The Transvestite Who Got Into My Taxi at Dawn

I’ve been driving a taxi for almost ten years. Most of my shifts are at night, around the downtown area and the neighborhoods that ring the capital. When you spend so many hours behind the wheel, you end up thinking you’ve seen it all: drunks arguing with the cashier, couples fighting right on the sidewalk, girls stumbling out of bars at five in the morning with their shoes in their hands. But that dawn I got a surprise that I still struggle to tell out loud.

I’ve been married for nine years and I have two kids. My paycheck from my other job isn’t enough for anything, so on my days off and most nights I spend them inside the taxi. Until that night, it had never even crossed my mind to be with anyone other than a woman. I never even thought of it as a possibility. I’m saying that up front, because after what I’m about to tell, you end up looking at yourself differently in the mirror.

It was close to three in the morning. I was going down a big avenue, one of those that are empty at that hour, with only the yellow traffic lights blinking for nobody. I saw a figure on the sidewalk raise a hand. A tall woman, short pink skirt, some kind of white coat, and white knee-high boots. I slowed down and stopped half a block away.

She got in the back, strong perfume, sweet voice. She gave me an address on the other side of the city, almost forty minutes on the inner highway. I accepted without thinking twice. At that hour, a long fare is a blessing.

“Have you been working long?” she asked me.

“Since nine,” I replied, not taking my eyes off the rearview mirror.

I looked at her more closely. She was gorgeous, with straight hair falling over her shoulders and lips painted a nearly black red. But there was something in the jaw, a shadow just barely marked under the makeup. And the voice, though she took care with it, had a deep undertone that gave her away. At that moment I understood she wasn’t a woman. Or maybe she was, but not in the way I was used to understanding it.

I said nothing. I kept driving.

Inside, I was wondering what was happening to me. I didn’t feel disgust, I didn’t feel rejection. I felt curiosity. I kept looking at her through the mirror every time a billboard light painted her face. She crossed and uncrossed her legs slowly, knowing perfectly well I was watching her. At one point her skirt rode up so high I caught sight of the edge of a fishnet stocking, and higher up a marked bulge under the thin fabric of her panties. My mouth went dry. I shifted gears so I wouldn’t think about it.

“Does it bother you?” she asked at some point.

“Does what bother me?”

“That I’m a transvestite.”

I took a while to answer. I gripped the wheel harder than necessary.

“No,” I said finally. “To each his own.”

She smiled and fixed her hair. We didn’t speak again until we arrived. The address was a low building, one of those old towers with the entrance barely lit by a fluorescent tube that kept flickering.

“We’re here,” I said, glancing at the taxi meter clock.

She stayed still in the seat. She didn’t open her purse, didn’t look for her wallet. She just looked me in the eyes through the rearview mirror.

“I have a problem,” she said.

I turned around slowly. I already knew what was coming.

“You don’t have any money.”

“I don’t. But I can pay you for the ride with something else, if you want.”

The blood rushed to my head, but not from excitement, not yet. It was anger. I’d been stuck behind the wheel for twelve hours and she came out with a proposition like that, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Get out,” I said sharply.

“Wait.”

“I said get out.”

“You won’t regret it. I swear you won’t regret it. I’ll suck it like nobody’s ever sucked it for you.”

I clenched my jaw and looked at her again. Her eyes were fixed on mine, with no challenge, no fear. Just the certainty of someone who knows exactly what she’s offering and what it’s worth.

“I have a family,” I said, as if that could matter to either of us.

“I’m not asking you to leave anyone. I’m asking for five minutes. Take it out and let me do it.”

I stayed silent for a long while. The avenue was dead. A dog crossed the middle of the asphalt without hurrying. Cold dawn air came in through the passenger-side window. I felt my heart pounding against my ribs and, lower down, my cock pressing against the seam of my pants without permission.

“Fine,” I said, and I wanted to die the moment the words left my mouth.

She smiled as if she’d won something. She got out of the back seat and walked around the car. When she opened the passenger door and climbed in front, her perfume flooded everything. It was a sweet smell, almost cloying, different from the one my wife used.

“Recline the seat,” she said softly.

I pulled the lever and let myself fall back. The taxi roof turned into a gray blur with a warning light glowing on it. I closed my eyes for a second and opened them again.

You’re not doing this. You’re not really doing this.

