I'm trans and that night I dressed only for him

There’s a kind of heat that has nothing to do with temperature. I know it well because I’ve been carrying it for years: it shows up without warning, climbs through my belly, and settles into an urgency that doesn’t go away until I do something about it. That Saturday afternoon found me alone at home, with too much free time and that familiar restless desire. I wanted a man to make me his. I wanted a cock inside me, I wanted someone else’s mouth biting my neck, I wanted to feel opened up and used and filled to the brim.

I live in the closet. My friends, my coworkers, my family. No one knows that when I close the door to my apartment I become who I really am. It’s not exactly that I hide it out of fear, but rather because the outside world still doesn’t understand, and explaining is more exhausting than staying quiet. I’m a trans woman, and that’s mine, only mine, for now.

I sat on the edge of the bed with the clothes I’d worn that day still on, those neutral, dull clothes I wear when I go out, and stared at the ceiling. I thought about taking out one of my toys. I had two or three in the dresser drawer in the closet—a thick dildo, a longer textured one, a black plug I’d used for the first time not long ago—that would have been enough to relieve the heat, but something stopped me. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want silicone. I wanted flesh. I wanted weight. I wanted a real dick throbbing inside me, with veins and a pulse, not some cold device I’d rinse off in the bidet afterward.

As if he’d heard me, my phone vibrated on the little table.

It was him.

I’m not going to say his real name. I’ll call him Rodrigo for this story. A man in his forties, with a job and an orderly life and, as far as I know, a partner who knows nothing about us. Discreet to a fault. We’d met only once, months earlier, and the experience had stayed etched in my mind with a clarity that even surprised me. He’d written me blunt things, with no preamble, with that raw honesty men have when they want something without beating around the bush. He said he was thinking about me, that he wanted to fuck me again, that he got hard remembering how I’d sucked him off last time, that he could sneak out tonight if I was available.

I read the message twice. Put the phone face down. Picked it back up.

Of course I’m available. Come and break me.

I told him to come in two hours. I got to my feet.

***

The first thing was the shower. Hot, long, meticulous. I shaved my whole body carefully, starting with my legs and working up to my pubic area, where I left only a small strip of dark hair just above my cock, which is small, almost decorative when I’m dressed. The area around my ass I treated with special attention, running the razor in circles until it was smooth as a peach, because I already knew where the night was going to end: with Rodrigo’s cock buried to the hilt in my ass.

Then came the other part, the one nobody talks about but everybody does. I rinsed myself out with the anal douche I keep on the low shelf in the bathroom. Two, three passes of warm water, until it ran clear. I slid two fingers in with soap, then with lube, testing the opening, getting it used to me. I felt that first familiar tug, the one that tells you the body will give in when the moment comes. I bit my lip in front of the fogged-up mirror.

I came out of the bathroom wrapped in steam and applied moisturizer from feet to neck. My skin is fair, and you can tell when it’s well cared for. My feet are one of my favorite parts: small, with straight toes and a well-defined arch. I painted my nails a deep red I’d been saving for occasions like this.

I sat down in front of the vanity mirror and started on my makeup. Soft foundation, nothing heavy. A little concealer under my eyes. Smoky shadow on the lids to lengthen my gaze. Mascara. Lipstick in a burgundy that wouldn’t last long once I had Rodrigo’s cock between my lips, but that looked perfect at that moment.

I put on the wig: black, wavy, falling to my shoulders. I adjusted it in front of the mirror until it looked natural, like it was mine.

Then came the clothes.

I have a specific drawer for that. I open it only a few times, only when I know the night deserves it. I chose a midnight-blue lace thong, high on the hips, with an almost transparent front and a thin strip in the back that wedged between my ass cheeks and brushed my hole every time I moved. Over that, a black corset with thin straps that cinches my waist and lifts my chest. Fishnet stockings held up with a garter belt adjusted to my thighs. A black satin miniskirt that covered just enough. And the shoes: black stilettos with needle heels that I keep for the nights that matter.

I perfumed my neck, behind my ears, on the insides of my wrists, and, just in case, between my thighs.

I looked at myself in the full-length mirror for a long while. I smiled.

Like this. Exactly like this. A little whore waiting to be fucked.

***

Rodrigo arrived on time. I heard the doorbell and felt my pulse speed up in a way that isn’t exactly fear but is close enough. I opened the door and there he was: tall, in a dark leather jacket, his hair a little mussed. He looked me up and down with a calculated slowness that didn’t need to hide anything.

—Jesus —he said. Just that.

I smiled and stepped aside to let him in. Before I could close the door, his hands were already at my waist.

He turned me toward him gently but firmly, and kissed me. It wasn’t a greeting kiss. It was a kiss with intent, long, his tongue sliding into my mouth without asking permission, his hands roaming my back and then down to grab my ass under my skirt, squeezing me hard with both hands. I felt him rock-hard against my stomach, outlined under his pants, and a sound escaped my throat that I hadn’t planned.

