One Night, My Neighbor Caught Me Dressed as a Woman

Let me introduce myself: to the world I’m Adrián, but when I close my apartment door and open the bottom drawer of my wardrobe, that’s another story. That’s me, Camila. It all started when I moved to Zaragoza, to a building with a gray façade 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 the hell I wanted.

Curiosity had always been lurking around me. One day, while unpacking boxes, I found a pair of lace panties my sister had left by mistake in an old suitcase. Just out of pure dirty curiosity, I put them on under 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 running through me that I didn’t want to switch off.

At first that was all it was: underwear hidden beneath my own. Then I started drifting through Sunday secondhand markets, looking for things nobody would suspect: chiffon blouses, skirts that felt liquid when I walked, and heels I always bought a size bigger so they’d fit. At home I’d totter around in them, clutching 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 didn’t feel anything special for anyone. But the moment I tied my hair up, painted my lips, and looked at myself in the mirror turned into Camila, my desire for men flared like a blown-up ember. It was seeing myself like that that awakened everything. My cock would get hard under my panties, pressed tight against the lace, and I’d spend hours in front of the mirror touching myself over the fabric, imagining чуж hands, mouths, thick cocks shoving me against the wall.

My first real bold move was going out into the street for real. I chose three in the morning on some random Tuesday. I put on a black skirt, thick tights to hide things, and a long-sleeved blouse. I looked fairly discreet, almost normal, but the feeling was something else entirely. I went down in the elevator with my heart in my throat, crossed the lobby, and took a lap around the block.

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

But the street was silent. I walked fast, feeling for the first time the night air on my bare legs under the skirt. It was like a baptism. I came home exhausted and trembling, with a grin from ear to ear that didn’t leave my face all night.

***

What I didn’t know was that somebody had seen me that night. My neighbor, Marcos. A plain man, the kind who chats with the kiosk owner and has a beer on Sundays in the entrance hall, 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 a half-smile and said:

—Everything okay, neighbor? I saw you looking a bit strange last night, kind of spaced out.

I felt my soul drop to my feet. I covered as best I could.

—Ah, yeah, I’d left something in the car. Rushing around, you know how it is.

But Marcos was sharp. Very sharp. Instead of making me uncomfortable, he got even friendlier. He’d offer me coffee on the landing, help me carry the shopping bags upstairs, always with that tone of, “I’m here if you need anything.” Little by little, I let my guard down. We talked about everything and I felt free with him, even though I never once mentioned Camila.

One afternoon, leaning in the doorway of his flat, he suggested:

—Hey, Adrián, why don’t we have a drink at your place for a while? I really like you and I feel like chatting. I’ll bring the whiskey and the mixers.

My head started working overtime. Marcos inside my flat? What if he saw something he shouldn’t? But the urge to have him close won out over the fear. I said yes.

***

He arrived on time, with a couple of beers, the mixers, and a bottle of whiskey tucked under his arm. I was wearing loose gray sweatpants. And, 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 side to side. The whole outline of his cock showed against the seam, thick, long, shamefully tight against the denim. My mouth watered just looking at it.

We started drinking. I put music on at random, jumping from rock to ballads, and time melted away between the laughter. The whiskey and beer did their job: the conversation loosened, the laughs got louder, and I felt a pleasant warmth spread through my whole body. Marcos looked at me in a way that was no longer just neighborly.

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

At that instant, with my heart racing from the alcohol, the urge to dress like a woman hit me with a force I’d never felt before. And Camila’s voice screamed inside me: now or never. I shot to my feet, ran to the bedroom, opened the wardrobe, and took everything out: the fishnet tights, a plaid skirt, a tight blouse, the wig, and the makeup bag.

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

For a second I was this close to canceling everything and coming out dressed as Adrián, as if nothing had happened. But I held on. As the soft fabric of the tights and skirt caressed my skin, I felt emotions spilling over me that I hadn’t even known I’d been keeping. 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 gone rock hard inside my panties, soaking the lace.

