TRANNIE VALERIE
Down on the Costa del Crime, it’s not just the boys and girls who provide the sexual services that so dominate this sandy coastline. There is a big demand for ladyboys too. These travesti – as they’re called in Spain – walk a bizarre line between the two sexes but retain much fascination for many men and women.
Valerie, 28, is a classic example of this ever-growing trade. In her husky voice she discusses in detail what it is about her that attracts such interest. ‘Most of my clients are men, but very few of them are gay. I find it very fulfilling because I am not interested in girls: I am only attracted to straight men, the more masculine the better.
‘Many married men go to a transsexual prostitute because they believe they are not committing adultery as we are not real women in their eyes,’ she explains. ‘It might seem a strange attitude, but it is true.’
Valerie also claims that the popularity of transvestite hookers in Spain and South America is based on the regions’ history of Catholicism. ‘We can’t get pregnant, can we?’ she says, with a look of genuine seriousness on her face.
Many of the transsexuals and transvestites based on the Costa del Sol hail from South America where it seems there is a huge she-male community. Valerie, on the other hand, comes from the south-east of England, although she has Indian parents. She has been working in Spain for nearly three years and says that she’s been surprised by the respect and gentleness shown towards her by nearly all her clients. ‘As a schoolboy back in Britain, I lived my life struggling to survive despite being very effeminate. I was teased at school and did badly as a result. I was beaten black and blue regularly. Life was, frankly, horrible.
‘When I told my parents at the age of sixteen that I wanted to take hormone shots and start dressing as a girl, they were horrified. They tried to stop me ever leaving the house, and for a while I became a complete hermit, unable to travel anyway because I didn’t have the money to buy any women’s clothes.’
The breakthrough for Valerie – she refuses to reveal her previous identity – came when she went to her GP, who immediately recommended treatment on the National Health Service. ‘It was such a relief to meet someone who understood what I was going through.’ But then she changed her mind about having an operation to remove her penis. ‘I suppose the truth is I was terrified of the operation. I had started to develop breasts thanks to hormone treatment, and the natural next step was to have surgery. But I couldn’t go through with it.’
Eventually, the NHS treatment came to an end and Valerie was left neither a man nor a woman in the eyes of herself or other people. ‘At first I shrank back into my little shell at home, never going out but at least able to continue dressing as a female. I grew my hair and started to wear make-up every day, but then my parents disowned me and threw me out of the house. I had nowhere to go and no friends in the world, so I ended up living in a squat in east London. It was a horrible time for me. I wanted to kill myself and came very close to doing so. I was turning tricks in alleyways but it was a horrible existence. I was lucky I didn’t catch AIDS.’
Valerie says she then met another transsexual named Debbie, who had once been a highly educated university professor called Michael from a rich family. He had also been disowned in similar circumstances. ‘Debbie taught me a lot about self-respect – how I had to fend for myself and stop relying on others. She snapped me out of my depression, self-loathing and self-pitying behaviour. We became the very best of friends.’
After months of living on the dole, both Valerie and Debbie decided to travel to the Costa del Sol. ‘We’d met a few South American transsexuals in London and they kept saying how much more relaxed attitudes were in southern Spain. Since it wasn’t that far away it seemed a good idea to start a new life here.’
But just a few months after arriving in the Estepona area, Debbie died in a road accident. ‘I was devastated, but I kept remembering how Debbie had pulled me out of my problems in London and I decided to keep my life together for her sake more than anything. I was determined to survive.’
Valerie eventually started working at a brothel near Estepona that specialised in transsexual prostitutes. ‘It wasn’t like working the streets back in London. The clients treated us like real people, not freaks to be kicked and abused. The madam who ran the brothel was a good person who genuinely cared about us. She made sure we had regular health checks, and paid us a decent cut from every customer. She looked after me like a mother.’ Wouldn’t she have liked a safe, secure nine-to-five job in a normal environment? ‘In a perfect world, I suppose so, but I had to be realistic and face the fact that it was not going to happen.’
Valerie worked at the brothel until 2003 when she decided to set up business on her own by advertising in the classified section of a Costa del Sol English-speaking newspaper. ‘I think I probably have fewer problems with clients than straight hookers because the men who come to me know exactly what to expect. I’ve built up a good working relationship with a number of regular clients who visit me most weeks. Many of them are British and they always seem so relieved that I am English. I think it makes them feel more relaxed.’
Valerie believes that more than 50 per cent of her clients are married. ‘But that doesn’t make them gay or bad husbands,’ says Valerie. ‘I think what I offer is something different. A change of scenery, if you like. Where’s the harm in that? It’s a free world, after all.’
But the biggest revelation to Valerie about living on the Costa del Sol is the attitude towards transgendered people such as herself. ‘I often go out dressed up in my favourite skirt, blouse and boots and I feel so much more confident here in Spain because, although some people probably know I am a transsexual, they don’t treat me like some freak. They are warm and friendly towards me.’
Valerie says she has many girlfriends who are constantly asking her to help them out with relationship problems. ‘I think maybe because of my masculine side they feel that I can give them better advice than other women. It’s very rewarding to be needed after years and years of being a social outcast.’
Valerie says she even has ‘a special man friend’. ‘I met him professionally at first, but he asked me out for dinner one night and our relationship has turned into something quite serious. He’s so nice and gentle and understanding, and even takes me out shopping at weekends. He doesn’t seem to care when people sometimes look strangely at us. He’s been married twice and feels very reluctant to get into another relationship, but says that I make him feel really wanted for the first time in his life. It’s a very rewarding relationship for me.’
But Valerie says it is unlikely in the foreseeable future that she will ever retire from the vice game. ‘It’s an obvious career for me, but that’s exactly how I look at it – as a career. I don’t often enjoy the sex with clients. In that way I suppose I am a lot like a straight hooker; but I have to make a living to survive, and there is plenty of demand for me on the Costa del Sol.’
Valerie is extremely strict about what she will and will not do for clients. ‘I have very strict rules about cleanliness, anal sex and lots of other areas that I don’t want to talk about here. Just because I am a prostitute doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings. There are definitely times when I just grin and bear it as a man has sex with me. Often the biggest problem is having an erection. If I was a complete woman it would be so much easier to pretend that I was excited. You see, it’s not as easy or as blatant as you think!’
Nearly all Valerie’s clients like her to be as feminine as possible. ‘It’s almost as if they don’t want to even guess what my real sex is, even though I have a penis hanging down in front of their eyes. Most men adore me to wear stockings and sexy underwear and lots of make-up with high heels. Some clients even complain if I have a little stubble – I don’t blame them!’