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 could no longer bear to keep looking at myself alone in the mirror in my bedroom, with the door shut and the light low, pretending that was enough. Because I had spent too many nights masturbating in front of that same mirror, with 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 up quickly before anyone asked any questions.

I had been preparing for months without admitting it. Trying things on in secret, learning how to walk in heels on the carpet so no one could hear, practicing a gesture, a look, a way of tilting my head. And Calanova Carnival was the only night of the year when you could walk the streets dressed like that and disappear among a thousand costumes. No one asks. No one points. That night everyone is someone else.

I dressed slowly, my skin prickling with nerves from the first button.

The black dress clung to my body with a boldness I still didn’t know if I could allow myself. Underneath I wore sheer stockings held up by a garter belt, and lingerie no one would see but that I felt with every step, tight, present, reminding me every second of what I was doing. The fitted top, the narrow thong pressing my cock against my pubis to disguise it, the wig carefully placed in front of the mirror, the makeup making my eyes look more than I ever dared in daylight. I watched myself for a long moment before leaving and swallowed.

If you step out of 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 on the water, floats half dismantled and costumes everywhere. The air smelled of salt, cheap perfume, and spilled beer. I walked close to the facades, still adjusting to the heels, feeling the cold of the night climb up my legs trapped in stockings.

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

I went into a bar along the promenade to escape the street noise. Inside it was dark, crowded, with the music thudding through the floor and the low ceiling. I ordered a beer to calm myself and drank it too fast. I ordered another. I could feel the alcohol loosening my knees and my fear at the same time, and I was grateful for both.

That was when the first man came up to me.

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

“No, thanks,” I said, keeping the smile in place.

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

And then I saw him.

***

He was leaning against a column on the other side of the dance floor, a glass in his hand and a calm that contrasted with all the noise around him. He was looking at me. But not the way the other one had looked at me. He was looking at me without hurry, without stripping me naked with his eyes, almost with curiosity, like someone who has found something he didn’t expect to find that night. He held my gaze for a couple of seconds and, instead of looking away, he smiled.

I looked away first, nervous, and went back 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, not crowding me, and said the one thing I wasn’t expecting.

“Dance?”

I laughed, more from nerves than anything else.

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

“No problem,” he said, and held out his hand. “I’ll lead.”

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 for the first few beats, stiff, focused on not losing my balance. But his hand settled firmly on my waist, sure of itself, and began guiding me with a naturalness that left me no choice but to let myself be carried along. I didn’t have to think. Just follow him. His palm slid across my lower back, marked the direction, and my body responded before my head could get scared.

Little by little I forgot my fear of falling. And the noise. And the people. And everything it had cost me to get to that dance floor. I leaned into him, let my weight fall against his chest, and felt his warmth through the fabric of the dress. We were dancing very close, more than the song required, my hip against his, his breath brushing my temple. And on one turn I felt it. The hard bulge of his cock pressing against my hip through his pants, insistent, unhidden. A small gasp slipped out of me, and he pretended not to hear it, then pulled me even closer so there could be no doubt he had noticed it too.

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

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

He asked my name. I told 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 out loud, to someone else, for the first time, I felt a shiver run through me. He repeated it slowly, as if tasting it, and I liked how it sounded in his mouth.

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

***

We went out onto the terrace to smoke, even though neither of us smoked much. The cold air of dawn raised goosebumps on my arms and legs. We barely talked. It wasn’t necessary. Leaning on the railing, with the dark harbor behind me, I felt him move closer before he even did.

He kissed me for the first time with a softness I hadn’t expected. Just a brush. Almost a question left hanging in the air, a way of checking whether I wanted it. I pulled back for a second, just enough to look him in the 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 searching for mine until I forgot where we were.

The hand that held my waist slid down, went under my dress, and squeezed one cheek over my thong. His fingers followed the narrow strip of fabric to the space between both cheeks, and there they stopped, pressing, as if warning me what they could do if I let them. A moan slipped out of me into his mouth. He swallowed it with the faintest smile against my lips, and without breaking the kiss he dragged my hand down to his crotch. I squeezed him over his pants without thinking. He was rock hard. I felt his cock throbbing against my palm, tense, trapped, and he let out a rough groan that raised the hairs on the back of my neck.

