The Crossdresser Who Called Me Lorena That Night

I had read her ad so many times that I knew it by heart. Every word described a creature of ambiguous beauty, a slender crossdresser who promised softness and dominance in equal measure. I had spent weeks turning it over in my mind, reading and rereading, until one night desire overpowered fear and I dialed her number.

—It’ll take me half an hour to get there —I said, and my own voice sounded strange to me, trembling.

I arrived early. My heart was pounding against my chest as if it wanted to burst out. But she, with a precision that already made clear who was in charge there, made me wait exactly five minutes in the entryway, until the clock struck the promised hour.

Then her voice came down through the intercom, calm, telling me the floor. The door opened with a buzz and I crossed an immaculate entrance, without a doorman, without anyone keeping watch. I climbed the stairs two at a time, my throat dry.

The apartment was new, clean, scented with something citrusy that contrasted with everything that was about to happen. As soon as I walked in, in what served as the living room, there was a double futon on a low, Japanese-inspired frame, with a firm mattress. The decor was sober, almost monastic. A place where one could stop being who one was outside those walls.

She was exactly as they had described her. Slender, with a fragile, ethereal femininity, but above all affectionate, one of those women who wrap you in their arms before anything else. I liked her immediately. There was a calm in her gaze that completely disarmed me.

—Do you want to take a shower, or did you come showered from home? —she asked. Her voice was soft, velvety.

—I came showered, but I like to shower before everything, so everything’s clean —I replied, and I could hear that my voice was already rough with sheer anticipation.

I came out of the bathroom wrapped in steam and she was waiting standing up. She wore a black top with sheer sleeves that hinted at the delicacy of her arms, and red thong panties that shaped a round, tempting ass impossible to ignore. She had no breasts. And she didn’t need any.

She took both my hands, her fingers firm, and led me to the edge of the futon. We both crouched at the same time: I ended up seated on the low bed, she on her knees in front of me. The mattress’s slight height left our faces at the same level, and her eyes locked onto mine.

—What beautiful eyes you have —she whispered.

And in that instant we melted into a kiss that lasted for minutes. Her lips were soft but demanding, and while she kissed me her hand slid down to my cock, waking it with slow, measured caresses that made me hold my breath.

When she felt I was hard and ready to burst, she stood up. Right in front of my face she left her cock, still trapped in the red fabric of the thong, swollen, straining against the cloth. With an almost feline delicacy she slipped the garment off and lay down on her back on the other half of the futon. She looked at me with a lewd smile, inviting me without words. More than inviting me to her cock, hard and perfect in front of me.

I neither knew nor wanted to refuse. I turned over on the bed and crawled toward her, naked, trembling. I stopped when my lips were millimeters from hers, barely brushing the air charged between us. Then her hand settled firmly on the back of my neck and drew me to her in a fierce kiss, our bodies pressed together, mine naked against hers covered only by that tight top.

We kissed for a good while, my cock against hers, rubbing in a duel of hard, hot flesh. From time to time I took both of them in one hand and moved them slowly, or pushed mine underneath her testicles, brushing toward her ass, that entrance that excited her as much as it did me.

Without saying anything, she rested her hand on my head and guided me downward until my face was level with her cock. I kissed it devoutly and she pushed slowly, sliding the whole thing into my mouth until the tip touched my throat. I don’t know how long I stayed like that, sucking her. It was a perfect cock: neither too big nor too small, shaved, smooth, hard. I liked taking it all the way down, staying motionless and choked with pleasure, and she liked it as much as I did. She squirmed and let out little moans.

בלי pulling it out of my mouth, I took her hand and put it back on the back of my neck, inviting her to push harder. I loved feeling dominated, surrendered to her will. When I stopped for a moment to breathe, I said:

—Do you know what I’d like?

—What, sweetie?

—To dress as a woman too.

—How exciting, pretty girl. Do you want me to speak to you in the feminine?

—Yes. I like being called Lorena.

***

She took a lace set and a pair of stockings from a drawer, and helped me put them on patiently, adjusting them here and there, then looking me over from head to toe with approval. Something changed in me the moment I felt the fabric on my skin. I stopped being me. She laid me on my back and sat on top of me, straddling me. While we kissed hungrily, she played with the tip of my cock, brushing her tight ass.

