The Fantasy I Confessed to My Best Friend

That dawn, Marcos’s apartment smelled of cold tobacco, cheap rum, and party sweat. We had wrapped up our last exam of the term that same afternoon and, as tradition demanded, we were celebrating with drinks no one bothered to count anymore. By four a.m. it was just the two of us left, sprawled on the sofa, with the music low and a half-finished bottle resting between the cushions.

Marcos is two years older than me. He was always the handsome one in the group, the one who came back from every weekend with a different story and a different girl. I was the opposite: the quiet geek everyone had made fun of my whole life for talking about anime, comics, and costumes. He never laughed at me. He was the only one who didn’t, and that was why he was my best friend.

—Come on, mate —he said a little thickly, passing me the mirror—. One more line and for once you can tell me something good.

I took it. The rush hit all at once, everything became faster and slower at the same time, and my tongue loosened like never before.

—Something good —I repeated, laughing to myself—. You’re the one with things worth telling. I spend my life imagining things.

—Then imagine out loud —he shot back—. What would you do to a girl if you had one in front of you right now?

I stayed silent too long. That was exactly the question I never wanted anyone to ask me.

—It’s not that easy —I murmured.

—Of course it is. I tell you everything. You know what gets me hottest? —He leaned toward me, lowering his voice as if there were someone else in the room—. Having a girl on her knees, mouth open, with my cock going all the way down her throat. Me in charge, me deciding when she swallows my load and when I spit it in her face. Watching her obey with tearful eyes, with drool hanging from her chin. That drives me insane.

I swallowed. My heart was racing and it wasn’t just the coke.

—And you? —he insisted—. I’ve seen your face, geek. You’re hiding something. Out with it.

***

—If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone —I blurted out—. Not your parents, not mine, not the group. No one. Swear it.

Marcos sat up. For the first time all night, he looked completely sober.

—I swear. Whatever comes out of here stays here. Talk.

I grabbed my glass and drank it down in one gulp, looking for courage at the bottom. When I set it on the table, there was no turning back.

—I’m not attracted to women the way you are —I began, my voice shaking—. I’m attracted to… what they are. What they wear. How they move. For years I’ve shut my bedroom door, put on clothes that aren’t mine in front of the mirror, and stared until I don’t recognize myself. And when I don’t recognize myself, that’s when I feel best.

I waited for the blow. The laughter, the disgust, the “what the hell are you talking about, man.” Nothing came. Marcos didn’t move.

—Keep going —he said, very quietly.

—I do female cosplay in my head —I went on, and now I couldn’t stop—. I imagine myself transformed completely. Not dressed up: transformed. Into a woman, into a girl with real tits and a real pussy, one that men look at and get hard for. That’s my fantasy. The one I’ve never told anyone.

The silence lasted forever. I didn’t know where to put myself; I stared at the carpet as if it might swallow me.

—So —he said at last, and I heard something new in his tone, something grave and hot at the same time—. Under all this quiet-geek bullshit, you’ve got a little slut hidden away, dying to come out.

I looked up. He wasn’t laughing. He was looking at me in a way he never had before, like someone appraising something that had suddenly become very interesting.

—Yeah —I admitted—. That’s it. Exactly that.

***

—And for whom? —he asked—. That little slut you want to be. For whom would she want to spread her legs?

The question went straight through me. Because I had known the answer for years and never dared to fully think it.

—For someone who was in charge —I said slowly—. For someone strong, who’d fuck me whenever he felt like it and tell me, on my knees, who I belong to. I want to belong to someone. His private whore. The one who shows up wet-pantied when he wants and disappears when he says so.

Marcos let out a long sigh, as if he’d been holding it in all night. He reached over and gave the back of my neck a slow pat, almost a caress. A possessive gesture.

—You’re full of surprises —he murmured—. Who would’ve told me the geek had this in him.

—Don’t laugh at me —I asked, though I already knew he wouldn’t.

—I’m not laughing. —His voice was pure honey and threat—. I’m thinking about how I’m going to fuck your mouth in a little while. Which is very different.

