The First Time I Went Out Into the World as Lilith

My name is Lilith. I chose that name myself; I searched for it and tried it out under my breath for months until it fit me like a second skin, and I adore it. What my birth certificate says is another story, one written for me before I was even able to have an opinion.

As long as I can remember, there was something in me that pulled toward the feminine, a silent current I could never ignore. As a child, my body was always androgynous. My hips, my legs, the line of my back: everything about me was softer and rounder than people expected. And that, I confess, instead of making me ashamed, lit me up inside.

Goth was my early obsession. Lace, black velvet, fishnet stockings, eyeliner smeared like an elegant wound. It was as if those clothes were speaking my name before I even knew it. I imagined myself wrapped in them, queen of a darkness that belonged only to me.

I started with small things, almost insignificant things. A pair of black panties I salvaged from my sister’s clothes she was going to throw away. A wine-colored lipstick I used in secret in the bathroom and wiped off in a hurry when I heard footsteps in the hallway. God, what a rush. Every new garment was a delicious vice, a little triumph I kept in a shoebox at the back of my closet. Sometimes, locked away, I would pull the panties up over my hard cock and look at myself in the mirror with burning cheeks, touching myself over the fabric until I came with my mouth covered so I wouldn’t moan.

One day I worked up the courage and bought myself a pair of platform boots. When I laced them up for the first time, with the fishnets and a garter belt that made me look like a dangerous girl, I nearly fainted from how good I felt. I looked powerful. I looked whole. At last I seemed like the person I had always lived as on the inside.

But my fantasy had never crossed the threshold of the house. Until that night.

***

I chose the place carefully, like someone planning a first date with herself. A basement bar in the old quarter of Aldecoa, a place with no sign where post-punk and darkwave played until dawn. The kind of place where nobody asks questions and everyone comes there running from something.

I armed myself with my best outfit. A short black velvet dress that showed me off exactly where I wanted to be looked at. The new boots. Fishnets climbing up to my thigh. Underneath, black lace panties that barely contained my cock, already half-hard from pure nerves. I did my makeup slowly, without rushing, building the vampire face I had dreamed of layer by layer. When I looked up at the mirror, I didn’t see myself. I saw her. I saw Lilith looking back at me, and for a moment I couldn’t breathe.

I went down the club stairs with my heart hammering, I swear, as if I’d been running for hours. My hands were icy and my knees were shaking inside the boots. Every step was a decision I could no longer undo.

The interior was pure shadow, cut through by red and blue lights breathing in time with the music. People were doing their own thing, swaying with that beautiful melancholy the genre has. I ordered a whisky at the bar and tried to hold the glass like a woman used to holding glasses in bars like this. Inside, I was all nerves.

The hours passed and, with each drink, the knot in my stomach loosened a little. I started looking around with less fear, feeling less like an impostor and more like a piece that had finally fit into that puzzle of shadows.

***

Then two men came up to me, both older than I was. One was slim, with long black hair tied back halfway, and an attentive gaze that went beyond mere politeness. The other was bulkier, broad-shouldered, and wore a smile that made me nervous before he even opened his mouth.

They offered me a drink, and I accepted with a gesture I tried to make look natural. The alcohol finished doing its magic and I stopped feeling like a salt statue about to crack. The bulkier one, who introduced himself as Darío, flirted bluntly, looking me straight in the eyes whenever he spoke. The long-haired one watched me with a different intensity, quieter, and I’d swear he noticed something from the start. I barely spoke, terrified my voice would give me away too soon.

Suddenly, just as the music dropped in volume, Darío leaned across the table and spoke in my ear with a deep voice I felt vibrating at the nape of my neck.

—Don’t worry —he murmured—. I know what you are.

It was like being plugged into an electrical outlet. A jolt ran from my neck to my heels and I felt my nipples harden under the velvet. He had guessed my deepest secret, the one I thought I hid beneath layers of makeup, and instead of backing off he was coming closer. He knows and stays. He knows and likes it.

I leaned toward him without even realizing how little distance was left between us. The music and the shadows did the rest.

—And what am I? —I asked at last, in a thread of a voice I deliberately left ambiguous.

—Exactly what I want tonight —he answered—. A pretty girl with something between her legs that’s getting hard just from imagining her.

A gasp escaped me so softly only he heard it. I felt my cock, squeezed inside the lace panties, forcing itself harder against the fabric, already leaking a drop that soaked the lace.

***

He ordered another round. With the music so loud, he had no choice but to keep speaking right into my ear, and that was the perfect excuse to have him close, to breathe in his scent of tobacco and leather. I answered in whispers, acting mysterious, playing at hiding what he had already found out. My nerves kept me on a delicious knife-edge, halfway between panic and desire.

Then his hand settled on my thigh. On the fishnet stocking. Feeling the heat of his palm seeping through the diamonds of the fabric, straight onto my skin, sent a shiver through me I couldn’t hide. We kept talking about nonsense, about the band playing, about the city, but all of that was just cover. The real conversation was happening in his hand, which moved up and down with calculated slowness, edging closer each time to the hem of my dress.

