Trans

I’m a closet tranny. I’d spent months obeying his emails when he wrote that he’d be coming to my city, and I knew that afternoon he’d do with me everything he had ordered.

I followed her out into the street convinced it would be just another night. I had no idea what she was hiding under that tight dress or how far she would take me.

That night I put on the red thong, the fishnets, and the wig in front of the hotel mirror, and for the first time I didn’t recognize the same old boy.

Nobody knows. Not even the person I sleep with every night. But when I close my eyes I see myself in front of the mirror, transformed into someone else, ready for him.

I was on all fours, shaking, ass up, my own cock dripping on its own. He’d barely put the tip in and I was already begging him to break me completely.

I had spent months preparing for Adrián, but it was another man who taught me that night what it really means to give yourself over.

I found an old photo tucked away in a drawer, and all at once I knew exactly what I wanted to ask each of them for that vacation.

I was always a man of soccer and conquests, until the first thong brushed my shaved skin and I understood there was no going back.

Every Sunday, when she left, I opened her wardrobe and became someone else in front of the mirror. That afternoon she forgot her keys and came back early.

I thought nobody had seen me that afternoon at my grandfather’s house. I was wrong: there were a pair of eyes behind the door, and they took fifteen years to speak.

I’d never been attracted to men, but that figure on the screen stirred something I couldn’t name. Then she offered to pay me.

Under my track pants I wore only fishnets and a lace thong. I wasn’t looking for just any doorway: I was looking for the place where they’d treat me like an object.

I crossed the living room to get a glass of water, forgetting the curtains were still open. On the other side of the glass, his eyes had already found me.

I was ready from four in the afternoon, soaked and aching, when that short man knocked on my door, never imagining I’d force out his nickname.

I have my cheek pressed against the cold tile and I can’t remember his face, only the rhythm of him coming in and out of me while his hands hold my waist.

Two months ago I started dating a girl who truly loves me. And yet, the moment she leaves, I open the contacts site and look for what she can never give me.

I drove at night transformed into another woman and no one knew. One slip at a stop was enough for him to discover who I really was.

I carried her boxes up, made her coffee, and before I finished it, I already knew that neighbor was going to change every night I spent in that building.

That morning I shaved my legs, put on the white platforms, and got out of the car knowing everyone on the street would look at me. And look at me they did.

I had barely gone a few steps when my phone started vibrating nonstop. It was her, and she wasn’t going to let me get away that easily that night.