A gasp escaped me. He looked at me and smirked, with that macho self-satisfaction of his, the kind that knows exactly what it’s doing to you.

—See? —he said, sliding his hand down to my neck and squeezing just a little with his thumb and forefinger—. Your voice has already gone all girly. And we haven’t even started.

All my life I had admired him from the safe distance of friendship, never allowing myself to put a name to what I felt when he draped an arm over my shoulder or laughed at something beside me. Now that wall had come down in an instant, and instead of the vertigo I’d expected, what I felt was relief. A huge relief, almost physical, like dropping a weight I’d been carrying on my chest since adolescence.

—Don’t I disgust you? —I asked, because I needed to hear it.

—Disgust me? —He gave a low, rough laugh—. Geek, I’ve had a hard-on pushing against my jeans for half an hour. That’s not disgust, I can assure you. Touch it. Go on, touch it and see for yourself.

He took my hand and placed it over the bulge. It was hot, hard, straining under the fabric. His cock throbbed against my palm like a second heart. The air caught in my mouth.

—Fuck… —I murmured.

—Fuck, yes —he repeated, leaving my hand there, forcing me to squeeze—. And all because of you. Because of that little slut inside you who’s dying for me to pull her out.

He fell silent for a moment, staring at the ceiling, and then he said something that changed the whole night.

—I got work abroad. Far away. A two-year contract in Southeast Asia, in a huge city where nobody knows me. I’m leaving in September. —He turned his head toward me, very slowly—. There I could be anyone. And so could you.

—What do you mean? —I asked, though my pulse was already shouting the answer.

—That you come with me. That you let me turn you into everything you keep imagining. Into that girl. Mine. My private whore, as you put it. —He paused—. But fantasies cost something. This one would have a price.

—What price? —My voice came out barely above a breath.

—That you stop being who you were. That you truly be mine. No half measures. When I say open your mouth, you open it. When I say kneel, you’re already on the floor. No questions.

I thought about it for exactly two seconds. Two seconds in which every year of locked doors and mirrors, every time I had been myself in secret, flashed before me.

—Yes —I said, and never had a word cost me so little—. Yes. I want it. Make it real.

***

Marcos smiled. It wasn’t a kind smile; it was the smile of someone who has just won something. He leaned back on the sofa and, without taking his eyes off me, undid the button of his jeans.

—Then we’re starting right now —he said—. Because if you’re going to be my whore, first I want to see how well you suck cock.

My breath caught in my throat. I watched him unzip, tooth by tooth, watched him slide his hand into his boxers and pull out his cock, thick, hard, the tip already shining with liquid. My mouth went dry all at once. I had imagined this moment a thousand times, in a thousand different versions. None of them were like having it there in front of me for real, throbbing a handspan from my face.

—Come —he ordered, giving his thigh a soft pat—. Here. On the floor. Between my legs.

I slid off the sofa until I was kneeling on the carpet between his spread legs. The position felt natural, as if my body had spent years rehearsing it in dreams. He took my hair, not roughly yet, but making it very clear who was deciding. With his other hand he grabbed the base of his cock and shook it in front of my face, tapping my cheek twice with the hot tip.

—Look at it properly —he whispered—. From tonight on, this is yours. And you’re his. Understood, slut?

—Yes —I panted.

—Yes, what?

—Yes, sir —I answered, and I felt everything tremble inside me at hearing myself say it.

He smiled, satisfied. He tightened his fingers in my hair and tugged forward.

—Stick out your tongue. Slowly. I want to see if the little whore you say you’ve got inside knows what she’s doing.

I stuck out my tongue and, starting from the base of his balls, traced a slow, wet line up to the tip. His skin throbbed beneath mine. I felt him shudder, heard him suck in a breath through his teeth, and that reaction —knowing I was the one causing it— turned me on more than anything else in my life. I licked his foreskin, teased beneath the glans with the tip of my tongue, and when I reached the little opening I kissed it, sucking up the salty liquid that welled out. It tasted like a man, like sweat and sex. It filled my mouth with saliva.

