I Made Myself Into a Woman for Him, and He Broke My Heart

You had no right, you bastard. None at all, to come into my life with your singing accent and your statue body and that telenovela smooth talk, and turn my world upside down just when all I wanted was for someone to turn me upside down for a while and then leave without a trace.

But let’s start at the beginning.

I’m a man, single and free, neither young nor old, more on the heavy side, but with my charms and my little audience. Those charms go through the roof when I indulge my kink for behaving and being treated like a woman, and a brazen woman at that. Then I put on stockings with a garter belt that flatter my sturdy legs, a corset that cinches my curves, or a thong that leaves the roundness of my ass on display.

Sometimes I dress up like that, out of curiosity, for pleasure, or at the request of those who read me, and I take photos with which I advertise myself on hookup sites for whatever kind of fun anyone can imagine.

And that’s how I met you, you worthless bastard. You wrote to me praising my body, flattering me with sweet talk and sending me photos of your dark body and videos in which you stroked a long, straight erection whose taste I was dying to try.

With most of the people who write, it’s always the same. Either on the second day they propose some unacceptable nonsense — driving a hundred kilometers to give them a blowjob and then going back home, or the exact opposite, becoming their serious girlfriend and moving in with them — and then I tell them to get lost, or else they vanish off the map without warning for reasons I neither know nor care about.

With you it wasn’t like that.

You wrote to me every morning, asking for photos, showering me with compliments said in that Caribbean musicality that melted me. You called me “pretty flower,” “light of my eyes,” “my queen.” You told me your wife didn’t understand you, that you felt empty, that you woke up thinking of me.

You had me hotter than a bonfire.

For months you kept me going with photos, videos, and sweet messages, and by then it wasn’t just my body trembling at the thought of you, but also this half-crazy heart of mine that from time to time plays tricks on me and gets me into trouble. I was starting to waver before the delusional idea that maybe a man like you could really fall in love with me, prefer me to his wife, give me even just his nights and the fire of his desire.

When you suggested we meet in person I almost fainted from the shock, darling. I blushed scarlet and wasted no time organizing everything. I booked a modest, discreet hostel on the outskirts of your city and showed up there with my heart full of hope and my backpack full of wigs, lingerie, condoms, and lubricant.

We’d arranged to meet in the morning, because you thought you could slip away for a while after dropping the kids at school and before going to work. I spent the night awake trying not to get my hopes up, trying not to give in to the fear that you wouldn’t like me when you saw me up close. I even shaved everything, which I almost never do, just to please you more.

Don’t overthink it, I told myself. He’s surely just another one who wants to have some fun and disappear. And that idea, besides making me a little wet, filled me with a vaguely disappointing sense of calm.

***

When morning came I got up early so I’d be ready for you. I washed carefully, got myself ready, dressed, perfumed myself, tidied the room, got nervous, checked my phone a hundred times, adjusted the wig another two hundred, shaken by the situation, eager to have you close, afraid you wouldn’t like me.

And that was with my best clothes on: the black fishnet stockings that suit me so well, the animal-print thong that had drawn so many sighs, a leather corset with built-in garters and a scandalous neckline I bought for the occasion, and a flowing dress I had stolen years ago from my Aunt Rosaura and saved for truly special dates.

I looked and looked at myself in the bathroom mirror: the broad, strong thighs, the taut breasts, the round ass, the bright eyes, the blonde wig giving me that late-night-woman air. I liked what I saw. But unlike other times, this time I feared that the man I was waiting for would find it not enough. Because it was you, and you weren’t just anyone.

At last you arrived, half paranoid because they’d asked for your ID at reception or some such story, glancing warily all around, with a cap and dark glasses like a singer being chased by photographers.

I let you in and we looked at each other nervously. You asked permission to freshen up in the bathroom, and when you came out you were already naked, with that gym-sculpted body and that imposing cock on full display. I sighed and almost drooled all over the floor. You were even better than in the photos.

—Here, I brought you this.

You held out a bag with a light-brown wig, sleeker and a little shorter than mine, less flashy, and a headband with cat ears.

—And this? —I asked.