She started above the pants. Long nails, painted the same dark red as her lips, traced slow circles over the fabric, right above the bulge. I had nothing to do, so I stayed still, watching the building lights through the windshield. I felt her breathing near my ear, and that was what finally woke me up more than the caresses. She nibbled my earlobe, ran the tip of her tongue along my neck, and with her hand she squeezed my cock over the jeans until the whole outline showed through.

“Oh, daddy,” she whispered against my ear. “You’re hard already. You’re horny, even if you won’t admit it.”

When she saw I was already rock-hard, she opened my pants button with two fingers and lowered the zipper carefully, tooth by tooth. She slipped her hand into my boxer briefs and pulled my cock out with a skill that left me speechless. She took it in her fist, spit on it slowly, and with the saliva mixed with the head’s slickness she started jerking me from top to bottom, squeezing hard at the base and loosening at the tip. It was obvious this was not her first time. Not her second. Not her tenth.

“Look at what you’ve got, fat man,” she said, never stopping her hand. “Look at the size. And your woman doesn’t take care of it, does she? It shows. It shows in the way you twitch every time I touch it.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, weakly.

“No, daddy. You listen. I’m going to suck you until you forget your own name.”

“Relax,” she said, and lowered her head.

I felt the tongue before the mouth. One long lick, from the base of my balls to the tip of my cock, slow, as if she were tasting a dessert. I slapped the armrest without meaning to. I almost let a curse slip out loud. She sucked the first testicle, then the other, taking them whole into her mouth, playing with her tongue around them, while her hand kept jerking me slowly. Then she ran her tongue up the vein all the way to the crown, and there she stopped to make circles that rolled my eyes back.

“That’s it, that’s it,” she said when she saw me trembling, and kept going.

She opened those lips painted in near-black red and swallowed my whole cock in one go. I felt her take me down to the back of her throat, squeezing, swallowing me, with no gag reflex, no hurry. And there she stayed for a few seconds, her nose pressed against my pubis, looking up at me with wet eyes, while her throat made a tiny movement that squeezed the tip as if she were milking me. I clenched my teeth and let out a rough groan I didn’t recognize as mine.

What came after doesn’t resemble anything anyone has ever done to me before. My wife doesn’t do that to me. The affair I had years ago didn’t either. It’s something different. There’s technique there, surrender, a lack of hurry I didn’t know existed. Every time her mouth came up, her tongue played around the tip, teasing the frenulum, pressing the point of her tongue against the hole; every time she went down, it made a wet sound, an almost inaudible splashing that gave me goose bumps. She salivated so much that drool ran from the corner of her mouth and fell onto my balls, and with that same saliva she helped her hand glide in time with her mouth.

She pulled my cock out of her mouth for a second, shining all over with saliva, and pressed it against her cheek, rubbing it over her face as if she loved feeling it there.

“What a tasty cock you’ve got, daddy. Such a shame you keep it so locked away.”

Then she took it back in and sped up. She grabbed my testicles with her other hand, squeezed them gently, rolled them between her fingers. I had spread my legs without realizing it. Both hands were on the wheel and my eyes were closed, and the running engine noise was a dull cushion underneath everything. The police radio kept playing quietly, talking about a crash at Fifteenth and the cross street. A patrol car could come by any moment, and that idea, instead of scaring me, made me even harder.

I don’t know when I grabbed the back of her neck. I did it like she was a woman, without thinking. I sank my fingers into her hair and guided her, set the rhythm, pushed her all the way down. She let me do it, no complaint, swallowing me to the hilt every time I squeezed her. I could hear her breathing cut short through her nose, the slurping, the sound of her throat opening. And then I touched her shoulders, her legs, and slid my hand under the coat to grab one round, firm breast over the bra. I squeezed hard, and she let out a moan with my cock still in her mouth that vibrated all the way through it.

I opened her coat a little more and found her real tits, small but perky, with hard nipples. I squeezed them one by one, played with the nipples between thumb and forefinger, and she kept sucking faster and faster. I slid my other hand down and put it under the pink skirt. I felt her warm thigh, the fishnet stocking, and higher up I found the bulge I had caught sight of before. It was hard as well, pressed against her panties. I grabbed it over the fabric and she let out another moan, longer this time, without taking her mouth off me.

“Oh, like that, touch me, go on,” she gasped when she pulled away for a second to breathe. She ran her tongue over her swollen lips. “Make it easy for you, daddy. Make it feel natural.”