—Fuck —he muttered, tightening his grip in my hair a little more—. Look at you. You’ve been pretending all your life.

I opened my lips and took him in. First just the head, closing my mouth around it and sucking the way I’d seen done in so many videos in secret. Marcos groaned, a deep growl rising from his chest, and that sound made the cock trapped in my jeans harder than anything I’d ever felt before. I was hard too, pressed tight against the fabric, and I didn’t even dare touch myself.

—More —he ordered—. Swallow it. All of it.

I lowered my head. His cock sank into me centimeter by centimeter until the tip hit my uvula and a gag ripped through my chest. My eyes filled with tears, a thread of spit escaped from the corner of my mouth, and he let out a rough laugh of pure pleasure.

—That’s it. That’s what I wanted to see. The geek with a mouth full of cock and tears in his eyes. Fuck, you look hot like this.

He gripped me with both hands and started moving my head at the pace he wanted. Up and down, faster and faster, fucking my mouth with no trace of tenderness. I let him, with my hands braced on his thighs, swallowing between thrusts, feeling the head hit the back of my palate again and again. The carpet scraped my knees, drool dripped to the floor, and there had never been a single moment in my life when I had felt more exactly in my place.

—Look at me —he panted—. I want to see your eyes while you use your mouth on me.

I raised my gaze, cheeks hollowed by the suction and lashes wet, and saw him throw his head back for two seconds before looking at me again, teeth clenched and eyes black.

—Jesus fucking Christ, you really are a slut. Born for this.

He clenched a fist in my hair and stood up without pulling his cock out of my mouth. He made me brace my hands on the sofa, my face pressed to his groin, and started fucking my throat standing up, with long, deep thrusts. I choked, sucked air through my nose every time he came out for a second, and sank back into his flesh when he shoved in again. My face was dripping, my chin soaked with saliva and pre-cum, and he kept growling beautiful insults over my head.

—Like that… like that, whore… swallow it properly… this mouth is yours now, hear me? This mouth is mine. You don’t eat with this mouth anymore unless I say so.

I nodded with his cock inside me, moaned around it, and felt the head swell between my lips every time he was about to come. He pulled out abruptly, panting, his cock shining red and pointed at my eyes.

—Not yet —he said, tapping my face twice with it—. I don’t want to finish in your mouth yet. Get up. On your feet. And take off your pants.

I obeyed. Everything shook as I unbuttoned my jeans and slid them down with my briefs. My cock sprang free, wet with its own heat, and he looked at it for barely a second before grabbing me by the nape and turning me around, shoving me face-down against the arm of the sofa.

—Show me that ass —he said, pressing my face into the cushions—. I’ve spent fifteen minutes thinking about it.

He spread my cheeks with both hands. I felt the cold air of the living room between my legs, then his hot breath when he bent down, and then —when I thought I might die of shame and desire at the same time— his tongue. He ran it over my hole from top to bottom, slow, wet, with cruel calm. I screamed into the sofa, digging my fingers into the upholstery, arching my back without being able to stop myself.

—Shh —he whispered—. You’ll wake the neighbor. Though I don’t care; let him know how you get fucked.

He went at it again. He shoved his tongue inside, sinking it in, penetrating me with it, and with his moistened thumb he began to play at the rim. I didn’t recognize the sounds coming out of me: high, sharp moans, more like a girl than a guy, and each one pulled a dark laugh from him.

—Look at that, you even moan like one —he growled—. Like the little slut you’ve got inside you. I’m pulling her out right now.

He straightened up. He spat on my ass, a generous, hot gob, and spread it with his thumb. Then I felt the head of his cock press against my ring, thick, impossible, and my whole body tensed.

—Breathe —he ordered, gripping my hips—. And relax. Because tonight I’m going to take you all the way.

He pushed. At first just the head, forcing the muscle open, and I screamed with my mouth against the cushions while a stabbing pain split me inside. He held there, letting me breathe, and then he began to sink in centimeter by centimeter, with the patience of an owner who knows what he penetrates is his. When I finally felt his pubic hair against my ass I knew he had all of him inside. My legs were trembling. Tears were falling down my nose. And I was more together, more present, more myself than I had ever been.

