and when I sat down to breakfast, I noticed
mom had prepared a big plate of eggs, potatoes and sausage. Perhaps looking
ahead to my new life, and the new eating habits that would go with it, I
barely cleared half the plate before pushing it aside.
"What's the matter, honey, aren't you hungry this morning?"
"Yes, Mom, but that's enough to satisfy me....anyway, remember I said I
needed to talk to you about something important?"
She had stood up and was carrying my plate to the counter. "So, talk," she
said with a slight smile.
"This is really important, mom....life changing. I need your undivided
attention."
She put the plate down, walked back to the table, and sat down with a look of
concern on her face. "What's up, honey?"
I took a deep breath. "I don't know how to tell you this....but I want to
become a woman....and I'm going to become a woman." The look on her face
showed both shock and concern. She didn't speak for a long time.
"Well, this is certainly life-changing," she said with a slight grin.
"Please, tell me more. Does this mean you want to have a sex change
operation?"
I shook my head. "No, not an operation...I'll get to that." And over the next
20 minutes, it all came tumbling out....almost 20 years of pain and
loneliness, of feeling like I never quite fit in, of always being forced to
play a role that I hated...and then of my search for any means to achieve my
seemingly impossible dream. Finally, my summer with Lance Burketts, my heart
to heart talk with him, and the gift he had bequeathed to me...the magic
camera.
Once again, there was a long period of silence. "Well, if this will really
work...and if it's what you truly want, honey, then I'm all for it, and I'll
help you in any way I can." I threw my arms around her and hugged her tightly
for the longest time. "Oh mom," I said, "You don't know what that means to
me."
"So, do you want to do it right away?" I couldn't believe how calmly she was
taking this, and how supportive she was. It was as if my greatest wish was
about to be granted....and I was getting an extra bonus besides!
I told her that I had decided it was best to finish schooling first, and then
take the big step. In the meantime, I would see what I could do about setting
up a new identity; mom agreed to do what she could to help. In those days,
agencies were less careful about cross checking records than they are now;
mom finally found the name of a baby girl who had only lived a few weeks; we
applied for a social security number in her name, and by the time I was ready
to finish my schooling, I had a new identity ready as Laura Michaels.
Those last few weeks of school, final weeks of my manhood, were difficult. In
one aspect, they seemed to fly by all too quickly, as there just wasn't
enough time to get everything done; and on the other hand, they crawled by
with an agonizing slowness...every minute brought me closer to womanhood, but
was one more minute I had to spend as a male.
At last, I was crossing the stage in my cap and gown, and saw my mother
beaming with pride in the audience. We had made plans to ride home together;
I had her van piled high with the contents of my dorm room. As soon as the
door closed, I told her, "I was going to wait until tomorrow, mom, but I just
can't stand it. We have to do it as soon as we get home, OK?"
She smiled and nodded sweetly, "Laura, that's why I have the camera all set
up and ready to go in the living room." It was the first time she had ever
called me Laura; I fought back the tears as I thanked her for her love and
understanding.
The 90 minute drive home couldn't be over quickly enough. As soon as the van
pulled into the driveway, I raced into the house, and found mom was right
behind me. Soon, I was in my bedroom, stripping out my male clothing for the
last time....oh, what a heavenly thought that was!....and putting on women's
clothing for the first time.
Among the few people I've confided my secret to, some have wondered why I
didn't cross-dress before my change. "At least you could have gotten the feel
for what it's like," one friend suggested. I told her that was beside the
point....I didn't want to impersonate a woman....I wanted to become one!
And soon, in minutes now, I would fulfill that dream.
I don't know for certain why I decided I should be fully dressed and made up
when I changed, except maybe that I thought the complete experience would hit
home all the quicker that way. I didn't know if the clothing would change too
(It didn't, and I was left with a blouse, skirt, shoes and lingerie that were
all to big). It was such a thrill to put on a bra for the very first time. My
nipples, though tiny, soon were erect.
I slipped on my panties with a growing sense of excitement. I loved the feel
of the lightweight, silky material against my skin, yet couldn't dwell on it,
because something even more wonderful was just a few minutes away. My hands
were shaking so much I could hardly get my pantyhose on, but I did. I pulled
on a knee-length black skirt, put on a long-sleeved white silk blouse, and
applied a bit of lipstick and eye makeup. I brushed my already
shoulder-length hair, and hurried downstairs.
My mother took one look at me, smiled, and said, "I think you were born to be
a girl, honey."
I felt the tears welling up. "You understand mom, you really do."
She had set up the camera on a tripod; there was a stool for me to pose on; a
portable backdrop was sitting in front of the fireplace.
I climbed onto the stool, positioned myself, and smiled. The shutter tripped
and the flash was triggered again and again. It wasn't long before I felt
something happening inside of me; I guess I could call it a pleasant, warm
tingly feeling. Then there was a bit of pain--I think my bones were reforming
themselves at that point. But that was only momentary, and I was soon
distracted by the first visible changes.
My skin was noticeably softer; I could feel my face getting thinner. "Oh,
honey," mom said. "This is amazing....It's as if your cheekbones are becoming
more prominent, your eyes bigger, your nose smaller, your lips fuller.....you
are so....pretty!"
