My Neighbor Caught Me Dressed as a Woman One Night

Let me introduce myself: to the world I’m Adrián, but when I close the door of my apartment and open the bottom drawer of the wardrobe, that’s another story. That’s me, Camila. It all began when I moved to Zaragoza, into a gray-fronted building in a quiet neighborhood where nobody knew anybody and where, for the first time in my life, I felt that delicious freedom of being whoever I damn well pleased.

Curiosity had always hovered around me. One day, while unpacking boxes, I found a pair of lace panties my sister had accidentally left in an old suitcase. Just for the thrill of it, I put them on beneath my jeans and went out to buy bread. I remember that in the elevator I couldn’t stop thinking about that soft fabric moving against my skin with every step. It was a jolt of pleasure I hadn’t expected, a current that ran through me and that I didn’t want to extinguish.

At first, it was only that—underwear hidden beneath my own. Then I began haunting the Sunday secondhand markets, looking for things no one would suspect: chiffon blouses, skirts that felt liquid when I walked, and a pair of heels I always bought one size too large so I could fit into them. At home I walked in them awkwardly, holding on to the furniture, and even so I felt tall, different, elegant.

The strangest thing was the effect it had on me. In Adrián’s clothes I felt nothing special for anyone. But as soon as I tied up my hair, painted my lips, and looked at myself in the mirror transformed into Camila, my desire for men flared like an ember being blown on. Seeing myself and feeling that way was what awakened everything. My cock grew hard beneath the panties, pressed against the lace, and I spent hours in front of the mirror touching myself through the fabric, imagining other hands, mouths, thick cocks pushing me against the wall.

My first great daring was going out into the real world. I chose three in the morning on an ordinary Tuesday. I put on a black skirt, thick stockings to disguise things, and a long-sleeved blouse. I looked fairly discreet, almost normal, but the sensation was something else entirely. I went down in the elevator with my heart in my throat, crossed the entrance hall, and walked once around the block.

If someone comes out now, I’ll die right here.

But the street was silent. I walked quickly, feeling the night air on my bare legs beneath the skirt for the first time. It was like a baptism. I returned home exhausted and trembling, with a huge grin that didn’t leave my face all night.

***

What I didn’t know was that someone had seen me that night. My neighbor, Marcos. An utterly unpretentious man, the kind who chatted with the newsstand guy and had a beer in the entrance hall on Sundays, always friendly. He lived right across from me, door to door.

The next day we ran into each other in the elevator. He greeted me with half a smile and said:

—Everything all right, neighbor? I saw you looking a little strange last night, kind of distracted.

I felt my soul drop to my feet. I played it off as best I could.

—Ah, yes, I’d left something in the car. I was in a hurry, you know how it is.

But Marcos was clever. Very clever. Instead of making me uncomfortable, he became even more approachable. He offered me coffee on the landing, helped me carry my grocery bags upstairs, always in that tone of “I’m here for whatever you need.” Little by little, I lowered my guard. We talked about everything, and I felt free with him, though I never once mentioned Camila.

One afternoon, leaning against his doorway, he suggested:

—Hey, Adrián, how about we have a drink at your place for a while? I really like you and feel like talking. I’ll bring the whiskey and Coke.

My mind began scheming. Marcos inside my apartment? What if he saw something he shouldn’t? But the desire to have him close outweighed the fear. I agreed.

***

He arrived on time, carrying a couple of beers, the Coke, and a bottle of whiskey under his arm. I was wearing loose gray sweatpants. And, my God, from the moment he sat down on the sofa I couldn’t take my eyes off his crotch. Those jeans left nothing to the imagination, and with every movement he made, that bulge shifted from one side to the other. His entire cock showed against the seam, thick, long, awkwardly squeezed against the fabric. My mouth watered just looking at it.

We began to drink. I put on music at random, jumping from rock to ballads, and time melted away amid laughter. The whiskey and beer did their work: the conversation loosened, the laughter grew louder, and I felt a pleasant warmth spreading through my whole body. Marcos looked at me in a way that was no longer the way a simple neighbor looked.

—Wait, I’m going to the bathroom for a minute —he said, getting up.

At that moment, my heart racing from the alcohol, the urge to dress as a woman struck me with a force I had never felt before. And Camila’s voice screamed inside me: now or never. I sprang up, ran to the bedroom, opened the wardrobe, and pulled everything out: the fishnet stockings, a plaid skirt, a tight blouse, the wig, and my makeup bag.

—Give me a couple of minutes! —I shouted from the bedroom—. Have another drink in the meantime.

For a second I nearly called the whole thing off and went out dressed as Adrián, as if nothing had happened. But I held my ground. As the soft fabric of the stockings and skirt caressed my skin, I felt emotions spilling over that I hadn’t even known I was keeping inside. I was on autopilot, guided by instinct, until I heard Marcos changing the song in the living room and came back to myself. I had butterflies low in my belly, a tension that wouldn’t let me think, and my cock had hardened inside my panties, soaking the lace.