—So you can be to my taste, queen.

And you kissed me.

The world stopped existing when I felt your lips on mine and closed my eyes to focus on your taste, on your lotion scent, on the feel of your tongue entering my mouth, gentle but decisive. My legs trembled and you held me in your arms, pulling me to you, squeezing me tight. I was speechless, but if I hadn’t been, I would have begged you never to let me go.

—Make yourself even prettier for me, princess.

I would have put on a crown of thorns if you’d asked me to, thief. I changed the wig and put on the headband as best I could. You must have liked the game, because you were looking at me with burning eyes and a mischievous smile.

—How do I look, king?

—My sexy kitty… come here.

You kissed me again and touched me everywhere. I was melting at the feel of your warm hands brushing my ass, my breasts, my thighs, my cheeks. Goosebumps rose on my skin at your touch. My heart was practically bursting out of my chest.

—I want to take some souvenir photos of you… to look at when I’m alone and remember this day.

I posed for you in every position you asked for. On all fours with my ass up, crouching with my hands on my knees, on my side with my arms crossed to emphasize the breast straining to break free from the corset, biting a finger, stroking myself slowly. I don’t know how many photos you took of me. You were thrilled, never stopping giving me instructions, showering me with compliments, capturing me in one pose and then another. The idea that you found me beautiful enough to want to keep me in images intoxicated me with an indescribable feeling of fullness.

I don’t think you were aware of how much that meant to me.

***

At one point, while I was on all fours on the bed, I felt your hands carefully pulling my thong off me. I helped you take it off and saw you bring it to your face and smell it with a satisfied expression. That image filled me with fire and I dropped to my knees on the floor, ready to devour at last what I’d been dreaming about for months.

I kissed it all over, ran my tongue over it savoring every inch, rubbed it over my cheeks and chest, stroked it slowly.

—So good, princess… you make it taste so good.

I took you into my mouth and started working you in little by little. It wasn’t easy; I almost felt my jaw coming loose on the way down. I tried to swallow you whole, but I couldn’t make it. You were too much.

—Do you like it, pretty?

—I love it… but it’s so big.

—You make it that big.

I rewarded the gallant remark by redoubling my effort and managed, with great difficulty and nearly choking, to take you all the way to the back. My throat hurt, my jaw hurt, my knees hurt, but I didn’t care. I wanted to make my man happy. I wanted to please you, arouse you, make you fall in love with me if I could. Because I was already in love with you like an idiot, what can you do about it.

I would have stayed there on my knees until the end of time, but you ordered me to get up and put me on the bed on all fours. You grabbed me with both hands and I felt you press your face against me and inhale greedily. I shuddered with delight. I felt your wet tongue slowly tracing me and I thought I’d faint from pleasure. My body was dripping and my heart was pounding out of control. I wanted you to make me yours, so I moaned to drive you wild.

—Like that, daddy, like that.

—You like it, mommy?

—I love it, king.

—Do you want me inside you?

—I’m dying for it.

You put on the condom and pushed, but you couldn’t get in.

—Put on more lubricant.

You coated me generously and tried again, without success.

—Don’t get discouraged, baby, you’ll manage it.

You tried a third time and still didn’t get in. You were breathing with a hoarse voice. I thought —and I wanted it desperately— that, infuriated by desire, you’d ram into me without mercy and fuck me however you had to. I was ready for the pain, for those minutes I’d need to adjust to you, and above all for that final release in which I’d feel totally and completely yours.

But no.

You gave up and lay down beside me, looking at me with an unreadable expression and a smile capable of melting a glacier.

—I don’t want to hurt my princess.

—But I don’t mind, darling, I…

—Shh, no, my queen. I don’t want to hurt you. I want to make love to you… and there’ll be time.

Despite the disappointment of getting nothing, your words made me fluff up inside. I curled against you and you held me. I kissed you. You kissed me back. You were stroking my thighs, my ass, my chest. You looked at me steadily and I felt you stripping not only my body but my soul. I would have wanted you to take me by the hand out into the street, introduce me as your woman, kiss me in front of everyone with the tenderness you kissed me with then.

