I Went Out Dressed Up for the First Time at Carnival

I didn’t go out that night to prove anything to anyone.

I went out because I couldn’t keep looking at myself alone in my bedroom mirror anymore, with the door closed and the lights low, pretending that was enough for me. Because I had spent too many nights masturbating in front of that same mirror, my thong pulled down to my thighs and my cock in my hand, and it was no longer enough to cum in the dark and clean myself quickly before anyone asked questions.

I had been preparing for months without admitting it. Trying things on in secret, learning to walk in heels across the carpet so no one would hear, practicing a gesture, a look, a way of tilting my head. And the Carnival in Calanova was the only night of the year when a person could walk down the street dressed like that and disappear among a thousand costumes. Nobody asked questions. Nobody pointed. That night, everyone was someone else.

I got dressed slowly, nerves tingling across my skin from the very first button.

The black dress clung to my body with a boldness I still wasn’t sure I was allowed to claim. Underneath, I wore sheer stockings held up by a garter belt, and lingerie no one was going to see but that I felt with every step, taut, present, reminding me every second of what I was doing. The tight top, the narrow thong pressing my cock against my pubic bone to hide it, the wig carefully positioned in front of the mirror, the makeup accentuating my eyes more than I ever dared during the day. I studied myself for a long moment before leaving and swallowed.

If you take one step outside this door, there’s no going back.

I took the step.

***

Calanova was overflowing. The harbor avenue was a river of people, music spilling from every corner, colored lights trembling across the water, half-dismantled floats, and costumes everywhere. The air smelled of sea spray, cheap perfume, and spilled beer. I walked close to the façades, still getting used to the heels, feeling the night’s cold climb my legs encased in stockings.

No one looked at me strangely. That was the first thing that surprised me. A woman dressed as a cat smiled at me as we passed, a group of guys raised their glasses in my direction without a second thought, and for a moment I understood that tonight, among so many characters, I was simply one more. The thought loosened something in my chest.

I went into a bar along the promenade to escape the commotion outside. It was dark and crowded, the music pounding through the floor and the low ceiling. I ordered a beer to calm myself and drank it too quickly. I ordered another. I could feel the alcohol loosening both my knees and my fear, and I was grateful for both.

That was when the first one approached me.

An older man, wearing an open shirt and far too much cologne, confident in a way I didn’t like. He leaned over my shoulder and spoke into my ear without any preamble, getting straight to what he wanted, as if I were something already decided upon at the bar. He told me he would love to take me to the bathroom, put me on my knees, and shove his cock down my throat right there, saying it as casually as someone ordering another drink. I smiled at him, politely thanked him for his interest, and stepped away.

“No, thank you,” I said, keeping my smile.

I didn’t want any of that. Or not like that. I didn’t want my first time to be a filthy whisper in my ear and hands I hadn’t asked for pushing beneath my dress in a toilet that reeked of bleach. I turned toward the bar, took another drink, and let the man disappear into the crowd.

And then I saw him.

***

He was leaning against a pillar on the other side of the dance floor, a glass in his hand and a calmness that contrasted with all the noise around him. He was looking at me. But not the way the other man had. He looked at me without rushing, without undressing me with his eyes, almost curiously, like someone who had found something he hadn’t expected to find that night. He held my gaze for a couple of seconds and, instead of looking away, smiled.

I looked away first, nervous, and returned to my beer. When I looked up again, he was already crossing the floor toward me.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a short beard and dark eyes that seemed to find everything amusing. He stopped at a respectful distance, without invading my space, and said the one thing I hadn’t expected.

“Do you dance?”

I laughed, more from nerves than anything else.

“I’m pretty clumsy at this,” I replied, indicating my heels with my chin. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“It’s okay,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’ll lead you.”

I stared at that hand for a moment too long. Then I took it.

***

And he led me.

On the dance floor I felt insecure during the first few measures, stiff, focused on not losing my balance. But his hand settled firmly and confidently on my waist, and he began guiding me with such naturalness that I had no choice but to let myself be carried along. I didn’t have to think. Just follow him. His palm traveled over my lower back, setting the direction, and my body responded before my mind could become frightened.

