in my Transformation Studio, it's just me and my client two men relaxing, having fun, chatting, laughing, creating sensual art. On a deeper level, I love the fact that while out in the world there are men robbing, stealing, raping, killing, etc. To me they are a beautiful female standing in front of me I respect them and treat them as such. To tell you the truth, by the time I'm done transforming them, I have a hard time believing that they had been males just a few hours before they arrived in my studio. I love that they are emotionally transported to an alternate universe where they are a beautiful, sensual female: The female inside they have suppressed for years. It's the kind of happiness that is contagious. It's like a child's face on Christmas morning. I love my client's faces gleaming with delight as they see their femme selves in the mirror. There are many things I love about doing makeover transformations. What is a Boy-to-Girl Transformation? A Boy-to-Girl Transformation is simply taking a man, giving him a makeover from head to toe, transforming him into a woman and documenting it with photographs. There are many ways to get your thrills in life, and a Boy-to-Girl Transformation is one of them. When people express how crazy they find the idea of me doing Boy-to-Girl Transformations on my clients is, I ask them: "Is it as crazy as skydiving?" I know, it's not dangerous but really think about it sitting in a darkened room with strangers listening to fat ladies scream is downright ridiculous, yet people pay lots and lots of money for a two-plus hour front row seat. Many of these things are downright dangerous. Some people spend their money on skydiving, skiing, bungee jumping, paragliding, workout classes and the list goes on. Sometimes I start analyzing the situation, I start looking at the picture from all types of angles, and I start thinking, Why me? Why am I so weak? I just need to move forward.Think of all the crazy things people pay money to do. I think, If I had only listened to my grandmother and stayed out of trouble, I wouldn't have gotten into this.
Tougher still is the struggle to move past the shame and guilt. And the nightmares of being raped persist. I'm always very aware of my surroundings. I spend my days working as a youth counselor and hope to start a nonprofit organization. I'm getting counseling and the medical attention I need. I was released to a halfway house in December and now live in my own apartment as I try to move my life forward. And for the first time since my ordeal began eighteen months earlier, I was put in safekeeping. They flew to the prison and contacted the prison director. I was suicidal.Īt last, I wrote the ACLU and told them I wanted to kill myself. Eventually I couldn't face the constant humiliation anymore. They told me to "fight or fuck." The rape continued. They told me that because I was a homosexual, it didn't matter. Each time I was met with deaf ears and laughter. I pleaded with the guards, the warden, and the classification committee time and again for safekeeping. At the next building it was the Akin Soldiers. Eventually I was moved to another building. The going rate was five or ten dollars in commissary a fuck. They did it in cells, in the shower, on the stairs. They made me perform sex with dozens of other inmates - white gangs, Mexican gangs, black gangs. When I was finally transferred to a different cell block, I was told by Cliff Brown that he and his gang had "bought" me. Eventually he demanded that I have sex with his friends, who took to calling me "Coco." When a different sex slave was badly beaten for refusing sex, he said the same thing would happen to me if I didn't comply. Then he would force me to clean his cell, make his bed, or cook food for him.
Ramos would rape me once, twice, sometimes three times a day. And other inmates didn't dare touch me without clearing it first with my owner. The gangs trade amongst themselves to determine who is going to be with whom. What most people don't understand is that rape in prison isn't like it is on the outside. Thus began my life as a prison sex slave. He told me I had two choices: I could submit, or I could die. Soon after coming to Allred prison in Texas, Bret Ramos claimed me as his own. By Roderick Johnson, 35, as told to Tyler Cabot