I did the bare basics of my makeup: I’m no expert in eyeshadow or blending, but I can hold my own. Then I slipped on my favorite heels, the most comfortable ones, the ones that suited that color combination best. I stood up, took a deep breath, and walked toward the living room door, which was ajar. My legs were shaking, and it wasn’t from the tight bra.

I stopped in the doorway. The first thing I saw was his gaze, fixed on my eyes and then slowly traveling down my whole body, as if he’d known from the start this was going to happen. He said nothing. I crossed the living room, grabbed the glass he’d left ready for me, lifted it, and said:

—Cheers! —praying inwardly that he wouldn’t stand up and leave.

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

—Cheers and love.

We drank at the same time. The whiskey tasted like water to me, probably because of the nerves, and I almost downed it in one gulp. He laughed.

—Looks like you liked the drink.

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

—What do you think?

And we burst out laughing. From there, the nerves started to fade. I crossed my legs and we kept talking about a thousand things, except that without realizing it I kept inching closer to him. I’d lowered the music volume, and he was saying things in my ear. I could feel him looking at my lips and, out of the corner of my eye, running his gaze over my legs, which, with those fishnets, honestly looked fantastic.

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

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

He laughed.

—What if you take my shirt off for me?

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

He smiled, a smile of pure fire, and without a word took my hand and gently guided it to where the bulge was most obvious. I felt the pulse, the heat, the thickness of the hard cock under the denim, and a low moan escaped my throat that I couldn’t even hold back. I squeezed his cock through the fabric, ran my hand up and down it, measuring it with my palm, and I went breathless at the feel of what was waiting for me down there.

—Fuck, babe, keep touching me like that —he whispered, voice hoarse—. You’ve got me rock hard.

That was when I became Camila completely. I closed my eyes, pulled my hand away from his crotch, lunged forward, and kissed him. A hungry kiss, packed with all the desire I’d been keeping for months. We kissed desperately, tongues and teeth, biting each other’s lips. Marcos held me by the waist and pulled me against him; my mind switched off and only his mouth existed. I barely lifted myself just to sit back down, this time on his lap, astride him, without stopping kissing him, grinding my ass, wrapped in those tights, against the brutal bulge throbbing between my legs.

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

—What a ass you’ve got, fuck —he growled—. All tight, sitting so nicely. I’m going to fuck it, Camila. I’m going to fuck it until you can’t even walk.

Hearing my name in his mouth, that name that had always been a secret, made me tremble all over. At that moment I gave myself over completely to my femininity. I was no longer Adrián, I was Camila surrendering to her man. And right there I felt it: that firm, steady pulse beneath where I was sitting, beating against me like a shot of adrenaline. I ground my ass up and down, feeling the cock digging between my cheeks even over the clothes, and he let out a deep pant that made me clamp my thighs together.

—Take my pants off, babe. I want you to do it —he whispered in my ear, with a commanding voice that made me shake.

I felt like I belonged to him, like his property, and I swear to you I loved it. My fingers, clumsy from nerves and alcohol, went for the button. While I fumbled with it, Marcos slid a hand under my skirt and, suddenly, smack, gave me a firm slap that made me jump. The sharp sting turned into an electric pleasure that shot straight to the top of my head. The cheeky bastard. But it only made me move faster. He slapped me again, harder, then slipped his fingers under the edge of my panties and slowly stroked my ass crack, playing with my asshole, pressing just enough to make me understand what was coming.

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

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

At last I got the button undone and pulled his jeans down, first a little, then all the way. When they hit the floor I went breathless. Holy shit, the neighbor had a tent down there; you could tell the poor bastard was suffering stuffed inside those jeans. I laughed softly, with that wicked little laugh that comes out when I feel powerful.

—Oh, Marcos, we’ve got to let this little friend of yours out of there, don’t you think?

I slid off his lap and knelt in front of him. Carefully, I lowered his underwear and watched him spring free, hard, before my eyes. His cock jumped upward, thick, outlined by a vein running all the way along the shaft, the head swollen, purple and shiny from how engorged it was. I stayed there for a second, hypnotized; I’d never imagined being in that position, dressed like this, feeling so feminine and with that in front of me. The smell of his skin, that mix of cologne and man and sweat, drew me in like a magnet. My mouth watered. I swallowed and gripped him at the base with my hand, squeezing hard, and his cock pulsed against my palm.