The game escalated quickly. First she took only the tip inside, and an old fear hit me all at once: diseases, risks. I confessed it to her in a low voice. She, without losing her calm, told me not to worry, that she was probably much healthier than I was. And in the blink of an eye she sank all the way down, swallowing my whole cock into a hot, tight interior that seemed to embrace it. She began to rise and fall with a slow, hypnotic rhythm that carried me little by little to the edge.

—Don’t cum inside me —she ordered.

We went on like that until she noticed my climax was getting too close. Then she pulled away and lay down beside me, leaving my hard cock pointing at the ceiling, and hers in the same direction, twins in their hardness.

—I want you to dominate me —I told her from that relaxed position, almost pleading.

—All right. Come, get into position like this —she guided me, placing me on my back with my head hanging off the bed, my throat straight like an open corridor.

I saw what was coming. She shoved her whole cock into my mouth to the very back and started fucking my throat hard, in and out, provoking gag reflexes that mingled with a pleasure I couldn’t explain, thick saliva spilling over me. To make up for that roughness, she bent over me and started sucking my cock slowly, a warm mouth in the middle of the storm. The intensity eased and I could breathe again.

A while later she stood up and lay on her back in the center of the futon, her head on the pillow, legs spread, cock erect like a column.

—Come, suck me again. I want to give you all my milk —she said.

After everything I had already risked, I didn’t dare refuse. I started sucking, thinking about the moment I’d feel her cum filling my mouth. Fear and desire intertwined. I had never tasted it, but I wanted it with an arousal that made me hard without needing to touch myself.

She loved it; you could tell by every moan. I loved it even more. Her movements announced the end: a huge load flooded my mouth, shot after shot, hot, thick, salty. I pressed my lips together so I wouldn’t spill a drop and wrapped my tongue around her cock, which was softening while I held it in.

I sat up on my knees in front of her, my mouth full, without opening it. She smiled with satisfaction, understanding perfectly my fear of swallowing. As a gesture of mercy, she took some tissues from the nightstand and offered them to me.

—Relax. You don’t have to swallow it.

I spat carefully and she took the tissues and set them aside. Then she moved me so she could put my cock back into her ass, me on top of her, kissing while I entered and left her sphincter, now looser but just as delicious.

—Remember, don’t cum inside me.

—Where do you want me to do it?

—On my cock. Spray it all over with your cum, and then you’ll clean it well. I know you want to swallow, and your own semen won’t scare you.

We went on a little longer, my arousal growing just from imagining it. When the time came, I pulled my cock out of her ass and came in an explosion that seemed never to end, over her cock, over her stomach, white, abundant spurts.

***

In that afterglow instant, as if suddenly waking from someone else’s dream, the fantasy became distant. I was no longer turned on by the idea of licking my own cum. I almost found it unsettling. But her kind, dominant smile caught me again: a promise is a debt. She had let me in without barriers, she had allowed me to spit her semen. Now it was my turn to obey.

I bent down and cleaned every drop with devotion, sucking her cock one more time, licking my own essence as an act of surrender. From the tip of her cock to the testicles. Her stomach. Everything soaked in a nectar that, once the initial embarrassment passed, made me feel strangely good. As if I were someone else being ordered to leave everything spotless. Until not a single drop remained. Not on her body, not in my mouth. I swallowed it all.

We rested for a moment, embraced, and she offered to let me shower again. I would have kept that smell of saliva and semen like a secret perfume, but outside those walls it would have been a profanation. She helped me take off the feminine set and accompanied me to the bathroom, where I washed and emerged again as the proper man the world knows.

The goodbye was sadder than I had expected, a farewell that tore at me inside. I had to leave and I didn’t want to. Those last licks had awakened something I thought was dormant, a hunger that can’t be satisfied. I left wanting more, but there was no remedy. I went down the stairs thinking about Lorena, about the woman she had been for an hour, and she remained in my veins like a sweet poison I would never be able to forget.