I did the basics with my makeup: I’m no expert with eyeshadow or blending, but I manage. Then I put on my favorite heels, the most comfortable ones, the ones that suited me best with that color combination. I stood up, took a deep breath, and walked toward the living-room door, which was ajar. My legs were trembling, and it wasn’t because of the tight bra.

I stopped in the doorway. The first thing I saw was his gaze, which fixed on my eyes and then slowly traveled down my entire body, as though he had known from the beginning that this was going to happen. He said nothing. I crossed the room, picked up the drink he had left ready for me, raised it, and said:

—Cheers! —praying inside that he wouldn’t get up and leave.

He watched me for a couple of endless seconds and replied:

—To health and love.

We drank at the same time. The whiskey tasted like water, surely because of my nerves, and I almost finished it in one gulp. He laughed.

—Looks like you liked your drink.

I couldn’t believe any of this was happening. I looked at him with one eyebrow raised and a mischievous half-smile.

—What do you think?

And we burst out laughing. From there, the nerves began to disappear. I crossed my legs and we kept talking about a thousand things, except that without realizing it I was inching closer to him. He had turned the music down and was saying things in my ear. I noticed him looking at my lips and, out of the corner of my eye, tracing my legs, which, in those fishnets, really did look wonderful.

—Hey, is it hot in here, or is it just me? —he suddenly said.

—You’re late, because even if you hadn’t said it, I was already thinking the same thing.

He laughed.

—What if you take my shirt off?

My cheeks burned. I undid his shirt button by button and pulled it off; he was wearing a T-shirt underneath, but I knew things were only going to go further. He watched me without trying to hide it. The alcohol gave me courage, and desire had already trapped me completely. I leaned closer and, with a trembling hand, touched his knee, right beside that bulge outlined in his jeans. I felt the taut fabric and, beneath it, the firmness of what he was hiding.

He smiled, a smile made of pure fire, and without saying a word took my hand and gently guided it until it rested where the bulge was most obvious. I felt the pulse, the heat, the thickness of his hard cock beneath the denim, and a low moan escaped my throat before I could stop it. I squeezed his cock through the fabric, ran my hand up and down it, measuring it with my palm, and lost my breath when I felt what was waiting for me down there.

—Fuck, baby, keep touching me like that —he whispered in a hoarse voice—. You’ve got me so damn hard.

That was when I became Camila completely. I closed my eyes, took my hand away from his crotch, lunged forward, and kissed him. A hungry kiss, loaded with all the desire I had been storing for months. We kissed desperately, with tongues and teeth, biting each other’s lips. Marcos held me by the waist and pulled me toward him; my mind went blank and only his mouth existed. I lifted myself just long enough to sit down again, this time on his lap, astride him, never stopping the kiss, rubbing my ass encased in fishnets against the brutal bulge throbbing between my legs.

You have no idea how the temperature rose in that living room. My cheeks felt on fire, whether from the whiskey or his gaze I didn’t know. Feeling the firmness of his thighs beneath my skirt was the trigger. Marcos didn’t waste a second: he pulled me closer to his body and began kissing my neck with delicious desperation. His lips were hot, and his stubble scraped my skin, making me shiver from head to toe. He slid his hands beneath my skirt to my ass, squeezed it hard with both hands, sinking his fingers into the flesh, and I moaned against his mouth like a bitch in heat.

—What an ass you’ve got, fuck —he growled—. So tight, so perfectly shaped. I’m going to fuck that ass, Camila. I’m going to fuck it until you can’t even walk.

Hearing my name in his mouth, the name that had always been a secret, made me tremble all over. In that moment I gave myself entirely to my femininity. I was no longer Adrián; I was Camila surrendering to her man. And right then I felt it: that firm, steady throbbing beneath where I was sitting, pulsing against me like an adrenaline shot. I rubbed my ass up and down, feeling his cock digging between my cheeks even through the clothing, and he let out a deep groan that made me squeeze my thighs together.

—Take my pants off, baby. I want you to do it —he whispered in my ear, his commanding voice making me tremble.

I felt like I belonged to him, like I was his property, and I swear I loved it. My fingers, clumsy from nerves and alcohol, searched for the button. While I struggled with it, Marcos slid his hand beneath my skirt and suddenly—smack!—gave me a firm slap that made me jump. The sharp sting transformed into an electric pleasure that shot all the way to the crown of my head. What a shameless man. But it only made me more worked up. He slapped me again, harder, then slipped his fingers beneath the edge of my panties and slowly caressed the cleft of my ass, playing with my asshole, pressing just enough to make me understand what was coming.

—I’m going to put my whole cock in here, do you hear me? You’re going to suck it first, suck it properly, and then I’m going to spread your legs and fuck you like the little slut you are.

—Yes —I moaned without thinking—. Yes, whatever you want, do whatever you want to me.

At last I managed the button and lowered his jeans, first a little, then all the way. When they landed on the floor, I was left breathless. Good Lord, the neighbor was carrying a real tent; it was obvious the poor thing had been suffering in there. I laughed softly, with that mischievous laugh that comes out when I feel powerful.

—Oh, Marcos, we have to free this little friend of yours, all squeezed in there, don’t you think?

