My First Patient Confessed His Secret Fantasy to Me

My name is Renata, I’m forty-four years old, and I’ve always been fascinated by everything related to desire. When I finally finished my psychology degree, the first thing I thought was to specialize in sexology, but first I decided to train as a sexual coach. From that point on, I started collecting stories I never imagined hearing from a stranger’s mouth. Some made me uncomfortable. Others, I have to admit, kept me thinking for days.

The one that marked me the most was the first. I remember the date with a strange clarity: a Tuesday in autumn, in the middle of the afternoon. A guy had contacted me saying he needed a consultation urgently, with that strain in his voice of someone who can’t stay quiet any longer. I offered him an appointment for five, and he was there to the minute.

When he came into the office, I immediately noticed he was on the verge of something. He sat on the edge of the chair, rubbing his hands together, staring at the carpet as if the way out were written there. For a moment I thought he might be coming for a dysfunction, an erection problem, premature ejaculation. The usual thing. I was completely wrong.

—Take it easy, Damián —I said in the softest voice I could manage—. Tell me what’s going on. Nothing you say here is going to sound strange.

—I don’t even know how to start without feeling ashamed —he murmured—. It’s just… I like wearing women’s underwear. I love how it fits me, how the fabric tightens, how the thong gets between my ass cheeks. It turns me on in a way I can’t explain.

He lifted his eyes for a second to gauge my reaction. I didn’t move a muscle in my face. I nodded slowly, so he’d keep going.

—And there’s more —he went on, now emboldened—. I’ve even stolen underwear from female friends, from a cousin. But that’s not the worst part. I have a fantasy that won’t leave my head: being with a trans woman. I think about it all the time. I end up watching porn until three in the morning and the next day I hate myself.

—And why do you think that’s a problem? —I asked him—. As long as it doesn’t stop you from living your life, there’s nothing to fix here.

—My life is normal —he replied quickly, almost defensively—. I work, I have friends, I’ve had girlfriends. I never told any of them about this.

—What’s stopping you from living out that fantasy?

—The environment I move in. If anyone finds out, they’ll label me gay. And I don’t want to go through that.

***

We talked for a good while about the anxiety all that was causing him, about the enormous difference between a desire and a label. I explained to him that his fantasy didn’t define him, that the body desires what it desires and that denying it was only making him sick inside. At the end of the session, almost without thinking, I suggested something different: meeting someone. Not to push him into anything, but so he’d stop imagining and allow himself, at least, to talk.

I had Bianca in mind, a girl I’d met some time earlier in an alternative bar downtown. Gorgeous face, a scandalous body, long hair down to her waist. She’d had her breasts and ass done, and she owned a secret she herself displayed without a trace of shame: between her legs she had a big, thick cock that more than one person would have envied. But that’s another story, and I’ll tell it soon enough.

I gave them each other’s contact info with only one condition: that they treat each other with respect. A few weeks later, they were already chatting like lifelong lovers. They arranged to meet one night, and I repeated one idea to Damián before he hung up: that he should enjoy himself, go as far as his body asked of him, and not one centimeter more.

The days passed with no news. I’m not going to lie: the wait had me intrigued and, why not say it, also a little horny. I pictured the two of them kissing, touching each other, and discovered that my underwear was getting damp thinking about something that was none of my business. Damián was a stunning guy: tall, almost six-two, with brown skin and green eyes that took your breath away. Anyone would understand my curiosity.

***

At last, a week later, he showed up at the office again. He looked different. Relaxed, with a half-smile hanging on his face, his shoulders loose. He sat down, this time leaning all the way back in the chair, and began to tell me everything. And I listened to every word without missing a detail.

That night, he told me, he picked Bianca up from the house of some friends. He was sweating with nerves. He was afraid someone he knew would see him, afraid he wouldn’t know what was going to happen, afraid of himself. He almost canceled three times. Desire won out.

When she got into the car, he said, he lost his breath. She was wearing a dress clinging to her body like a second skin, a neckline showing off high, firm breasts. Her features were so feminine that no one on the street would have suspected a thing. Bianca didn’t give him time to speak: she threw herself onto his lips as soon as she closed the door. Damián froze for an instant, and then immediately kissed her back with a hunger he hadn’t known he had.

—Are you okay? —she asked him on the way, noticing how stiff he was behind the wheel.

—Yes —he lied—. I just… I’ve never done this before.

They spoke little until they reached the hotel they’d chosen precisely because no one there knew them. They ordered something to eat, something to drink, and gradually relaxed. When they finished dinner, Bianca couldn’t hold back any longer. She made him sit on the sofa and started dancing on him, stroking herself over the dress, rubbing against him, kissing his neck. Damián watched her transfixed, hard as a rock.

At one point he couldn’t contain himself. He pulled her toward him and kissed her with a passion he didn’t recognize in himself, while caressing her breasts through the fabric. She herself freed them from the neckline so he could have total access. And he gave himself over: he kissed them, licked them, squeezed them however he wanted, fascinated, because he’d always gone crazy for breasts that big and she kept moaning nonstop.

Bianca knelt in front of him and opened his pants. Over the boxer briefs she noticed he was well endowed and about to burst. She freed him, stroked him slowly, watching him get hotter and hotter, and then took him into her mouth. She sucked him, licked him, played with her tongue, and Damián confessed to me that no one had ever done it to him like that. He felt like he was going to come just from that.

—Want to see how you’ve got me? —she asked him during a pause.

Damián hesitated. He didn’t know what to say. But in the end he reached toward Bianca’s crotch and discovered she was just as aroused as he was. She guided him, let him touch, and after a while asked if he wanted to try it. It was written all over his face that he wanted to, though he admitted he didn’t know how. Bianca took the back of his neck tenderly, told him to open his mouth, and taught him, word by word, movement by movement. He turned out to be a good student. So good that she was writhing under him.

***

Little by little they moved to the bed. They took their clothes off between kisses and licked every inch of each other’s bodies without hurry. Bianca dared to run her tongue over a place no one had ever touched him before, and Damián, according to what he told me with a red face, had a brutal orgasm while she was jerking him off at the same time. He was left a wreck on the sheets, laughing at his own disbelief.

But Bianca wasn’t done. She let him catch his breath and, a moment later, he was hard again, as if nothing had happened. She asked him to put it in her, that she wanted him inside her. She got on all fours and offered him a view Damián described as hypnotic. He didn’t hesitate. With proper protection, he entered slowly, measuring her, but she asked for more, wanted him all the way, and they started moving in a rhythm that gradually turned ferocious.

While he fucked her, she touched herself, getting closer and closer to the edge. They changed positions; Bianca put her legs over his shoulders and Damián drove into her again with force, watching her touch herself without pause. They couldn’t hold out much longer. They came together, in a mess of breathing and half-finished words, and stayed wrapped in each other’s arms, still trembling.

—I couldn’t believe what I was living through —he told me back in the office, his eyes shining—. For the first time in years I didn’t feel ashamed of anything.

I listened in silence, taking just enough notes, pretending to have a professional calm I didn’t really feel inside. Because the truth is, and I didn’t tell him this, that afternoon I understood my job was going to be much more intense than I had imagined. That people carry enormous desires behind a polite smile, and that I had chosen, without knowing it, the profession of opening the door for them.

Damián left different from the man who had come in the first time. Lighter. Whole. And I stayed alone in the office, looking at the empty chair, knowing that that night between him and Bianca still had more to tell. But that, dear readers, I’ll save for next time.