I’m the trans woman he comes looking for when she’s asleep

Damián always knocks the same way: three slow knocks and then one single knock, spaced apart, as if he were still hesitating at the last second. That night it was almost twelve, and I already knew the code by heart. I switched off the television, glanced at myself for a moment in the hallway mirror, and opened the door without asking who it was. There was no need. Only he knocks like that.

He was on the landing with his coat still on and his shirt collar open. He smelled of the dinner he’d come from, of wine and of a perfume that wasn’t mine. I knew what that smell meant: that he’d spent hours at a family table, smiling, nodding, and that for all those hours he’d been thinking about this hallway, with his cock half hard under the tablecloth.

—You shouldn’t have come —I told him, even though I stepped aside to let him in.

—I know —he answered, and came in anyway.

I like the way he looks at me when he searches for my eyes. It’s a look that asks permission for something he’s already decided on. I’ve known it since the first time, almost a year ago, when we ended up at the bar of a downtown club and he took forty minutes to work up the nerve to speak to me. It took him a while to understand what was happening to him. It cost me nothing: I saw him coming from the moment he walked through the door.

—Did you have dinner with her? —I asked, just to see him squirm.

—With her and her parents —he muttered—. Don’t make me talk about that now.

I laughed softly. I like that he doesn’t want to talk about her when he’s with me. I like that his wife’s name catches in his throat in my living room, as if saying it here were a bigger betrayal than the one he was already committing.

***

I took his coat off myself. I hung it up slowly, stretching out the gesture, while he watched me from the middle of the room, not knowing what to do with his hands. Damián is a big man, broad-shouldered and strong-jawed, the kind of face that looks carved with an axe. He always keeps a slightly unkempt beard and thick lips, and when he falls silent he has the air of an animal measuring the ground before moving.

I went up to him and put a hand on his chest. I felt him breathe deeply under his shirt, that hard chest I’ve traced with my mouth so many nights. I undid the first button and then the second, unhurried, looking him in the eyes the whole time. When I slid my hand down his stomach and squeezed the bulge over his pants, I could feel he was already rock hard, throbbing against the fabric. I smiled without looking away from him.

—Does she know where you are? —I asked in a very low voice, squeezing again.

—She thinks I’m with a coworker —he said, swallowing—. Closing out a report.

—Liar —I whispered, and bit his lower lip while I pulled his zipper down with two fingers—. Liar with a hard cock for someone else.

I like being more desirable to him than his wife. I like knowing that, after years of marriage, after the house and the plans and his whole family sitting tonight at the table, he makes clumsy excuses to cross the city and come up to my apartment with his balls swollen. What she gives him out of habit, I give him with hunger. And he knows it. That’s why he comes back.

I finished unbuttoning his shirt and slid it off his shoulders. I rested my cheek against his chest and breathed in his heat. Damián wrapped his arms around me and for a moment we did nothing but stand there, in the middle of the living room, he huge and me small against his body, like two people who have been holding back too long. I slipped my hand inside his boxer shorts and grabbed his cock directly, hot, pulsing. I moved it slowly up and down, feeling a thick drop escape from the tip, which I spread with my thumb.

—I missed you —he said, and his voice came out rough.

Don’t tell me that, I thought. Don’t tell me that, because I believe you.

***

I took him by the hand to the bedroom, with my other hand still wrapped around his cock through his open pants. The lamp light left half the room in shadow, and Damián looked good in that light: it carved out the shadows of his chest, the muscles in his arms, the line of his hip where the belt started. I sat on the edge of the bed and drew him toward me by the belt loops.

—Stay still —I ordered him—. Tonight I’m in charge.

I like his strong legs when he plants himself in front of me without moving. I undid his belt slowly, enjoying the sound of the buckle, and pulled his pants and boxer shorts down to his ankles in one tug. His cock sprang heavy in front of my face, thick, the vein standing out and the head shiny and purple. I kissed his thigh, first over the fabric and then over the skin, feeling the muscle tighten under my lips. Damián let out the air through his teeth.

