Lingerie

I don’t know who you are or where you are, but as I write this I imagine you reading me, and that idea is exactly what’s soaking my thong.

They put the blue ribbon around my neck, the only one different from the rest, and I walked down those stairs knowing those six men would discover what I was hiding.

I’d spent weeks imagining myself in women’s clothes. That night I put on the red strap lingerie, took a photo, and waited for someone to text me something forbidden.

I only dress up when I have a date, always in a hotel room, and that night the stranger waiting for me had no idea what he’d find under my dress.

After midnight I put on the red heels, opened the gate with the remote, and went out for a walk. I only wanted to feel seen. I didn’t expect someone to stop.

As soon as I heard her keys fighting the lock, I knew I’d have to play it cool. What I didn’t know was that she’d come home determined not to let me off the hook.

That kiss on the cheek turned toward my mouth, and though I didn’t open my lips, I felt his tongue. That was when I knew stopping my own son would cost me more than I admitted.

I'd smoked since I was eighteen, and nothing had ever made me stop. Until my wife found that doctor with impossible heels and a predator's smile.

I’m a closet tranny. I’d spent months obeying his emails when he wrote that he’d be coming to my city, and I knew that afternoon he’d do with me everything he had ordered.

He called me as evening fell to warn me he’d be late. By then I’d already started getting ready: the wig, the makeup, the plug. Only him was missing.

I’d never let so many eyes run over me all at once. And the worst —or the best— part is that my husband enjoyed every second from the bar.

That night I put on the red thong, fishnet stockings, and wig in front of the hotel mirror—and for the first time, I didn’t recognize the same old boy.

My father taught me that monsters stay in the closet if you don’t open the door. What I never told him is how badly I want mine to dare to come out.

Beneath the austere habit she wore a secret of black lace. And every time he arrived with the provisions, that secret burned her a little more.

I locked the door, lowered the blinds, and for the first time decided not to rush. That afternoon, the silence of my house became my accomplice.

Nobody knows. Not even the person I sleep with every night. But when I close my eyes I see myself in front of the mirror, transformed into someone else, ready for him.

I came home from the hospital with my arm in a cast and a thought I couldn’t shake. That night I went to the bathroom, and my mother appeared in the doorway just when I thought I was alone.

I joked that she should sleep with me that night. I never imagined that after midnight, my bedroom door would actually open.

I told him I just wanted to practice taking photos. It was a lie. What I really wanted was for him to finally look at me the way I’d been looking at him for weeks.