When we broke apart, I was struggling to breathe. He was smiling.

“Back inside?” he asked.

I nodded. But we both already knew the dance was just an excuse to keep touching each other.

***

We went back to the floor and danced again, but there was nothing left of my initial clumsiness. Now I moved against him with a confidence I hadn’t had half an hour earlier, his hands firm on my hips, my arms around his neck, the music wrapping around both of us in that roofless place. I felt his fingers slide down the curve of my back, stop right where the dress began to cling, and every time they did I pressed a little harder against him.

In a moment of carelessness, taking advantage of the darkness, he slipped a hand under my dress and caressed the inside of my thigh, over the stocking, sliding 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 shamelessly, feeling my own cock wake up trapped in the fabric and feeling the front of my thong grow wet with a drop I didn’t know whether came from the glans or was just desire. He danced and looked me over at the same time, and I stopped drawing any distinction between the two.

When I finally told him I was leaving, that it was late, he offered to walk me to the car without letting go of my hand. We left the place and walked along the nearly empty promenade, the party fading behind us, the streetlamps reflecting in puddles. We didn’t talk. Just the sound of my heels on the cobblestones and the brush of his thumb over my knuckles.

We reached my car, parked on a side street far from the noise. And before I could take out the keys, he kissed me again, backing me against the door. Long. Deep. He pressed me to him with his whole body and, in that instant, I felt it again with total clarity. His erection, hard, big, pressing through his clothes, outlining the shape of his cock against my belly. My breath caught.

I opened the door without thinking too hard. And we got in together.

***

Inside the car, the world shrank all at once. The space was small, the seats narrow, and soon the windows began to fog up with our breathing. We weren’t talking. Only the rustle of clothing and air coming in and out too fast. I swung one leg over him and sat astride his lap, the skirt of the dress riding up my thighs and the stockings taut against my skin.

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

That was when his hand left my waist, slipped between our bodies, and went under the dress, hiking it up to my hip. I felt his fingers brush the fabric of my thong in front and stop. I held my breath. I didn’t pull away, but I didn’t move a muscle either. He looked into my eyes in the dim light, suddenly very serious, and slowly felt over 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, taking it in. And then he smiled, very slowly, with a calm that frightened me and turned me on more than anything else that night.

“Look at that, how pretty it is,” he murmured, squeezing me over the thong with his whole palm. “You were scared 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 fondled me over the fabric, pulling a muffled moan from me. He slipped his fingers inside the elastic and took me out slowly, carefully, as if I were something he’d wanted in his hand all night. When the air touched my skin I shuddered all over. I was hard, leaking at the tip, and he squeezed me at the base and began to stroke me back with two fingers, in a soft rhythm, watching my face so he wouldn’t miss how I came apart with each tug.

“Shhh,” he whispered, seeing how I bit my lip. “You don’t have to hide anything here.”

I found his mouth. I bit his lower lip while he kept jerking me off slowly inside the car. Then I leaned down, pulled his zipper down with clumsy fingers, undid the button on his pants, and took out his cock. It was big. Bigger than I’d expected. Thick at the base, with visible veins, and a fat drop of precome trembling on the tip. I grabbed it. Ran my palm down it twice slowly, feeling it pulse in my hand, and he let out a low groan that lifted my pleasure a whole notch.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I leaned forward in that impossible space, almost folded over his lap, and took it into my mouth. I felt it fill my tongue completely, push against my palate, and I forced myself lower, until the tip touched the back of my throat and made me gag a little, but not enough to stop me. I started sucking him slowly, up and down, one hand at the base helping me and the other holding him against the seat. A long moan slipped from him and he sank his fingers into my wig, careful not to pull, but setting the rhythm with his hips all the same.

“Fuck... like that, like that, suck me like that,” he gasped through clenched teeth, voice wrecked. “You do it so well, fuck.”

I licked the whole length of him, from base to glans, and ran my tongue along the frenulum until his stomach tightened. I took him back in whole, letting saliva drip down my chin and onto his balls. I stroked them with my free hand while I kept sucking him, squeezing them gently, and he threw his head back against the headrest and let out a “holy fucking shit” so low and so full that I almost came just from hearing it.

He pulled me off too soon, tugging my chin upward slowly.