—Renata… —he said my name like a warning.

—Shut up —I answered, and took it into my mouth halfway.

There’s no place where I feel more like myself than here, on my knees in front of this man, with his hands tangled in my hair and his breathing breaking apart little by little. I wrapped myself around his hard legs and felt him grow even more against my tongue. I ran the tip of my tongue under the head, over the thick vein that runs up underneath, and then took him all the way back into my mouth until my chin brushed his balls. A muffled groan escaped him. He tried to set the rhythm, to thrust into my throat, but I dug my nails into his thigh so he’d understand that I set the pace. And he obeyed. Damián, who decides everything in his house, obeys in my bed.

I sucked his cock slowly, first taking just the head between tight lips, making wet sounds that drew tremors from his legs. Then I went deeper, swallowing the whole shaft until tears blurred my eyes, and came back up leaving a thread of saliva hanging from my mouth. I grabbed his balls with my free hand, kneaded them slowly, tugging at the skin, while I kept swallowing his cock whole. He got so hard that I could feel him starting to swell dangerously against my palate.

—Look at me —I asked, letting him go for an instant and rubbing my wet cock across my cheek—. Tell me what I am.

It was hard for him. That part always is, not because he’s ashamed of me, but because he’s ashamed of how much he wants me. He lowered his gaze and found my eyes, and then, with that rough male voice that doesn’t know how to put words to what it feels, he told me. He told me I was his whore, that I was the only one who sucked his cock like that, that no woman had ever done to him what I did. He told me I sucked him better than anyone, that he came just thinking about my mouth.

I like hearing him say it. I like hearing him repeat it in rough words, say it in my ear while he grips the back of my neck, because in those words there’s a truth he doesn’t dare say anywhere else in the world. I took his cock back into my mouth and squeezed his balls, sucking him with my whole mouth until I heard him pant like an animal.

***

I brought him right to the edge and then stopped. I pulled his cock out of my mouth when I could feel it tense and ready to explode, and I squeezed the base with two fingers to cut off his release. I stood up, pulled my nightgown over my head, and let it fall to the floor. Underneath, I wasn’t wearing anything. Damián looked at me the way you look at something you shouldn’t want and want anyway: the hard nipples, the shaved pussy already soaked and shining between my thighs. He held out his hand. I shook my head.

—Lie down —I told him.

He lay down on my bed, that big body taking up the whole thing, his cock pointing at the ceiling, hard as a rock. Before climbing on top of him I ran my tongue once more along his whole shaft, from the balls to the tip, and spat a little saliva on it to make it nice and wet. Then I got on top of him, put my hands on his chest, felt the wild heartbeat under my palm, and leaned down until my lips brushed his without quite kissing him. I rubbed my open pussy against his cock without taking it in, sliding back and forth until I soaked the whole length with my juices.

—Did you think about me during dinner? —I asked him, pressing the tip against my clit.

—All the time —he admitted, his jaw tight.

—While she was talking to you? Did you get hard under the table thinking about my cunt?

—While she was talking to me. The whole time, fuck.

I like that. I like knowing I was sitting there like a ghost at that family table, between the in-laws and the wine, living inside his head while he pretended to listen. Then I kissed him, deeply, and at the same time I sank onto him in one sharp drop. His cock drove all the way into my cunt and I let out a moan against his mouth. He gave the kiss back with an urgency that had nothing guilty about it, grabbing my ass with both hands and squeezing.

I started moving on top of him slowly, feeling the cock fill me completely, scraping my inner walls every time I went up and down. I grabbed his wrists and placed them on my tits so he could squeeze them. He pinched my nipples between his fingers, twisted them, and I rode him harder, giving sharp little bounces that could be heard all over the room over the wet sound of my cunt sucking his cock. We moved together in the dim light. Damián held my hips with those huge hands, molding my body, guiding me up and down on his shaft, and I let myself be carried while at the same time I guided him, in our game where it’s never clear who’s in charge.

