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 equal parts softness and dominance. I had been mulling it over for weeks, reading and rereading it, until one night desire proved stronger than fear and I dialed her number.

“I’ll be there in half an hour,” I said, and my own voice sounded strange to me, trembling.

I arrived early. My heart was pounding against my chest as though it wanted to break free. But she, with a precision that already announced who was in charge there, made me wait exactly five minutes in the entryway, until the clock showed the promised time.

Then her voice came down through the intercom, calm as she directed me to the floor. The door opened with a buzz, and I crossed an immaculate entrance hall, with no doorman and no one watching. 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. Just inside, 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 austere, almost monastic. A place where one could stop being who one was outside those walls.

She was exactly as she had been described. Slender, with a fragile, ethereal femininity, but above all affectionate, the kind who wraps you in her arms before anything else. I liked her instantly. There was a calmness in her gaze that completely disarmed me.

“Do you want to take a shower, or did you shower at home?” she asked. Her voice was soft, velvety.

“I showered, but I like to shower before anything else, so everything’s clean,” I replied, and noticed that my voice was already coming out hoarse with sheer anticipation.

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

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

“You have such beautiful eyes,” she whispered.

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

When she felt that I was hard and about to burst, she stood up. She placed her penis right in front of my face, still trapped inside the red fabric of her thong, swollen and stretching the material. With almost feline delicacy, she removed the garment and lay on her back on the other half of the futon. She looked at me with a lascivious smile, inviting me without words. Or rather, inviting me to her penis, erect and perfect before me.

I didn’t know how to refuse, nor did I want to. I turned on the bed and crawled toward her, naked and trembling. I stopped when my lips were millimeters from hers, barely brushing the charged air between us. Then her hand settled firmly on the back of my neck and pulled me into a fierce kiss, our bodies pressed together, my naked body against hers, covered only by that tight top.

We kissed for quite a while, my penis pressed against hers, rubbing in a duel of hard, hot flesh. From time to time I grabbed both of them with one hand and stroked them slowly, or pushed mine beneath her testicles, brushing against her anus, that entrance that excited her as much as it did me.

Without saying a word, she placed her hand on my head and guided me downward, until my face was level with her penis. I kissed it devotedly, and she pushed slowly, putting the whole thing in 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 going all the way down, remaining still, choking on pleasure, and she liked it just as much as I did. She shifted and let out little moans.

Without taking it out of my mouth, I took her hand and placed it back on the nape 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, sweetheart?”

“To dress as a woman too.”

“How exciting, gorgeous. Do you want me to speak to you in the feminine?”

“Yes. I like being called Lorena.”

***

She took a lace outfit and a pair of stockings from a drawer and patiently helped me put them on, adjusting them here and there, then looking me up and down with approval. Something changed inside me as soon as I felt the fabric against my skin. I stopped being myself. She lay me on my back and sat astride me. As we kissed hungrily, she toyed with the tip of my member, brushing it against her tight anus.

The game escalated quickly. First she inserted only the tip, and an old fear suddenly assailed me: diseases, risks. I confessed it to her in a low voice. Without losing her calm, she told me not to worry, that she was probably much healthier than I was. And in the blink of an eye she sank down completely, swallowing my entire member into a hot, tight interior that seemed to embrace it. She began to rise and fall with a slow, hypnotic rhythm that carried me gradually toward the edge.

“Don’t come inside me,” she ordered.

We continued like that until she noticed that my climax was getting too close. Then she moved away and lay beside me, leaving my erect penis pointing toward the ceiling, and hers pointing in the same direction, twins in their hardness.

“I want you to dominate me,” I told her from that relaxed position, almost begging.

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

I saw what was coming. She put her entire cock into my mouth, all the way down, and began fucking my throat hard, in and out, provoking gags that mingled with a pleasure I couldn’t explain, thick saliva spilling from me. To make up for that roughness, she bent over me and began 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, her legs spread, her erect penis like a column.

“Come on, 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 began to suck, thinking about the moment I would feel her cum filling my mouth. Fear and desire interwoven. I had never tasted it, but I wanted it with an excitement that made me hard without even touching myself.

She loved it; you could tell from every moan. I loved it even more. Her movements announced the end: an enormous ejaculation flooded my mouth, jet after jet, hot, thick, salty. I tightened my lips so as not to spill a single drop and embraced her penis with my tongue as it softened while I held it there.

I rose onto my knees in front of her, my mouth full, without opening it. She smiled with satisfaction, perfectly understanding my fear of swallowing. As a gesture of mercy, she took some tissues from the bedside table 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 repositioned me so that I could put my penis back into her anus, me on top of her, kissing as I moved in and out of her sphincter, now looser but just as delicious.

“Remember, don’t come inside me.”

“Where do you want me to do it?”

“On my penis. Cover it completely with your milk, because you’re going to clean it thoroughly afterward. I know you want to swallow, and your own semen won’t scare you.”

We continued like that for a while longer, my excitement growing just from imagining it. When the moment came, I pulled my cock out of her ass and came in an explosion that seemed never-ending, all over her penis and her belly, abundant white jets.

***

In that moment afterward, as though I had suddenly awakened from someone else’s dream, the fantasy became distant. The idea of licking my own cum no longer aroused me. It almost made me uncomfortable. But her kind, dominating smile captured me again: a promise was a promise. She had let me enter without barriers; she had allowed me to spit out her semen. Now it was my turn to obey.

I crouched 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 penis to her testicles. Her belly. Everything coated in a nectar that, once the initial embarrassment had 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, nor in my mouth. I swallowed it all.

We rested for a moment, embracing, and she offered me another shower. I would have kept that smell of saliva and semen as a secret perfume, but outside those walls it would have been a desecration. She helped me take off the feminine outfit and accompanied me to the bathroom, where I washed and emerged once more as the proper man the world knows.

The farewell was sadder than I expected, a goodbye that tore me apart inside. I had to leave, and I didn’t want to. Those final licks had awakened something again that I thought was asleep, a hunger that cannot be satisfied. I left wanting more, but there was nothing to be done. I went down the stairs thinking of Lorena, of the woman I had been for an hour, and who remained in my veins like a sweet poison I could never forget.