My Cousin Turned Me into a Beautiful Little Lady
There are changes that sleep inside you for years and wake up without asking permission. One woke me when I least expected it, just when I thought I knew myself by heart. I was a man like any other: soccer on Fridays, the gym, loose clothes, and nothing pink. I was thirty, had a good manager’s job, and absolute certainty about who I was. None of that is left, and I say it without shame.
Everything started falling apart with Daniela. I hired her myself, promoted her, fell in love like an idiot, and asked her to marry me in front of half the world on a beach, giant screen included. She ran off in front of everyone. Later it turned out she had never left her ex, that I had been Plan B, and that on top of that she was leaving me looking like a stalker so she could squeeze money out of the company.
I lost my image, I lost credibility at work, and soon after, I lost my job. I was left with severance pay, an apartment I rented out, and a counter job in a store. The only thing keeping me going was soccer on weekends, until a bad tackle blew out my knee and I had to stay in bed.
That was when my cousin Romina offered to let me move in with her.
***
Romina was twenty-four, divorced, and made a living from beauty work: nails, waxing, makeup, catalog sales. She had turned a room in her house into a little salon, and it was always full of young clients, firm thighs, and necklines that made my cock go hard against my pants. For me, moving there was a paradise of other people’s pussies. I’d go over to help just to have an excuse to stare at their tits when they bent down and their asses when they crossed the hallway in shorts.
The business grew and Romina had uniforms made. Without me asking, she ordered one for me: a pink tunic with purple details. Too feminine for my taste, but the thrill of winning over clients won out and I started wearing it. Curiously, dressed like that, women opened up to me more, told me things, joked around. I started paying attention: how they did hairstyles, how they did pedicures, what bra and panty sizes came in the packages.
Then came the problem that changed everything. Romina was taking online advanced courses and couldn’t find a model for the practice sessions. I saw her stressed, losing money, and one day the phrase slipped out that I should never have said.
—I’ll help you —I told her—. Use me as your model.
She laughed. She thought I was joking. When she realized I was serious, she stopped laughing.
***
—It’s not just posing —Romina warned me, serious for the first time—. The course is about feminine body care. I’d have to wax you completely. Moisturize you. Do your nails.
What am I getting myself into?
—Is it permanent? —I asked with a shiver.
—Nothing is permanent —she smiled—. But the course is long. We’ll have to touch you up often.
We started on a Saturday night, after my last game. We bought wax, creams, a ridiculously expensive hyaluronic acid she declared essential. The process was strange and, I won’t lie, fun too. It hurt, but it was manageable, and there was something about the intimacy of my cousin running her hand over my now-smooth leg that left me speechless. She talked to me about shoes, strappy sandals, heels, about how the first thing people look at on a woman are her nails.
When it was time for my toenails, she left them flawless: deep red with a flower design the teacher required. I’ll take them off as soon as class is over, I promised myself. I didn’t take them off. The teacher told her to leave them on to demonstrate the fill-in the following week.
***
Hairless skin made clothes feel different, the wind more direct, any touch more intense. And then the signs started in soccer. A teammate noticed my shaved legs and I lied, saying I was going to get a tattoo. Another day they smelled the creams on me and said I’d been with a woman before the match. The funny thing was that my friends’ girlfriends and wives, who used to barely look at me, now talked to me more, joked with me, treated me like one of them.
In class I was already comfortable. Until one student dropped the missing rule: to keep going, I had to dress as a woman. Those were the course rules, so no man could sneak in. I told Romina absolutely not. She only smiled and said she’d find a replacement. But a few days later she made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.
—Dress like a girl only for the practice sessions —she proposed, looking me in the eye—. And I’ll let you fuck me whenever you want. Lick me, touch me, shove your cock into me all the way. Help me finish the course.
A thousand scenarios ran through my head. Romina wasn’t the perfect woman, but she was pretty, had curves, good tits, and a round ass that showed under her pants. I said yes without thinking twice. That very night, as soon as she closed her bedroom door, she slowly took off her blouse and I found myself staring at her breasts bouncing as she slipped off her bra: two firm tits, dark nipples hard as little stones. She lowered her pants, then her thong, and there she stood naked, her shaved pussy gleaming between her thighs.
—Come here —she said, her voice husky.
I threw myself on top of her like I hadn’t fucked in years. I grabbed her tits, squeezed them until she moaned, and took one nipple into my mouth. I sucked it hard, tugging it with my teeth, while my hand searched for her pussy. She was wet, soaked. I ran two fingers over her lips and opened them; her clit swelled as soon as I brushed it. I lowered my tongue over her belly, over her mound, and buried my face between her legs. I licked her pussy from top to bottom, sucking her lips, sliding my tongue as deep as I could, savoring that warm, thick flow running out of her. Romina grabbed my hair and started moving my head against her sex, grinding, looking for the sweet spot.
—There, there, don’t stop, lick my clit like that —she panted.