—You’ve been in my head for months —he murmured against my mouth—. Thinking about that little ass of yours. About how you sucked me off.

—I know —I said. Because I did know. He’d been in mine too, every night, while I touched myself thinking about his cock.

We moved deeper inside without breaking apart. Rodrigo took off the jacket I’d had over my shoulders and dropped it onto the couch. He looked at the corset, the stockings, the miniskirt shifting with every step. He ran a hand over my thigh, over the stocking, and up until he brushed the thong.

—How long have you been all ready like this?

—Almost two hours —I admitted.

—For who?

—For you —I said. And it was the simplest truth I could say that night—. So you can fuck me.

He took my neck with one hand, not hard, but with that gesture of someone who wants to mark something without hurting it. He kissed me again, slower, and lowered his mouth to my neck, biting me softly in the spot where I’d sprayed perfume. With his other hand he squeezed one fake tit over the corset and then moved down to the front of the thong, where my own bulge barely showed. I felt my legs weaken for a second.

He led me toward the bedroom.

***

With the bedside lamp on, the room felt more intimate. Rodrigo sat on the edge of the bed and I stayed standing in front of him, heels on, hands at my sides. He looked at me as if he wanted to memorize every detail.

—Get on your knees —he said—. Take it out.

I did it without hesitation. The carpet scraped my knees through the fishnet stockings. He undid his belt, the button, the zipper. I helped him pull his pants down with the calm of someone who knows exactly what they want. When I pulled down the boxers, the cock sprang out, hard, heavy, pointing at my face. What appeared before me was exactly what I’d kept in my memory since that first time: thick, with a dark, glossy head, a thick vein running diagonally along it, heavy balls underneath, taut.

I stared at it for a second before touching it. Just stared. I licked my burgundy lips.

I started at the base. With my tongue, unhurried. I ran it slowly up the shaft, feeling its texture, the bulging vein under the skin, while I held it with one hand. I licked his balls first, one by one, taking them whole into my mouth, sucking them carefully, feeling their warm weight on my tongue. Rodrigo let out a long groan. I moved slowly up under the shaft, tracing the vein with the tip of my tongue, until I reached the top. When I got to the head, I kissed it wetly, opened it with my lips, and took it into my mouth slowly, letting it settle until I felt the head pressing against my palate.

Rodrigo let out his breath slowly, like someone who’d been holding something in for hours.

—That’s it, slut. Just like that.

He took my head with both hands, not to control the movement but to brace himself while I did my thing. And I did it well. I know because I see it on men’s faces, that moment when they close their eyes and stop thinking about anything else. Rodrigo tasted slightly salty, with a thick drop of precum that I kept drawing out with the tip of my tongue each time I came back up, mixed with the heat of being trapped, and that combination has been irresistible to me since the first time I ever tasted it.

I sucked him off for a good while. Changing the rhythm, using my tongue on the head, circling the glans, taking him deep until I felt him hit the back of my throat and I was on the verge of gagging, holding it there for a few seconds until my eyes filled with tears and my mascara started to smudge. I pulled him out with a thick strand of saliva hanging between my lips and the tip, watched it glisten, and took him all the way back in. I varied the pressure, the speed, alternating between slow movements and deeper ones. I went back down to his balls, sucked them while I worked him with my hand slick with saliva. At some point he threw his head back and let out a hoarse sound that went through me and made me clamp my thighs together.

—Stop —he finally said, grabbing the wig by the hair—. Stop, slut, or I’m going to come in your mouth and I want to finish inside you.

I took him out of my mouth with a wet sound, looked up at him from below with swollen lips and saliva dripping down my chin.

—How do you want me? —I asked. My voice came out rougher than usual.

He looked at me with narrowed eyes.

—On your side. On the bed. I want to fuck you slow so I can last.

***

I took off my shoes and settled on the bed on my right side. I kept the corset on, and the stockings too, and the garter belt: he liked all that and I knew it. I only slid the thong down my hips and left it hanging from one ankle. I bent the top leg toward my stomach and left the other stretched out, offering him my open ass. Rodrigo finished taking off his clothes—the shirt, the T-shirt underneath, all of it—and positioned himself naked behind me, fitting his body against mine. I felt his warmth across my whole back, his chest pressed between my shoulder blades, and the hard cock spearing my lower back, sliding between my ass cheeks whenever he moved even slightly.

I pointed out where the lube was. He reached for it without getting up and opened it. He poured a generous amount onto his fingers and another directly onto my hole, and I felt the cold gel running between my cheeks before his fingers started massaging the entrance in circles. First one, exploring, opening space patiently, pushing in until the first knuckle. I closed my eyes and let out a long sigh.

—Good? —he asked, moving the finger inside, bending it, searching.

—Yes —I said. And then, when the second finger joined the first and I felt the stretch: —Yes. Put more in.