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

***

I sat back up on him again, my cock dripping between my legs and my mouth swollen. He yanked my dress up to my waist. He moved my thong aside with two fingers and spat into his palm, coated his whole cock with saliva, then spat on his fingers again to slide them between my cheeks, searching for my hole. He caressed my entrance with his fingertips, in circles, barely pressing, and a sharp whimper escaped me, sounding чужд, not like me at all.

“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 shake.

He put in one finger. Then two. He opened me slowly, patiently, while I braced myself on his shoulders and bit my lip so I wouldn’t cry out. When he felt me giving, he pulled his fingers out, lined his cock up with my hole, and pushed just the tip in. I straightened a little on him, found the position, and started lowering myself slowly, controlling it myself, feeling him enter centimeter by centimeter, 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, let my body get used to him before continuing. I could only moan against his neck, long and broken. He held my hips, patient, waiting for me, forcing nothing.

“That’s it,” he whispered, lips against my ear. “Take it all, easy. We’ve got all night.”

And when I finally had all of him inside, with his balls resting against my ass, I went still for a second, my forehead pressed to his, both of us breathing at the same pace. I could feel his cock pulsing inside me, filling me in a way I had never felt before in the solitude of my bedroom with any toy.

“Slowly,” he murmured. “No rush.”

***

I started 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 let myself drop onto him, his cock touched a place inside me that made me see stars, and a new moan escaped me. The car rocked with us, the seat springs creaking, the windows completely fogged now, cutting us off from the rest of the world. Outside, the Carnival music still played, distant. Inside it was only him, me, the wet slosh 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, about everything that had terrified me for months. Only pleasure remained, raw and clean, running down my back. He lifted his hips to meet me, driving up from below, and every time he buried himself all the way in he drew a moan from me that I no longer even tried to hold back. His hands slid under my dress, squeezed my chest over the top, dropped to grab my hips and set a harder rhythm, and I followed him.

“That’s it,” he gasped against my neck. “Exactly like that. Fuck, you take it so well, fuck, so well.”

He changed my position without pulling out. He laid me back on the passenger seat, trapped, one leg bent against the backrest and the other resting on the steering wheel. He positioned himself over me, between my open legs, and started fucking me, with long, clean thrusts, bracing his palms against the car roof for leverage. My cock was wedged between our two bellies, leaking clear semen over my own navel, and with every thrust he rubbed it against his skin and against the wrinkled fabric of the dress bunched up to my chest.

“Look at me,” he ordered, never stopping his thrusts. “Look me in the eyes while I fuck you.”

I obeyed. I held his gaze while he drove into me again and again, while sweat ran down his temples, while I felt pleasure rising up my back in waves I could no longer contain. He grabbed my cock with one hand without stopping fucking me, and began jerking me off to the rhythm of his thrusts, squeezing me with his palm just under the glans, as if he knew exactly what would drive me out of my mind.

“Come,” he begged through his teeth. “Come with me inside you, I want to see it.”

I lasted no more than three more strokes. I came over my own belly, my back arched against the seat, shooting in bursts that stained my navel, the black dress, and his hand. I felt myself clench completely around his cock, spasming around him, and he let out an almost animal growl. He held on for two, three more thrusts, teeth clenched, and then he drove all the way in and came inside me with a muffled moan, pouring all his hot seed into my belly while he kept moving slowly, milking every pulse of his cock against my walls.

Time stopped existing for a moment.

***

We stayed still, wrapped around each other, in that small fogged-up car, legs tangled, his cock still inside me and softening slowly, our breathing gradually returning. He stroked my back with the tips of his fingers, saying nothing, and I listened to the beats of his chest slowly growing calmer against my cheek. When he finally pulled out, I felt his warm semen sliding down the inside of my thigh, soaking my stocking, and instead of disgusting me it gave me one last stupid shiver.

When I finally climbed off his lap and fixed my dress as best I could, with my thong still pushed aside and everything sticky, I looked at myself for a second in the rearview mirror. The wig a little crooked, the makeup smudged, the lips swollen. And still, I didn’t recognize myself from fear, but from something else. I recognized myself for real for the first time.

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 had nothing of a final goodbye. I watched him walk away down the empty street while dawn rose over the harbor of Calanova.

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