I kissed his neck, bit his shoulder, whispered in his ear things I’d never say to anyone else. I told him his cock was mine tonight, that I was going to milk him dry, that he should forget his wife’s dry cunt because now he was inside mine. He answered with my name, over and over, as if it were the only thing he remembered how to say.

—Don’t go quiet —I asked him—. I want to hear you.

And he didn’t go quiet. He told me I was hot as hell, that he loved the way I rode him, that he had never felt a pussy like mine. He said it with a broken voice, and for once I believed him completely. Because there’s something Damián doesn’t understand and I do: a man can lie to his wife, to his in-laws, to his boss and to himself, but he can’t fake the way his body gives itself up when it stops fighting what it wants.

I got off for a moment and turned around. I got on all fours at the edge of the bed and presented my ass over my shoulder. There was no need to say anything. He got behind me, grabbed my hips, and drove into me with one thrust to the hilt. I screamed into the pillow. He started fucking me from behind with hard, dry thrusts, his hips slamming against my ass with a wet-flesh sound that filled the room. He grabbed my hair, yanked my head back, and kept burying himself inside me. I screamed for him to fuck me harder, not to stop, to drive it in all the way. He shoved his thumb into my mouth and I sucked it while he tore my cunt apart from behind.

I asked him to push deeper, to hurt me, and he obeyed. With one hand he pressed my nape into the mattress and with the other he landed a sharp smack on my ass cheek that left a red mark. I felt the first orgasm rise through me like a jolt: my cunt clenched around his cock, squeezing it, and I came screaming his name into the sheets. He didn’t stop. He kept thrusting, faster now, clumsier, chasing his own release.

***

He came inside me with a deep groan that came from the bottom of his chest, gripping my waist so hard I’d find the marks of his fingers on my skin the next day. I felt his cock swell one last time and fill my cunt with hot spurts of semen, one after another, while he kept pushing through the final contractions. He stayed inside me for a long while, not pulling out, breathing into the back of my neck. When he finally came out, I could feel his cum beginning to trickle down the inside of my thigh. I let myself fall back against him, both of us soaked, his heart pounding against my cheek, his semen still wetting me between the legs. For a long while neither of us spoke. Only the kitchen clock could be heard, and, very far away, the murmur of a car in the empty street.

—I should go —he said at last, without moving.

—I know —I answered, without letting him go.

But he didn’t leave. He stayed another half hour, stroking my back in silence, his fingers dropping now and then between my ass cheeks to touch the cunt soaked with his own release, in that warm border between desire fulfilled and the guilt that would come looking for him sooner or later. I know that half hour well. It’s mine. It’s the time when Damián is no one’s husband, no dutiful son-in-law, no serious man from the office. He’s just the one who comes back to my door again and again because with me he doesn’t have to pretend to be someone he isn’t.

—Will you come back? —I asked, though I already knew the answer.

—I shouldn’t —he said, and kissed my forehead—. But yes.

He dressed slowly in the dim light. I watched him from the bed, not covering myself, legs open and semen still dripping inside me, letting him take that image home with him, to his marital bed, to his orderly life. I like being that for him. I like being the forbidden thing he chooses again and again, what no wife gives him and no advice can take away. I’m not what’s expected of him, and that’s exactly why he wants me like he’s wanted nothing else.

At the door he turned one last time. Three slow knocks, he had called, and one single one after. He took his time leaving. He always does.

—I like you —I told him before he crossed the threshold.

Damián froze for a second, as if those two words weighed more than the whole night. Then he nodded, not daring to answer the same thing out loud, and went down the stairs toward his other life.

I closed the door, leaned my back against it, and smiled in the dark, feeling his hot cum still sliding down my thigh. Tomorrow he would go back to his wife, to his table, to his comfortable lie. But tonight, for that stolen half hour, he had been entirely mine. And we both knew it.