—There —he whispered—. You’ve swallowed all of it now. Welcome, slut.

And he started moving. Slowly at first, pulling almost all the way out and sinking back in, letting me feel every vein, every centimeter of that cock opening me up. Then faster. The thrusts started to sound wet, heavy, with a skin-on-skin slap that burned itself into my memory forever. I pressed my forehead to the sofa and moaned each time he hit the back. My own cock, ignored, leaked all over the upholstery.

—Tell me what you are —he panted, grabbing my hair, pulling back to arch me—. Say it.

—Your whore —I moaned.

—Louder.

—Your whore! —I repeated, my voice breaking—. I’m your whore, Marcos, fuck, I’m your whore…

—That’s it. —He sped up—. And in September you’ll be my whore with a girl’s name, with red hair, with new tits and your cunt open all day for me. You hear me? All day.

—Yes… yes, sir, yes…

He shoved his cock all the way in, mercilessly. The whole room smelled of sex, sweat, old coke, and the spit of having been sucking cock. I felt my orgasm climbing, impossible to hold back, and I grabbed my own cock with a trembling hand. Four strokes were enough. I came all over the sofa in thick, hot spurts while he kept fucking me, and the orgasm clenched inside me so hard it ripped an animal groan out of him.

—Fuck, fuck, fuck —he muttered—. Squeeze like that, whore, like that…

A couple more brutal thrusts, all the way in, and he buried himself completely. I felt his cock swell inside me and then the hot lash, load after load, flooding me. He came with a growl, his forehead pressed to my back, and I closed my eyes, feeling how his semen marked me from within with more force than any tattoo ever could.

He stayed there, still inside, breathing against my neck. In the end he came out slowly, and I felt the semen trickle down my thigh. He turned my face with two fingers, looked me in the eyes, and made me lick his thumb like a good little girl.

—This is only the beginning —he said, his voice hoarse, throwing his head back—. When we get there, you won’t recognize yourself. I promise.

***

That night we didn’t sleep. We talked until the gray light of dawn came in through the half-closed blind, and with each sentence he gave shape to what I would become. The hair, he said, he’d want it red, long, wild. The skin, soft, with not a single hair. The breasts, large, round, high, made to burst out of a dress. He described tattoos that didn’t exist yet on skin that still wasn’t mine —his name on the inside of my thigh, a little arrow pointing to my cunt, slave marks on the small of my back— marks that would make me his forever. And I listened, intoxicated, with my ass still burning and semen drying on my thighs, nodding to everything, because every word was a piece of the fantasy I’d spent half my life not daring to name.

—And would you be happy like that? —he asked me at the end, when it was almost day, when we were both too tired to lie—. Being that. Being my whore.

I looked at him. His eyes were red, his hair a mess, a shadow of beard that hadn’t been there the previous afternoon, and his cock still naked, resting soft against his thigh. And even so, in that moment, he was the closest thing to a future I had ever seen.

—More than ever —I answered—. I’ve spent my whole life being the boy I wasn’t. At last someone is letting me be what I really am.

And as I said it I realized it was true to the bone. It wasn’t just desire, or coke, or dawn, or the cock still throbbing inside me. It was the first time I had said out loud who I was and the world hadn’t come crashing down on me. On the contrary: for the first time I felt the world widen, as if there were room for me somewhere far away, with a different name and a body that would finally resemble what I saw when I closed my eyes.

Marcos smiled, this time differently, almost tenderly, and pulled me against his chest. Outside, birds had started singing, and the term, the exams, the geek everyone laughed at: all of that stayed on the other side of that dawn. What came after, we would write far away, in a language we didn’t know yet, with a new name he still hadn’t given me.

—Rest —he murmured against my hair—. We’ve got a lot to prepare before September.

I closed my eyes against his chest, his possessive hand sliding slowly down to my still-sore ass, marking me as his even as I fell asleep. And for the first time in years, I fell asleep without hiding from anything.