He moved them with a slow rhythm, opening me like scissors inside, preparing me. A third finger joined in and I arched against his hand without being able to stop myself, pushing my ass back so they could go deeper. The pace was slow, unhurried, and that undid me more than any urgency could have. Rodrigo knows how to read bodies. I remembered that from the first time: that ability to go slower when the other person needs space, not to rush ahead.

When I felt him shift position, when I noticed him pulling his fingers out and settling behind me with a different intention, I held my breath. I felt the head of his cock press against the entrance, sliding up and down between my cheeks, soaked in lube and saliva. The pressure came gradually: insistent, careful, impossible to ignore. He pushed patiently and the head gave way, entering all at once with a silent pop that tore a sharp moan out of me. I opened up to take him. It was a slow process, with little pauses, gaining a centimeter at a time, his hand on my hip to hold me steady, while he whispered in my ear to breathe, to relax, that I was a good little whore. When he was all the way inside, when I felt his balls resting against the edge of my ass, he stopped.

He didn’t speak. He just kissed my neck, the nape of my neck, the top of my back. He licked my earlobe.

He started moving.

First slowly, coming almost all the way out, leaving only the tip inside, and then driving it back in with one long, firm thrust, at a rhythm that forced me to grip the pillow with both hands and bite the pillowcase. The angle of the position made each entry deeper than expected, hitting that internal spot that makes me see lights. I adjusted my hip toward him, arched my back a little, and the change was immediate: the cock began rubbing my prostate with every thrust, and I felt my penis, which had been sleepy and decorative until then, start to harden against my thigh, leaking precum without anyone touching it.

—There —I said—. Right there, that spot.

—Yeah?

—There, don’t stop. Fuck me there, come on.

The rhythm kept building. Not all at once, but in steps, each one more intense than the last. Rodrigo took my hip firmly, digging his fingers in, and that, that solid weight of his hand on my skin, anchored me to what was happening in a way I can’t fully explain. The splash of lube could be heard, the slap of his balls against my ass cheeks, my broken breathing. I put one hand at the base of his cock while he was inside me, feeling how it went in and out, measuring with my fingers how much of him was left inside, doubling the sensation. With my other hand I grabbed my own cock, which was rock-hard and dripping, and started jerking myself off to the rhythm of his thrusts.

I moaned. Not for effect, but because I couldn’t help it. I moaned loudly, unfiltered, like a female in heat.

—That’s it, slut —he panted in my ear without slowing down—. Moan for me. Tell me you like it.

—I love it, I love your cock, don’t stop, fuck me harder.

He answered with more force. He grabbed a handful of the wig and yanked my head back, forcing my neck to arch further, and he pounded into me with his full hips for several minutes straight, mercilessly, until I felt the bed shifting beneath us. At some point I stopped tracking the details and only that existed: the pressure, the movement, the warmth of his body pressed against mine, his breathing quickening against the nape of my neck, his cock sliding in and out with a wet sound that filled the room. Rodrigo pressed his hips to mine and shoved hard, not pulling out, that circular motion that keeps you full and gives you no respite, grinding me inside with the tip.

—Like this? —he asked, his voice already taut.

—Like this —I said—. Like this, like this, you’re going to make me come.

And I did. With barely touching my own cock, just from the friction of his cock against my prostate and a couple of final shakes from me, I came in a long jet that stained my corset and the sheets, while my ass clenched around him in spasms, swallowing him. Rodrigo groaned when he felt it.

—Fuck, you little bitch, you’re clenching so hard.

He held on for a few minutes more, with a restraint I was grateful for, fucking me while I kept shaking, oversensitive, letting out sharp moans with every thrust. When he finished, he did it with a muffled cry against my shoulder and a shudder that ran through his whole body. I felt him empty inside me, hot, in three or four thick spurts that I could clearly feel, one after the other, as he sank all the way in with each one. The overflow slowly began to leak downward, warm, sliding along my perineum until it soaked the sheet. We stayed still like that, without separating, with his cock still inside me, softening little by little, for a minute I didn’t want to end.

***

Afterward, he withdrew carefully. The cock came out with a wet sound and I felt the immediate emptiness, his semen spilling out of me in full. He wiped himself off with a tissue, got dressed. I stayed in bed without moving, now face down, my body loose, my ass open, my head still somewhere else. I heard the sound of his belt buckle, the rustle of the jacket.

Before leaving, Rodrigo bent down and gave me a short kiss on the cheek. He didn’t say anything else. There was no need.

I heard the door close softly.

I stayed staring at the ceiling, feeling how his load kept slowly leaking out of me.

That same circular heat again. But finally gone, for a few hours.

If you’re trans and you live your desire in silence, in the closet, you know exactly what I’m talking about. That desire you don’t explain to anyone and yet is the most real thing you have. I don’t apologize for it. Never again.