I felt myself blushing, and when I looked down, I could see my rapidly
growing breasts. I pointed to them, smiled and said, "Don't miss these!"
The thought crossed my mind at that point that one of the most significant
changes was taking place outside of the camera's view. Beneath my skirt and
panties, I could feel my penis and testes rapidly withdrawing into my body
and my new, female lips forming. The stool was suddenly more comfortable to
sit on, as my ass was softer, rounder and larger.
All through this, mom kept snapping away, preserving a permanent record of my
transformation. Then, the flashes from the strobe stopped. "What's up?" I
said.
"I've used up the film.," she said, "and I think you're done. Take a look
dear...you're a beautiful young woman now."
I hopped down from the stool and ran as quickly as my heels would carry me to
the full-length mirror in my bedroom. I couldn't believe it; the soft, curvy,
sexy body staring back at me.....was ME! And then, a strange thing happened.
I started to cry.
I threw myself down on the bed, and I think I cried for at least an hour. Mom
came in at some point and held me and gently stroked my head, but didn't say
anything. The character of the tears changed at some point, though. At first,
they were tears of pain, for all the sadness, despair and deception I had
been forced to endure; but then, they shifted to tears of joy; sheer,
unbelieving joy that I had been so lucky to have my deepest wish fulfilled.
It was as if I had been trapped at the bottom of an empty well....my tears
were filling it, but also bringing me closer to the surface, and daylight.
When I finally settled down, mom said, "Are you O-K honey?"
I sat up, took the tissue she gave me, blew my nose and said, "Wonderful,
mom, just wonderful."
---------
In the weeks ahead, I learned that being a woman wasn't all moonlight and
roses. For one thing, periods were a bit more uncomfortable than I had
imagined. And when I went looking for work as a photojournalist, I found
several doors closing on me. I found myself the victim of a subtle form of
sex discrimination. Yes, this was the early 1970s, and doors were starting to
open to women, but there was still a lot of tokenism around.
I finally decided if I couldn't find the job I wanted, I would create it for
myself! I opened my own portrait studio, and slowly, steadily, built up a
clientele. I started out in general portraiture, but by the late 70s, found
myself specializing in glamour work.
By this point, I had met Neil, we had married, and we had started our family.
I was happier than I felt I had a right to expect. I thought I had an
obligation to share my good fortune with others...but how?
Then one day, the opportunity presented itself. It was late afternoon on a
Friday; the phone rang. "Glamour Central," I answered. The voice on the other
end was a little husky, reminding me of whiskey and cigarettes; I couldn't
tell for sure if it was male or female. The voice asked about scheduling a
private, after hours session. I asked why. "I have reasons for preserving my
privacy," the voice on the other end said.
I normally closed at 5 p.m., but the following Monday, Neil was taking the
kids to a movie; I had planned a major cleaning of the kitchen. We made an
appointment for 5:30 p.m. Monday.
The mystery caller was precisely punctual. I opened the back door of my
studio, and saw what appeared to be a gorgeous Asian woman, nearly six feet
tall, standing there in a short red skirt and a silky, low cut white blouse.
She seemed to have an especially ample pair of breasts, a wasp waist, and
legs that went on forever. Her silky black hair fell gently to her shoulders.
"Welcome," I said, "I'm Laura Plummer, and you're....."
"Steve Chan."
My jaw dropped. "You're a---"
"A man," he finished. "Now you see why I wanted privacy."
I invited Steve to sit down for a cup of tea, and soon, the story of his life
unfolded....similar to mine in so many ways, except he was planning a more
conventional transition to womanhood, sexual reassignment surgery. He had
already been on female hormones for a couple of years, and wanted these
pictures to help convince his family back home in Japan that he was meant to
be a she.
It was one of those rare moments when the cosmos seems to bring things into
perfect alignment.
"What if I told you there was a way you could become a woman, right here
tonight? A fully functional one, able to bear children?"
"Of course I'd love it, but I'd say it was impossible." Soon, I had brought
the camera from its hiding place, and was telling Steve its remarkable
history, including how it had effected my own transformation. He seemed
skeptical, yet intrigued. Finally, he said, "Well, what have I got to lose?
If you're nuts, I'm no worse off than I was when I got here!" We both
laughed.
As I set up the camera, Steve made a few last minute adjustments to his
makeup. "All set, dear?" I said. He nodded, and I begin shooting. This time,
the changes were so subtle as to be almost invisible. But from Steve's
expressions, I could see that he was feeling a great shift inside. Soon, the
roll was finished, and so was her transformation.
The new Stevie stood up, and said, "Oh, oh, oh!....It's real....it's really
real! Wow! How can I ever thank you?"
As she threw her arms around me, I said, "Just enjoy being a girl, dear. That
will be thanks enough."
In the years since, I've done dozens of transformations. Of course, I don't
advertise. But the underground information network in the transgender
community brings them to me steadily. Most, of course, don't believe I'm
real, or that the camera does what it's supposed to...but those lucky few who
have persevered and tracked me down know differently.
I've discovered the ultimate in happiness, and the means to share it with
others.
What more could a girl ever ask for?
The End
Uma
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