She came in my mouth with a long spasm, squeezing my head with her thighs. My cock was swollen, hard as iron, pointing at the ceiling. She pulled me up with her legs, reached for my dick with her hand, and took it herself, guiding it to the entrance of her pussy. I thrust in at once and sank all the way in. She was so wet I slid in, and at the same time she clamped down on me with incredible force. I started fucking her slowly, pulling almost all the way out and driving back in with a lunge, watching her tits bounce with every stroke. Then I put her on all fours, grabbed her ass with both hands, and rammed her from behind, watching my cock go in and out of her dripping pussy. I slapped one cheek, then the other, and she started begging for more, pushing her ass back to take it deeper. I came inside her with a roar, emptying myself in hot spurts, and collapsed over her sweaty back. We started living like a couple that very same night.
***
What came next was a slow, sweet descent into a world I had never imagined. Romina shaped my eyebrows into a unisex style, painted my fingernails, taught me how to walk with longer nails. Since my men’s underwear looked grotesquely obvious under the leggings I now wore, she bought me a pack of panties, thongs, and two Brazilian bikinis.
I remember the first time the satin of a thong brushed my hairless skin. It was a current that ran through me from head to toe. The fabric fitted snug between my cheeks, the string slid right between the clefts of my ass, and in front the pouch squeezed my cock and balls with a softness no men’s garment had ever given me. I got hard instantly, my cock outlined against the pink satin. I shouldn’t like this so much. But I did. I liked the softness, the freshness, the way the garment hugged me without fighting my body. I started getting erections not because of the clients, but because of myself, because of how I looked like this, and that same night Romina found me in front of the mirror, in a thong, my cock peeking over the edge of the fabric. She laughed, knelt between my legs, and without taking it off, pulled my cock out from the side and put it in her mouth. She sucked me slowly, looking me in the eyes, while I watched in the mirror a shaved guy with painted nails and a pink thong being blown by his cousin. I came in her mouth in less than two minutes, and she swallowed everything without letting go of me.
Soccer became a minefield. I ended up playing goalie to hide my nails under the gloves, with leggings under my shorts. Until in one match an opponent smashed my ankle, they pulled off my sock to check it, and everyone saw my nails painted with flowers. There was a deathly silence. My best friend, Bruno, was the only one who reacted: he covered my hands with a towel and took me to the hospital. I left the team under hateful stares. Only Bruno, loyal after fifteen years of friendship, stayed by my side.
***
Then two blows came at once. I found out Daniela was getting married and, on top of that, was pregnant. The door to the past shut in steel. And almost at the same time, they cut me loose from work to the laughter of some coworkers.
I got home shattered and dressed as a woman calmly, enjoying every step. I showered, waxed myself completely, put on a spaghetti-strap dress, flesh-colored stockings, the bra fastened behind my back just as I already knew how to do. The sensation of my smooth legs inside the stockings was indescribable, and the thong squeezing my cock against my stomach made me tremble. For the first time in months, I felt peace.
Right then Bruno showed up, whom Romina had called without warning me. He froze in the doorway. My cousin improvised that it was a final exam for the course and he left, promising to come back. When we were alone, Romina questioned why I was still dressing up if the classes were already over.
—Because it gives me peace —I confessed—. Every time I do it I feel a calm I can’t find any other way.
She hugged me, ran her hand over my leg wrapped in the stocking, and pulled my dress up to my waist. She turned me against the wall, pulled my thong down to my ankles, and knelt behind me. I felt her tongue between my cheeks, licking my ass, circling the hole, pushing inside. No one had ever done that to me. My legs went weak. I held onto the wall while she opened me with her hands and slid her tongue deeper and deeper inside, salivating me all over. Then she stood, slid two fingers into her own pussy to lubricate them, and ran them over my hole. One first, then two, moving them in circles. I moaned against the wall, my cock dripping under the dress, not understanding why I liked so much being penetrated like that.
—With dresses like that, you don’t wear flats —she whispered in my ear, without taking her fingers out—. And with this ass, it’d be a waste not to use it.
I told her I didn’t have heels. She opened her eyes wide.
—Then you already want heels —she laughed, pulling her fingers out and spanking me—. We’ll see what we do.
***
There was a setback. After an awkward run-in with my ex in the middle of the street—she recognized me dressed as a woman and, far from mocking me, told me I looked pretty—Romina got scared. For a few days she made me take everything off: the nails with acetone, the brows, the makeup. I went back to being the man I used to be, in rough, loose clothes, without that scent of femininity that had wrapped around me so completely.
And I missed it. I missed it to the point of pain. Without work, without the team, without that routine that relaxed me, I discovered that this had not been a disguise but the best thing that had ever happened to me. Romina noticed. One night she confessed that she was immensely happy when she saw me experience femininity, that was why she had encouraged me, but that she never wanted to pressure me: if that was going to be my path, I had to choose it myself.
I chose it. She proposed we become partners in the beauty business, and to be part of that world I had to present myself as a beautiful little lady. That night she worked on my nails, my eyebrows, my eyelashes, and at last we dared something new: a feminine haircut and style. I looked at myself in the mirror and I wasn’t scared. I recognized myself. Romina, behind me, pressed the fake padded tits against my bra, kissed my neck, and slipped her hand under my skirt to caress my cock, already hard under the thong. We ended up in bed, with her on top, riding me while I looked at my red nails gripping her hips. When she came, squeezing my pussy around my cock, she whispered to me: "Now you’re a little lady, and one who makes anyone come."