Little by little, I forgot my fear of falling. And the noise. And the people. And everything it had taken to get me onto that dance floor. I leaned into him, let my weight fall against his chest, and felt his heat through the fabric of my dress. We danced very close, closer than the song required, my hip against his, his breath brushing my temple. And during one turn I felt it. The hard bulge of his cock pressing against my hip through his trousers, insistent, undisguised. A small gasp escaped me that he pretended not to hear, and then he pressed me even tighter against himself, so I would have no doubt that he had noticed it too.

“See?” he said in my ear. “You’re not clumsy. You just never let yourself go.”

I didn’t know what to say. He was more right than he could imagine.

He asked me my name. I gave him the name that was mine that night, the one I had spent months saying alone in front of the mirror, and when I said it aloud, to another person, for the first time, I felt a shiver run through my entire body. He repeated it slowly, as if tasting it, and I liked the way it sounded in his mouth.

“Adrián,” he said, introducing himself. And he kept dancing.

***

We went out to the terrace to smoke, although neither of us smoked very much. The cold air of the early morning raised gooseflesh on my arms and legs. We didn’t talk much. We didn’t need to. Leaning against the railing, with the dark harbor behind me, I felt him draw closer even before he moved.

He kissed me for the first time with a gentleness I hadn’t expected. Barely a brush. Almost a question left hanging in the air, a way of checking whether I wanted it. I pulled away for a second, just long enough to look into his eyes and understand that yes, I did want it. And then he kissed me again, this time without questions, with a decisiveness that left me breathless, one hand holding the back of my neck and the other closing around my waist, his tongue seeking mine until I forgot where we were.

The hand holding my waist moved lower, slipped beneath my dress, and squeezed one of my ass cheeks over my thong. His fingers followed the narrow strip of fabric to the cleft between them, and there they stopped, pressing, as if warning me what they might do if I allowed it. A moan escaped me into his mouth. He swallowed it with the hint of a smile against my lips, and without stopping the kiss he dragged my hand to his crotch. I squeezed him through his trousers without thinking. He was rock-hard. I felt his cock pulsing against my palm, taut and confined, and he let out a rough moan that prickled the back of my neck.

When we separated, I was breathing badly. He was smiling.

“Shall we go back inside?” he asked.

I nodded. But by then we both knew that dancing was only an excuse to keep touching each other.

***

We returned to the dance floor and danced again, but there was nothing left of my initial clumsiness. Now I moved against him with a confidence I hadn’t possessed half an hour earlier, his hands firm on my hips, my arms around his neck, the music wrapping around both of us in that place with no ceiling in sight. I felt his fingers slide down the curve of my back, stopping right where the dress began to cling, and every time they did, I pressed myself a little harder against him.

At one point, taking advantage of the darkness, he slipped a hand beneath my dress and caressed the inside of my thigh over the stocking, moving up until he brushed the edge of my thong. I dug my short nails into his flesh. I moved my hips against his thigh, rubbing myself against him shamelessly, feeling my own cock wake up trapped inside the fabric and my thong grow wet at the front with a drop I didn’t know whether it came from my glans or was simply desire. I danced and fucked him with my eyes at the same time, and I stopped distinguishing between the two.

When I finally told him I was leaving, that it was late, he offered to walk me to my car without letting go of my hand. We left the bar and walked along the nearly empty promenade, the party fading behind us, streetlights reflected in puddles. We didn’t speak. There was only the sound of my heels against the paving stones and the brush of his thumb over my knuckles.

We reached my car, parked on a side street away from the bustle. And before I could take out the keys, he kissed me again, pressing my back against the door. Long. Deep. He pressed his whole body against me and, in that instant, I felt it again with perfect clarity. His erection, hard and large, pressing against me through our clothes, the entire shape of his cock outlined against my belly. My breath caught.

I opened the door without thinking too much. And we both got inside.

***

Inside the car, the world suddenly shrank. The space was small, the seats narrow, and soon the windows began to fog with our breathing. We didn’t talk. There was only the rustle of clothing and air moving in and out too quickly. I swung one leg over him and straddled his lap, the skirt of my dress riding up my thighs and the stockings pulling taut against my skin.