What nonsense. But there, on that bed, in your warm arms, I felt like never before.

How beautiful you are, my queen. Such lovely eyes.

You whispered words between kisses that made me daydream wide awake.

No wonder men adore you, princess, with legs this divine.

I could barely hold back the tears, because a warm feeling of happiness flooded my chest and slipped out of my control.

You are my woman and I am your man, you are my adored princess.

And you kissed me gently, and each kiss made me feel more and more like a woman. Like a real woman.

—Make me yours, love, please.

You stroked my cheeks and looked at me tenderly, and I wanted to die right there in your arms. I needed you to make love to me.

I needed it.

I slid back toward your body and returned to the task. You had me straddle your face, and while I kept going, you kissed the inside of my thighs and stroked me. You were rock hard.

—Put it in me, please.

—There won’t be time, my queen… next time.

—Please.

—With you I want to do things right, princess.

It was impossible to get angry with you, even if you left me hanging. I applied myself with determination to savor at least your pleasure, and from the tension in your body and the violence of your spasms I’d say you were close when you suddenly looked at the clock and spoke in a serious, cold voice I could hardly recognize.

—Now I really have to go.

And gently you moved me aside, leaving me wanting.

***

You dressed in a hurry while I watched you in silence, admiring your body, trying to take in my runaway emotions and sort out the head full of contradictory thoughts.

—I’d like to take this with me.

Between your fingers you held my used thong.

—It’s to smell it, kiss it, and get the idea that I’m kissing my queen.

I blushed scarlet. I smiled like an idiot.

—Of course, my love.

—And I brought you something.

You handed me a pair of burgundy cotton panties, pretty though a bit modest for my style, clean, smelling of detergent and fabric softener, of family laundry, grocery lists and nighttime soap operas. Of home, in short.

—They’re my wife’s… they’re for you… take them as a souvenir.

I put them on at once, and though they pinched a little and weren’t as provocative as my usual thongs, I have to admit they suited me.

—How lovely. And now I’m off… I’m sorry there wasn’t time for… you know.

—Don’t worry, my love. Truly, it’s been very special to be here with you.

I meant it. Completely.

—It has for me too.

I smiled, though suddenly I felt strangely sad.

—You have no idea how much this has meant to me.

When I left the hostel I was wearing the panties you gave me, under my man’s clothes. I didn’t take them off in the days that followed, not even to sleep. They made me feel like I shared a bond with you.

I stopped answering my suitors. I put off my closest friends, waiting for you to write to me again, to see each other again, to be together once more, to finally make me yours for real.

***

I waited and waited, and on the seventh day, as in the scriptures, you wrote to me.

You wrote to me, and when I read your message I couldn’t believe it.

You asked me —rather, you firmly demanded, though in polite language— that I get medical tests and send you the results. You reminded me that you had a wife and family, and you almost vaguely threatened me with reprisals if I turned out to have something.

If they’d stuck a needle in me I wouldn’t have bled. You left me cold as ice.

I should have told you to go to hell, but I obeyed you. I went through the ordeal of asking for the tests, enduring the uncertainty, swallowing the nerves before the result, and sending you the photos as if I were some animal being sent to the vet. I expected, naive fool that I was, that when you saw I was healthier than an apple you’d propose seeing each other again, or show some joy, or at least apologize for your distrust and rudeness.

None of that happened. In fact, for almost a year I didn’t hear from you again.

And when you finally wrote, it was to confess that you liked dressing as a woman too, that the panties you gave me were yours, that you wanted my thong to wear in private, and that if I wanted we could meet up one day and go out together all made up to look for a couple of men who’d take care of us properly.

I blocked you. And I would have gladly taught you a lesson, you bastard. Not even the beautiful memory of that morning could you leave me intact, without staining it, without dirtying it with untimely confessions and last-minute nonsense, you worthless bastard.

You had no right, none at all, to get my hopes up and then come at me with this crap.

Anyway, just so you know, I still keep your panties, your wig, and your cat headband, and I use them to roll around with guys who have less smooth talk but more nerve than you. Guys capable of breaking me properly, and not just my heart, like you did.