The Bar Bartender Who Wanted to Be My Wife

She’s sweet, sensual, and has a body that takes your breath away. An angelic face, dark, well-cared-for skin, and a cock that remains hers by her own choice. She’s transgender, and I’m bewitched by her. I eat her whole up whenever I can, from her toes to the nape of her neck, tracing that fine, elegant throat with my tongue.

She takes care of herself like no one else. She never neglects her treatments, the gym, her looks. The perfect waxing, the moisturizing, the just-right makeup, the clothes that provoke, the lingerie that neither hides nor pretends to hide what’s underneath. Everything about her is a statement.

Now I tell it like this, without beating around the bush. I’m happy waking up beside her every morning, looking at her face at dawn. Sometimes she wakes me with my cock in her mouth; other times I’m the one who wakes her by licking her warm skin. We love each other, and we desire each other just like the first day.

I know that her tight ass or her lipstick-painted mouth always welcomes what I offer, and I know that hers makes its way between my cheeks when it’s her turn to give me pleasure. We earned it, both of us, after everything we went through to get here.

But this is today. The beginning wasn’t so easy. There were doubts, hers and mine. It was a long road, and we walked it together.

***

When I met her, she was a twenty-year-old boy, shy, slender, and handsome. That was what showed on the outside. Not his desires, not what he hid inside. It took me quite a bit longer to find that out.

His uncle had hired him to keep the bar open a few more hours at night. Selene — though back then that name didn’t yet exist — tended the bar while the rest of the world was already asleep. I went to that bar out of pure habit. It was close to home, on the edge of the residential area, hidden among holm oaks in a quiet vacant lot. I could walk there and back just as calmly even if I’d overdone it on the drinks.

My story up to then had been long and messy. Divorced twice, hardened, kinky, back from almost everything. I liked the boy, yes, but at first only because he was handsome and sexy. That’s how simple it felt to me then.

More than one night I’d jerked off thinking about him, alone in my bed, imagining what those tight jeans were hiding. That tight ass, that hard cock, what I’d like to do with all of it.

I’d get off work and stop in there, and I’d stay until he locked up. I didn’t feel like going back to an empty house. It was enough for me to watch him move, or to see how some woman dressed to kill tried to flirt with him by showing cleavage or thigh.

I missed no detail of that spectacle. The more skin on display, the better, whether it was on a man or a woman. I admit the cynicism of that period without any qualms.

But I liked the boy more and more. I’d stay chatting with him at the bar, or sitting at my table among the trees in the garden when there were few customers. And he didn’t seem to mind: he kept me company with a beautiful smile that would slip out of him without meaning to.

***

Summer was in full force. We wore less clothing and our confidences grew more intimate. We already seemed like friends. I was the first to admit that I’d had sex with men. And, almost as a curiosity, I told him I’d also been with a few transvestites. More than one, all the ones I could find.

—One of my exes caught me in our own bed with one of them sucking my cock —I told him, laughing—. At the time it was traumatic. Today it makes me laugh. It cost me my second divorce.

He didn’t say anything about that until a few days later. Then he confessed to me, almost without looking at me, that he was a virgin. That he’d never been with anyone. At twenty that surprised me, but he said it so seriously that I didn’t laugh. Even so, although he was opening up, he still hadn’t told me anything about what he liked.

—I’ve never been with anyone —he repeated, as if he himself could hardly believe it.

I put my hand over his wrist and he didn’t pull away. From then on, every night I tried to get a little closer, brush against him a little more, and he let me. More than that, he teased me. He leaned into my body as if by accident, though sometimes it seemed anything but casual.

One night, when we parted at a street corner to go home, he said goodbye with a kiss on the cheek. We were in a dark little corner, under a leafy holm oak. He pressed his chest against mine, separated only by our thin summer T-shirts. I could almost feel his heartbeat.

—I’m going to be alone for a few days —he said.

His parents were going on vacation and he had to stay behind to work. I invited him over one night to my place, for some drinks and to relax. I figured he wouldn’t want to see any more bars after his shift, and that for once he might feel like being the one who was looked after.

***

When he came into my house, following that tight ass of his, I told him:

—Make yourself comfortable. Tonight I’m serving you.

I took off my shoes, took off my shirt, and started pouring the drinks. He copied me with his sneakers, but he didn’t take off the tight mesh top that showed through his nipples. He was wearing it for the first time that night. I think he’d saved it for me, taking advantage of the fact that his parents weren’t there.

—Nice top —I told him.

I put on soft music. I offered him his drink and we toasted. Sitting very close on the sofa, he finally let himself go. He kissed me on the lips, with the sweet breath of the herbal liqueur he was drinking. It was a soft kiss, just a brush. Our first kiss.

And then he confessed what he was carrying inside.

—I’ve never felt comfortable in my body —he said quietly—. I like men, but there’s something else.

I waited. I didn’t want to break the moment.

—You’ll have guessed it already. I want to be a woman. Your woman.

He had always imagined himself with breasts, with delicate features, with wide hips. He let his ponytail down and a straight, shiny black mane framed his face. This time it was me who kissed him.

—I want a beautiful face, a worked-on body, and a good pair of tits —he whispered against my lips.

We kissed more fiercely, with tongue, deeper, tasting each other’s mouths as I slid a hand along his side. I felt him tremble.

—I’ve got girl’s clothes put away —I told him—. From my exes. They left them here when they moved out.

Smiling, I told him it was all up in the attic, in boxes, and that he could keep it if he tried it on in front of me. In truth I would have given it to him anyway, no need to see. Just the look on his happy face made it worthwhile.