His hands traveled over my back and sides, rose to my chest, and came down again. Mine sank into his hair. Our mouths separated only to draw breath. I felt him so close that I could barely think; I could only register the lingerie tightening against my body, my heart pounding in my chest, the heat gathering between the two layers of fabric that still separated us.

That was when his hand moved down from my waist, slipped between our bodies, and went beneath my dress, pushing it up to my hip. I felt his fingers brush the front of my thong and stop. I held my breath. I didn’t move his hand away, but I didn’t move a muscle either. He looked into my eyes in the half-light, suddenly very serious, and slowly felt me through the fabric. He noticed the hard bulge pressed against the cloth. He noticed the unmistakable shape of my cock trapped there. He paused for a second, processing it. And then he smiled, very slowly, with a calmness that frightened me and made me want him more than anything else that night.

“Look how pretty she is,” he murmured, squeezing me over my thong with his whole palm. “You were afraid I’d notice, weren’t you?”

I couldn’t answer. I only nodded, my chin trembling, and let my head fall against his shoulder while he groped me through the fabric, wrenching a muffled moan from me. He slipped his fingers inside the elastic and slowly pulled it out, carefully, as if it were something he had spent the entire night wanting to hold in his hand. When the air touched my skin, I shuddered all over. I was hard, soaked at the tip, and he gripped me at the base and began drawing my foreskin down with two fingers, using a gentle rhythm, watching my face so he wouldn’t miss how I came undone with every stroke.

“Shhh,” he whispered, watching me bite my lip. “You don’t have to hide anything here.”

I sought his mouth. I bit his lower lip while he continued slowly masturbating me inside the car. Then I bent down, lowered his zipper with clumsy fingers, undid the button of his trousers, and pulled out his cock. It was big. Bigger than I expected. Thick at the base, veins standing out, a fat drop of pre-cum trembling at the tip. I grabbed it. I stroked him twice slowly with my palm, feeling him pulse in my hand, and he let out a low growl that raised my pleasure an entire notch.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I leaned forward into that impossible space, almost folded over his lap, and took him into my mouth. I felt him fill my tongue, push against my palate, and forced myself lower until the tip touched the back of my throat and triggered a small gag that didn’t stop me. I began sucking him slowly, moving up and down, one hand at the base helping me and the other holding him against the seat. A long moan escaped him, and he buried his fingers in my wig, careful not to pull, though his hips set the rhythm for me.

“Fuck… that’s it, suck me like that,” he panted through his teeth, his voice breaking. “You do it so well, fuck.”

I licked his entire length, from the base to the glans, and ran my tongue along his frenulum until his belly clenched. I took him all the way into my mouth again, letting saliva run down my chin and fall onto his balls. I caressed them with my free hand as I kept sucking him, gently squeezing them, and he threw his head back against the headrest and let out a low, full-bodied “holy fuck” that nearly made me cum just from hearing it.

He pulled me away before it was time, slowly tugging my chin upward.

“Stop,” he asked, his voice hoarse. “If you keep going, I’ll cum, and I want to fuck you.”

***

I sat up over him again, my cock dripping between my legs and my mouth swollen. He yanked my dress up to my waist. He pushed my thong aside with two fingers, spat into his palm, coated his entire cock with saliva, then spat onto his fingers again and slipped them between my buttocks, searching for my hole. He caressed the entrance with his fingertip in circles, barely pressing, and a sharp whimper escaped me that sounded unfamiliar.

“Are you sure?” he asked in my ear, his voice hoarse.

“Yes,” I said, and for the first time all night my voice didn’t tremble.

He inserted one finger. Then two. He opened me slowly, patiently, while I braced myself against his shoulders and bit my lip to keep from screaming. When he felt me give, he withdrew his fingers, held his cock against my hole, and pushed the tip in slightly. I lifted myself a little over him, found the position, and began lowering myself slowly, controlling it myself, feeling him enter inch by inch, stretching me in a way that left me breathless. It wasn’t my first time. But he was big, very big, and I had to stop halfway, breathe, and let my body adjust before continuing. All I could do was moan, long and broken, against his neck. He held my hips, patient, waiting for me, forcing nothing.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his lips against my ear. “Take all of it, slowly. We have all night.”