***
Bruno showed up again, but something between us had changed, or maybe it was me who had changed. We fooled around as always, until one day, while he had his arm around my waist, I got an erection that still embarrasses me. My cock hardened against the thong, outlined under the leggings, and he must have felt it because he held me a second longer than necessary before letting go. I started noticing his huge hands, the veins standing out in his forearms, his broad chest. When he smiled, something inside me loosened and I went short of breath. I started imagining what it would be like to have him on top of me, to feel his cock—which had to be thick, like the rest of him—open my ass, and that image made me come by myself in the shower, with two fingers buried to the hilt, biting the towel so Romina wouldn’t hear me.
I stopped playing soccer. I no longer imagined celebrating a goal or throwing myself onto the grass; I felt sorry to rough myself up. But I kept going to watch the games just to look at Bruno, to notice how now he showered and perfumed himself after playing, how the bulge showed in his sports shorts. One night we went out as couples, he with his girlfriend and I with one of her friends, Vanessa, who wore beautiful lashes and heels I envied. Walking along the seashore, while Bruno kissed his girl in the distance, Vanessa took my hand.
—How long have you been in love with him? —she asked softly.
—No, no —I stammered—. You’re seeing things wrong.
She only smiled and told me any woman would notice it: how my eyes reacted when I looked at him, how I defended him. She left me speechless. And yet I felt strangely relieved that someone had said it out loud.
***
Bruno didn’t understand. One day he asked me for explanations, told me to stop all that, that I was hurting myself, that he couldn’t help me anymore like this. I answered that our friendship was stronger; he replied that he didn’t know that anymore. Silence pulled us apart. His girlfriend was waiting for him, and I was left with the certainty that I had lost something I had never even gotten to have.
I started working full-time in the beauty business with Romina, taking orders, preparing solutions, listening all day to talk about makeup, dresses, and combinations that now I understood better than anyone. I realized how unfair I had been when I used to get on my girlfriends’ case for taking so long to get ready; now I knew the work it takes to look presentable, the meticulous shower, the waxing, the cream, the outfit chosen with care.
Among the delivery guys there was one, Gael, who treated me well and didn’t care about the criticism. I’d offer him something to drink, we’d laugh, and one day he asked me out. I told him I didn’t dare go out dressed like this in the street; Romina, who was listening, suggested the date be at home. I agreed with my heart pounding. From that moment he didn’t stop texting me, saying good morning, bringing me little gifts. For the first time I was the center of a man’s attention, and I didn’t want it to end. The night of the date, with Romina "conveniently" out of the house, Gael pressed me against the couch and kissed me with a wide, hungry mouth that left me breathless. He shoved his hand under my dress, ripped my thong off in one tug, and made me kneel in front of him. I fumbled with his pants, fingers shaking, and pulled out a thick, dark, hard cock with the foreskin pulled tight. I held it with both hands, brought the tip to my mouth, and gave the first lick. It tasted like salt, like man. I took it in slowly, sucking the head first, then going down as far as I could, unable to take it all because it made me gag. He grabbed the back of my neck and started moving my head to his rhythm, fucking my mouth with short thrusts while I sucked him with new hunger, feeling saliva run down my chin, my mascara smearing. When he was about to come he pulled it out of my mouth and finished on my face, on my fake tits, on my lashes, and I stayed there on my knees, panting, feeling his hot semen slide down my chin, more aroused than ever in my life.
***
And so, without even realizing it, I went from women being my object of desire to wanting to be a woman who aroused desire in men. In my intimacy with Romina I no longer wanted to be the one doing the penetrating; I asked her to put on a harness, and let her do me. She put me on all fours on the bed, spread my ass cheeks, and lubed my hole well with her fingers, sliding them in, turning them, stretching me. Then I felt the tip of the dildo pressing against my ass. She pushed slowly, and that thick head opened my sphincter with pain that turned to pleasure in two seconds. She started fucking me from behind, gripping my hips like I was a man, driving in deeper and deeper strokes. I moaned with a broken voice, my face in the pillow, my cock leaking under my belly with nobody touching it. I wondered, with a new curiosity, what a woman felt when she was taken, held, guided by a man. What Bruno’s beard would feel like scraping my neck, his big hands over my soft skin, his real cock, hot flesh, opening me the way this dildo was opening me now. I came just from the friction of the bedspread against my cock and Romina’s penetration in my ass, in spurts that soaked the sheets, screaming like I had never heard myself scream before.
What months earlier would have seemed impossible to me was now simply my life: pretty lingerie under my clothes, a bra just barely showing under my blouse, legs encased in stockings, my ass open and hungry waiting for the next cock. The man I had been was dead and, in his place, someone had been born who was only just beginning to know herself and who, at last, was no longer afraid. Day after day, I tried to learn how to be a good little lady.