And she took me in whole again.

She touched my firm ass cheeks, which surprised me under the coat fabric. I was harder than ever and my head was spinning. I dug my fingers into her ass over the skirt, pulled her toward me, and she let herself be groped as if that were the part of the deal she liked most.

“You close?” she asked, pulling her mouth away for a moment. A string of saliva hung from her lower lip to the tip of my cock.

“Yeah,” I answered, almost out of breath. “Almost there, almost there.”

“Come in my mouth, go on. Finish in me.”

She sped up. She started sucking fast, cheeks hollowing, drool running, her hand moving up and down in time with her mouth. I gripped the wheel as if I were going to rip it off. I pushed my hips up against her face, and she let me fuck her mouth the last few seconds, without complaining, moaning softly every time I reached the back of her throat.

When I came, I filled her mouth with a hot stream that wouldn’t stop. I felt her swallowing, her throat moving as it squeezed my tip, milking me down to the last drop. She didn’t move, didn’t pull away. She stayed there until I finished trembling, sucking slowly, gently, cleaning off with her tongue everything I’d left outside. Then she sat up slowly, fixed her hair, and ran a hand over her lips as if she were touching up her lipstick in the mirror. She opened her mouth for a second to show me there was nothing left inside, and closed it with a smile.

“Relax,” she said again.

I couldn’t speak. My heart was trying to climb out of my throat and my cock was still outside, wet, throbbing against my belly. I looked at her, and what scared me most wasn’t what she’d just done. It was realizing I wanted to do it again. That next time, I wanted to put my hand inside her panties and grab her cock. That I wanted to try. And that single idea shook me more than the orgasm.

“That service costs two hundred,” she said, smiling. “But since you brought me all the way here, let’s leave it at that.”

I laughed despite myself. I nodded. I tucked my cock back into my boxer briefs with clumsy fingers and pulled the zipper up.

“My name’s Yamila,” she added, taking a card from her coat pocket. She set it on the dashboard. “If you want me to be your client, call me.”

She got out of the car without waiting for a response. She closed the door slowly. I watched her walk to the building gate, in those white boots and with that woman’s walk no surname would ever take away from her. Then I looked at the card. A name, a number, nothing else.

***

I kept it in the glove compartment. For three weeks I looked at it every time I opened the compartment, telling myself I wasn’t going to call. When I got home, I hugged my wife and convinced myself that that dawn had been an accident, a weird thing, something that happens to any worker after so many sleepless hours. But at night, when she fell asleep and I had to jerk off in the bathroom just to be able to get some rest, the one who showed up in my head was Yamila, mouth full and eyes looking up at me from below.

It took me exactly three weeks to dial the number.

“Hello, this is the taxi driver,” I said, feeling ridiculous.

Yamila didn’t ask which taxi driver. She just said the name of a corner and told me to meet her at two in the morning.

Since then, I pick her up once or twice a month. I never take her anywhere. We stay in some vacant lot, on some unlit street, and she does her work and I pay her what it’s worth. Sometimes we talk about Sunday’s match, sometimes about my kids. Once she told me how she ran away from home at eighteen. Another time she cried and I didn’t know what to say, so I gave her a little more money and a cigarette. And then, that same night, she sucked me off while still crying, and it was one of the best blowjobs she’s ever given me in my life.

Over time I got a little bolder. The second time I put my fingers in her mouth while she was sucking me, and I asked her to lick my balls all the way to my ass. She did it without hesitation, spread my legs right there in the taxi seat, and ran her tongue over me everywhere as if it were the tastiest thing she’d ever eaten. The third time I grabbed her cock for the first time, over the panties, and I was surprised by how hard and hot it was. I groped it while she sucked me, and when she came, I came too, pressing my wrist against the fabric, moaning with my mouth still full of me.

I never penetrated her. I didn’t dare, I didn’t feel like it, I don’t really know how to explain it. But those blowjobs Yamila gives me I haven’t found in any other mouth. No woman sucks me like that, none lets me fuck her mouth without complaining, none swallows every drop like it’s a reward. And even though it’s hard for me to say it out loud, even though I still feel strange every time she gets out of the taxi and I go back home with my wife waiting for me in bed, this is one of the few things I have that’s just for me.

It’s my confession. I keep it here, in these lines, because I wouldn’t dare tell it to any priest.