—What a tasty cock you’ve got, asshole —I whispered, not recognizing myself.

I leaned in slowly, taking it in with my eyes, savoring every detail. Marcos toyed with me, moving just a little, teasing me. I couldn’t hold back any longer; 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 cock all the way from the base to the glans, slowly, coating it in spit, then came back down the other side. I sucked his balls one by one, taking them into my mouth while still jerking him with my hand. Marcos was moaning and grabbing my wig, guiding me, shoving my head toward his cock with little tenderness.

—Take it all, slut. Open that little whore mouth and swallow it.

I opened my lips and took him in. First just the head, wrapping it in my tongue, sucking the tip like it was candy, tasting the salty liquid already seeping out. Then I went lower and lower until I felt him hitting the back of my throat. I choked a little, teared up, but I didn’t let go. I started moving, bobbing my head up and down, my mouth sealed tight around the shaft, slurping, letting strings of saliva run down my chin and soak his balls. My makeup was probably running, but I didn’t care. Without realizing it, I was already completely given over, my hands running over his thighs, my neighbor’s cock fucking my mouth at his leisure.

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

His words had me on the edge. While I devoured his cock with my whole mouth, I slipped a hand under my skirt, pushed my panties aside, and touched my own, dripping, hard as a rock. What a divine feeling; I felt like I was floating. I stared up at him from below, my lips stretched around his shaft, and he smiled down at me with that satisfied male grin that melted me inside.

Time stopped in that corner of my apartment. The minutes melted into a dance of shadows and sighs where the outside world no longer existed, only the rhythm of my surrender. I sped up, sucking him without pause, helping with my hand at the base, twisting my wrist, squeezing hard, while my tongue kept working under the glans. As I lost myself in it, devoted and fascinated, I felt a strong taste flooding my senses. Suddenly I noticed Marcos tensing, his body turning to steel under my hands, he grabbed my head with both hands and shoved me down hard, all the way to my throat, and then everything exploded. I felt the first hot jet burst against my palate, then another, and another, thick loads of semen that left me unable to breathe. For a moment I felt like I was choking, but it was a sweet choking, an ecstasy that claimed me as its own. I swallowed as much as I could, feeling it slide down my throat, thick and salty, and what escaped the corners of my mouth I gathered with my fingers and brought back to my lips without taking my eyes off him. In that moment of fullness I knew, with every fiber of my body, that this and nothing else was my place: on my knees, with my mouth full of my neighbor’s cum, savoring every drop like a devotee.

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

—Now let’s go to bed, because I still haven’t started with you.

He dragged me by the hand down the hallway, his cock hardening again between his legs, and laid me face down on the bed, my skirt hiked up to my waist. He ripped off my panties in one tug, spread my ass cheeks, and spat on my asshole before driving into me. I screamed into the pillow as he pushed his way in, wide, brutal, impaling me little by little, stopping to let me breathe and then thrusting deeper. Once he had all of me, his balls pressed against my ass, he started fucking me mercilessly, with long, deep strokes that made the bed creak. I moaned like a bitch, face smashed into the sheets, wig askew, biting the fabric so I wouldn’t wake the whole building. He grabbed my hips with both hands, squeezed my ass, gave me slaps that made me cry out more, and I kept pushing my ass back toward him 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 with those fishnets already torn, sank into me again with one brutal thrust, and fucked me from the front, looking me in the eyes, eating my mouth. I touched my cock while he wrecked me from the inside, and two minutes later I came harder than I ever had before, arching my back, spraying my stomach and blouse, screaming his name. He kept pounding into me for a while longer, one hand tightening around my throat, until he came a second time inside me, filling me, marking me for real.

It was the key that closed forever the door to my other life, the baptism that finished anointing Camila under the light of the moon. I don’t remember how the night ended, or at what point the sheets wrapped around us; my mind only keeps the beginning of that fire and the certainty that, from that sip of life, Adrián faded away to let Camila reign in the dark.