And when I finally had him all the way inside me, his balls resting against my buttocks, I stayed still for a second, my forehead against his, both of us breathing equally fast. I could feel his cock pulsing inside me, filling me in a way I had never felt alone in my bedroom with any toy.

“Slowly,” he murmured. “There’s no rush.”

***

I began to move. Slowly at first, setting the pace myself, rising and falling while he guided me with his hands on my waist. Every time I dropped onto him, his cock struck a place inside me that made me see stars, and a new moan escaped me. The car rocked with us, the seat springs creaked, the windows now completely fogged, isolating us from the rest of the world. Outside, the Carnival music still played in the distance. Inside, there were only him, me, the wet slap of his cock entering me again and again, and the sound of our broken breathing.

Little by little, I let go. I stopped thinking about whether I was doing it right, whether I looked good, and everything that had terrified me for months. There was only pleasure, raw and clean, running up my back. He lifted his hips to meet me, thrusting from below, and every time he buried himself inside me he drew a moan I no longer tried to contain. His hands moved beneath my dress, squeezed my chest over the top, dropped to grip my hips, and set a harder rhythm, and I followed him.

“That’s it,” he panted against my neck. “Just like that. You take my cock so well, fuck, so well.”

He changed our position without pulling out. He laid me on my back across the passenger seat, boxed in, one leg bent against the backrest and the other braced against the steering wheel. He positioned himself above me, between my spread legs, and began fucking me, long, clean thrusts, bracing his palms against the roof of the car to gain leverage. My cock was trapped between our two bellies, dripping clear semen onto my own navel, and every one of his thrusts rubbed it against his skin and the crumpled fabric of my dress, bunched up to my chest.

“Look at me,” he ordered without stopping his thrusts. “Look me in the eyes while I fuck you.”

I obeyed. I held his gaze as he drove into me again and again, as sweat ran down his temples, as I felt pleasure rising up my back in waves I could no longer contain. He gripped my cock with one hand without stopping fucking me and began stroking it in time with his thrusts, squeezing me with his palm just below the glans, as if he knew exactly what made me lose my mind.

“Cum,” he demanded through his teeth. “Cum with me inside you. I want to watch.”

I didn’t last three more strokes. I came across my own belly, my back arched against the seat, shooting in spurts that stained my navel, the black dress, and his hand. I felt myself clench completely inside around his cock, squeezing him in spasms, and he let out an almost animal growl. He managed two, three more thrusts, teeth clenched, then sank all the way in and came inside me with a muffled groan, unloading all his hot cum into my belly while he kept moving slowly, drawing out every pulse of his cock against my walls.

Time ceased to exist for a moment.

***

We lay still, embracing, in that small, fogged-up car, our legs tangled, his cock still inside me slowly softening and our breathing gradually returning to normal. He stroked my back with his fingertips without saying anything, and I listened to his heartbeat slowly settling against my cheek. When he finally withdrew, I felt his warm semen sliding down the inside of my thigh, soaking my stocking, and instead of disgust, it drew one last silly shiver from me.

When I finally climbed off his lap and arranged my dress as best I could, my thong still pulled to one side and everything sticky, I looked at myself for a second in the rearview mirror. My wig slightly askew, my makeup smeared, my lips swollen. And yet I didn’t recognize myself through fear, but through something else. For the first time, I truly recognized myself.

Adrián left me his number written on a piece of paper, gave me one last soft kiss, and got out of the car with a smile that held nothing of a final goodbye. I watched him walk away down the empty street as dawn broke over Calanova’s harbor.

When I started the car, my legs still trembling, my pulse racing, and my underwear soaked with someone else’s semen and my own, I knew that night had not been just a Carnival adventure. I had gone out into the street to pretend to be someone else for a few hours. And I had come back being, at last, exactly who I was.