He didn’t settle for that. He shoved his tongue all the way into my mouth, pure gratitude, straddling my thighs, finally letting my hands grab his hard, round ass.

—You’ve got a beautiful ass —I told him.

Without letting him go, I slowly worked his shirt up until I could lick his hairless chest and nibble his nipples, small and pink, while he moaned softly.

—Come on —I said, giving him a light smack so he’d stand up—. It’s upstairs.

If we’d stayed on the sofa, I’d have fucked him without further preamble. And I wanted more. By then I could only imagine him dressed up, with that sensual body wrapped in lingerie.

***

I took him to the attic, where I had stashed all that clothing in cardboard boxes beside an old sofa. It was the quietest corner of the house. She, excited like a child with new toys, started rummaging through hangers and drawers. I watched her from the doorway, leaning on the frame, enjoying myself.

—There are some beautiful things here —she said—. I’ve got clothes for a whole season.

Almost all the makeup had dried out, but there was just enough left to hide the fuzz on the chin, outline the lips in a deep red, and bring out those blue eyes. We’d buy the rest later.

To start, she chose a simple set of lingerie, almost see-through, and still wouldn’t let me touch her. I have to admit my exes dressed like complete sluts, and maybe that was part of what attracted me to them. Everything left in those boxes was highly provocative. The rest I’d thrown away long ago.

—Am I pretty? —she asked.

—Beautiful.

—No, stay there until I finish getting dressed. I want to be perfect for you.

She only let me watch her transformation from the doorway. I saw her slender, fully waxed body completely naked when she pulled down her thong. My cock, hard inside the jeans I still hadn’t taken off, wanted her desperately.

She arranged her sex between her thighs and held it in place with the thong. I pointed out some silicone pads my first ex used, the one who had very little breast, and she put them in her bra. On her long legs she pulled up a pair of garter stockings.

Then she put on a miniskirt that, because its original owner was taller, hung very much above the knee, almost at the level of her ass. The strip of bare skin between the stocking and the skirt was begging to be kissed. She finished the outfit with a short top that left her flat stomach, her navel, and one shoulder bare.

She struggled to get into a pair of heeled sandals, the largest I had, and only managed it because they were made of very thin strips of leather. We’d buy shoes in her size later.

Smiling and swaying her hips, she crossed the room toward me. She stumbled and fell laughing into my arms. Since I didn’t want her to twist an ankle, I lifted her in my arms like a bride and carried her to the old sofa, laying her down carefully on the cushions.

She struck a sensual pose, bending her knees and crossing her arms behind her head. Like a goddess from an old painting, but still dressed.

I took the first photos of her with my phone. The first photos of her life dressed as a woman, and in them it was already impossible to recognize the boy she had been. She looked like a gorgeous young girl posing for her boyfriend, provocative, in command of herself.

***

She motioned for me to come closer. As soon as I was beside her, with a look of pure lust, she opened my pants, which fell to my ankles, and licked her lips as she looked at the bulge marked in my tight boxer briefs.

She began kissing it through the fabric, rubbing her face against it. Then she pulled the garment down to my knees and freed my cock, which could take no more. I recorded everything.

She ran her tongue over my shaved balls, lifting the shaft with her soft little hand. Her playful tongue wetted my skin with saliva. I let her do as she pleased: I wanted her to explore, to let herself go, to discover the body of her first lover on her own.

—I didn’t know sucking a hard cock could be so hot —she murmured.

She licked her way up, soaking it all, until with a lewd smile she swallowed the head and made it disappear between her freshly painted lips. I still don’t know how I didn’t come right then and there. She didn’t need much more: a few licks, a few caresses to my wet balls, and I unloaded all the night’s tension in her mouth.

—We’ve got it on video —she said proudly, holding it in her mouth—. My first time.

I leaned down and kissed her, sharing everything in a long, dirty kiss, our tongues entwined. I hadn’t even fully taken off my clothes yet; they were still tangled around my ankles.

Then I asked her to undress me, and she did so gladly. I lay down beside her to keep kissing and caressing each other without hurry. Kissing and licking every piece of skin she uncovered, I stripped her down to panties and bra. Without removing her thong, I ate her cock, which with all that play had escaped hard from its hiding place.

I licked her soft, shaved balls, greedily, making her moan and writhe. Meanwhile I could feel mine hardening again from the excitement of having her like that, surrendered, at my side.

I moved down to her ass, spread it with my hands, and buried my tongue in her anus. She was holding her knees against her chest, sighing, wanting me inside her.

—Fuck, if I’d known this earlier —she panted.

***

I stopped just long enough to lube myself up properly. She took off her thong and put the skirt, bra, and heels back on, to feel more like a woman in my honor. Then she sat on my hip and, slowly, began to sink herself onto me.

—Record it —she asked—. I want to remember forever the night you made me a woman.

She had already played with her body alone, so she went carefully but without backing off, determined, very eager. When she finally settled her ass onto my thighs, the sight of her face between her tousled hair and her breasts barely covered by the bra seemed to me the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

She moved slowly, enjoying every inch, never speeding up, looking me in the eyes with an expression I will never forget. Until we both came: her on my stomach, with a little help from my hand, and me inside her. With my other hand I held the phone.

***

Since that night she has become the perfect woman she is today. She has gone through the whole process: hormones, an operation or two. She hasn’t lost the cock, which still gives the two of us so much pleasure. Every now and then we watch the videos of that first time again, and remember them without shame, laughing and desiring each other all over again.

We live together. Her uncle’s small bar has become a queer venue, where boys, girls, and everything in between meet and enjoy themselves freely. And we still enjoy ourselves in my bed, as much as or more than that first night in the attic, among cardboard boxes and borrowed clothes.