I slid off his lap until I was kneeling in front of him. Carefully, I pulled down his briefs and watched him spring free, hard, before my eyes. His cock leaped upward, thick, with a vein running along the length of the shaft, its head purple and gleaming from how swollen it was. I remained hypnotized for a moment; I had never imagined being in that position, dressed like this, feeling so much like a woman with that thing in front of me. The smell of his skin—that mixture of cologne, man, and sweat—drew me like a magnet. My mouth watered. I swallowed and grabbed him at the base, squeezing hard, and his cock throbbed against my palm.

—What a delicious cock you have, you bastard —I whispered, hardly recognizing myself.

I leaned closer slowly, following it with my eyes, savoring every detail. Marcos played with me, moving only slightly, teasing me. I couldn’t take it anymore; desire was burning me alive. I bent down and gave the tip a warm kiss, then another lower down, and another, letting instinct take over. I stuck out my tongue and licked his entire cock from the base to the glans, slowly, soaking it in saliva, then went back down the other side. I sucked his balls one by one, taking them into my mouth while I continued masturbating him with my hand. Marcos groaned and grabbed my wig, guiding me, pushing my head toward his cock without much delicacy.

—Take the whole thing, you whore. Open that slutty little mouth and swallow me.

I parted my lips and took him in. At first, only the head, wrapping it with my tongue, sucking the tip as if it were candy, tasting the salty liquid already spilling from it. Then I sank lower, and lower, until I felt it strike the back of my throat. I gagged a little and my eyes watered, but I didn’t let go. I began to move, bobbing my head up and down, my mouth closed firmly around the shaft, sucking, letting the stream of saliva run down my chin and soak his balls. My makeup was surely running, but I didn’t care. Before I knew it, I was completely surrendered, my hands moving over his thighs, the neighbor’s cock fucking my mouth for his pleasure.

—That’s it, Camila, that’s it, fuck, you suck it so well, you little bitch —he growled—. You can tell you were born for this. You were born to suck cock; that’s why you dressed like this tonight.

His words had me on the edge. While I ate his cock with my whole mouth, I slipped a hand beneath my skirt, pushed my panties aside, and touched my own, dripping wet and hard as a rock. What a divine sensation; I felt as if I were floating. I stared up at him from below, my lips stretched around his cock, and he smiled at me with that satisfied-male smile that melted me inside.

Time stopped in that corner of my apartment. The minutes melted into a dance of shadows and sighs in which the outside world no longer existed, only the rhythm of my surrender. I sped up, sucking him without pause, helping myself with one hand at the base, rotating my wrist, squeezing hard, while my tongue kept working beneath the glans. As I lost myself in it, devoted and fascinated, I felt an intense flavor invade my senses. Suddenly I noticed Marcos tense; his body became steel beneath my hands, he grabbed my head with both hands and drove me down deep, all the way to my throat, and everything exploded. I felt the first hot jet burst against my palate, followed by another, and another, thick loads of semen that left me unable to breathe. For a moment I felt as though I were choking, but it was a sweet choking, an ecstasy claiming me as his. I swallowed everything I could, feeling it run thick and salty down my throat, and what escaped the corners of my mouth I gathered with my fingers and brought to my lips, never stopping looking at him. In that moment of fullness I knew, with every fiber of my body, that this and no other was my place: on my knees, my mouth full of my neighbor’s milk, savoring every drop like a devotee.

Marcos lifted me by the wig, pulling hard, and kissed me on the mouth even though there were still traces of his come on my lips. He licked my chin clean, then whispered in my ear:

—Now we’re going to bed, because I haven’t even started with you yet.

He dragged me by the hand down the hallway, his cock hardening again between my legs, and threw me facedown on the bed, my skirt pulled up to my waist. He yanked off my panties, spread my buttocks, and spat on my asshole before thrusting into me. I screamed into the pillow as he forced his way in, broad and brutal, impaling me little by little, stopping to let me breathe before pushing deeper. Once he was all the way inside, his balls pressed against my ass, he began fucking me mercilessly, with long, deep thrusts that made the bed creak. I moaned like a bitch, my face crushed into the sheets, my wig askew, biting the fabric so I wouldn’t wake the whole building. He gripped my hips with both hands, squeezed my buttocks, and slapped me hard enough to make me scream louder, while I kept pushing my ass backward to take his cock all the way in.

—Tell me you’re mine —he panted—. Tell me you’re my whore, Camila.

—I’m yours, I’m your whore, I’m your bitch, fuck me, don’t stop, please don’t stop.

He turned me over, spread my legs wide apart in those fishnets, which had already torn, drove into me again with one thrust, and fucked me face-to-face, looking into my eyes and devouring my mouth. I touched my cock while he destroyed me inside, and two minutes later I came harder than ever before, arching my back, splashing my belly and blouse, screaming his name. He kept thrusting into me for a while longer, squeezing my neck with one hand, until he came inside me for the second time, filling me, marking me for real.

It was the key that forever locked the door to my other life, the baptism that finished anointing Camila beneath the moonlight. I don’t remember how the night ended, or when the sheets wrapped around us; my mind preserves only the beginning of that fire and the certainty that, from that taste of life onward, Adrián faded away to let Camila reign in the darkness.