Lingerie

I was going to wait for him on my knees wearing the new set. What I didn’t imagine was how far I’d go on my own, in front of the mirror, before he arrived.

For the first time in years I didn’t have to bite my lip or hold back a single moan. The house was mine, and so was my body, with no witnesses.

I’ve been writing for half an hour and I no longer know whether the hands running over that skin are the character’s or mine on my own body.

Turning off the light would have been the sensible thing. But that night, on the ninth floor of an empty hotel, the last thing I wanted was to go unnoticed.

The moment the last guest closed the door behind them, I knew I wouldn’t sleep that night until I’d emptied myself out in front of the mirror.

Two weeks alone, with no one knocking at the door. I took out the red lingerie, opened a cold beer, and promised myself I wouldn’t stop until I was shaking.

I made two pigtails, wore a tiny dress with nothing underneath, and put on my favorite sneakers. I played at being an innocent girl and ended up discovering something about myself I didn’t expect.

On the other side of the wall, his mother’s moans kept him from sleeping. And when she called him into her room the next day, Bruno knew nothing would ever be the same.

“If you open that box, I won’t be the boy you take care of anymore,” I warned her. My older sister held my gaze for a moment and then tore the red paper.

I went into his room like any mother. I came out knowing my own son desired me, and that a part of me had spent months waiting for exactly that.

Marisa strolled through the house in a tight dress, never imagining that that night her daughter-in-law would turn family dinner into something none of them would forget.

I heard the lock click behind me. When I turned around, she was smiling with the calm of someone who has planned every step from the very first glance at the table.

I asked her to put on the shortest shorts she owned. I wanted to see how the workers looked at her as she walked by, and how she endured the whole day in that outfit.

I left home wearing the red thong and my heart racing: my uncle never called me in on a day off, and I already knew why.

Standing in front of them in nothing but the pink lace set, I waited for the order. The bag with the dress weighed in my hands, and I was already trembling before it all began.

She was sipping her gin and tonic when two men sat beside her and told her about a film. By the time she finished her drink, she had already signed.

When I opened the door wearing the dress and my hair freshly done, he was left speechless. That night I stopped hiding and gave myself completely.

I turned thirty-nine and had the day off. I was waiting for a lover; the one who knocked on the door midmorning was the last man I should have let in.

For weeks I chose the dress, the perfume, the lingerie. That night he would walk through the door and finally see me the way I’d always dreamed he would.

The ad said: closeted transvestite looking for a mature friend. That same week I got into a pickup with tinted windows, not fully knowing what was waiting for me at the end of the trip.