Trans

The first time I put on someone else’s heels, I knew the image in the mirror was the most honest version of myself. It took me years to accept it.

It took me two seconds to recognize him on the other side of the bar. He was wearing a tight skirt and fishnets, and letting a stranger touch him.

I pressed the buzzer with trembling fingers. I knew that beyond that door awaited someone capable of turning me into what I had always dreamed of being.

When the scissors finished their work, the mirror gave him back a gaze that was not quite his own. And the voice he heard in that salon would not leave him alone.

I stood in the doorway with my wine in hand and looked at him from far away. He looked up. I smiled. No more words were needed.

Alone at home, wearing a thong and red lipstick, I looked in the mirror and felt no shame. I felt something far more interesting.

I had waited months for that Saturday. High heels, lace lingerie, the estate all to myself. No one was supposed to see me. Then Roberto from the estate across the way arrived.

Three days unable to use the bathroom, a luxury office, and a trans doctor who charged me her own way. What happened inside there isn’t forgotten.

Three coworkers invited her to stay behind when the building was empty. Sofía said yes, but on her terms.

My heels were killing me and the wig was itching, but when that man looked at me from across the room, I knew the night had only just begun.

The wig, the dress, and the heels were in my desk drawer. My boss had known for months. And that changed everything between us.

The sun burned our naked skin while Damián split me open without mercy, and in the water, a few meters away, my mother discovered that she was hungry too.

My heels were killing me when Andrés leaned over the counter and whispered that the conference room would be empty all night.

I went down to the bar’s courtyard at two in the morning because my room was impossible to breathe in. I never imagined I’d end up following her to the little room out back.

Forty-three degrees, four in the afternoon, and her on the balcony with the camisole stuck to her body, knowing full well I was going to climb five floors.

For years I kept my backpack in the car with all my lingerie inside, just in case. That Thursday, the moment finally came.

I’d been watching him in the locker room for months without daring to act. That afternoon, when he asked if I wanted to go up to his place, I knew it was now or never.

When she told me to kneel, I did. I understood I was no longer her patient, but something entirely different.

Three coworkers invited her to stay after ten. They didn’t know Camila had her own rules for nights like that.

I was fifteen when I opened my mother’s drawer. What I found inside wasn’t just lingerie: it was the first clue to who I really was.