When his fingers finally slipped beneath the velvet, my breath caught. He felt the edge of the garter belt, followed the strap, and found my panties soaked in front. He noticed at once the hard bulge stretching them tight. He went still for a second, weighing it in the palm of his hand like a man who couldn’t believe his luck.

—Fuck, Lilith —he whispered against my ear—. You’re rock hard.

—For you —I answered, trembling—. I got this hard as soon as you spoke to me.

He started rubbing me through the lace, slowly, pressing his palm against my cock and then sliding down to caress my balls through the wet fabric. I bit my painted lip to keep from moaning in the middle of the bar. Every pass of his hand made me squeeze my thighs together, and when he pinched the tip of my cock over the panties with his thumb and forefinger, a sharp cry slipped out of me and was swallowed by the synthesizers.

The long-haired one had leaned back in his chair, watching us with a faint smile, like someone enjoying a show he didn’t need to interrupt. He had opened his legs slightly and one hand rested on his thigh, very close to a bulge of his own beginning to show in his jeans. His silent presence turned me on even more, because it made me feel watched, desired twice over.

Near midnight, Darío stopped the caress. With a confident motion, he took my hand and placed it on his own thigh. I’d never done anything like that, never. At first I went rigid, feeling the rough fabric of his trousers under my fingers, not knowing what he expected from me. He looked at me hard.

—Relax —he said—. We’re among friends, Lilith.

Hearing my name, my real name, from a stranger who said it as if he’d known me forever, undid me inside. And then he did it: he slid my hand upward, slowly, very slowly, until it rested over his crotch. I felt the dense, hot bulge, that unmistakable hardness throbbing under the cotton. His cock was thick, very thick, and about to burst the zipper. Good thing the table was high and the darkness covered us, because the embarrassment was real, but desire was beating it hands down.

And in an impulse, in that instant when a girl suddenly discovers the power she has in her hands, I moved my palm over him boldly, feeling his hardness through the fabric, following the shape of his cock from the balls to the tip, and I said in the most teasing voice I could manage:

—You gave me permission, didn’t you?

He laughed. A low, hoarse, deeply sexy laugh. He looked at my lips, eyes half-lidded. We were so close we were breathing the same thick air, loaded with bass and promises.

—I like your boldness —he said.

—I like that you let me be bold —I answered, and without looking away I pulled his zipper down two fingers’ worth, just enough to slip my fingers inside and find, with no underwear in the way, his warm, throbbing cock. I gripped it with my fingertips, then with my whole hand, and started jerking him off right there under the table, very slowly, feeling a thick drop escape him and slide over the head to wet my thumb. He huffed against my ear.

—Fuck, girl, what hands you have —he groaned—. Keep going, don’t stop.

I obeyed, moving my hand up and down with a slow, steady rhythm, squeezing his glans at the end of each stroke like I had fantasized about so many times. Meanwhile, his hand went back under my dress, pushed aside my soaked lace panties, and took my cock out into the open, skin on skin. When he closed his fist around my cock and started jerking me off in the same rhythm I was using on him, I thought I was going to come right there in the middle of the bar, the table the only shield between us. We were wanking each other under the velvet, eyes locked and breath mingling, and on the other side the long-haired one had slipped a hand inside his jeans without ever taking his eyes off us.

***

I loved his shamelessness as much as my own. Instinctively I closed the distance and he did the same, as if we’d been falling toward this point all night. Our lips finally met. It was a slow, sure kiss, full of that mystery we both knew we shared: him knowing what I was, me knowing that was exactly what turned him on.

I bit his lower lip gently, testing how far I could go, and he answered by taking me by the nape and deepening the kiss. He pushed his tongue in all the way, hungry, and I sucked it like I was sucking his cock, making it clear with my mouth what I wanted to do to him as soon as we could get out of there. The hand I had on his cock squeezed of its own accord and he groaned into my mouth. I felt his tongue, his whisky breath, the rough scrape of his jaw against my freshly made-up skin, and at the same time his fist working my cock under the table with a skill that was driving me insane. Above the table we were just two more silhouettes in the gloom; below it, my whole world was rearranging itself.

—You’re going to suck my cock tonight —he told me against my mouth, not asking, stating it—. And I’m going to fuck you until you scream my name with that voice you still haven’t let me hear.

—Yes —I gasped—. Whatever you want. Everything. Whatever you want.

I squeezed his cock harder and he sped up his hand on mine, jerking me off with his thumb brushing my tip every time he came up. I felt that electric tingle gathering at the base, rising, tightening my balls. I was about to come. I told him through clenched teeth, “I’m coming, Darío, fuck, I’m coming,” and he covered my mouth with his in another fierce kiss while he jerked me off to the end. I came in spurts into his fingers, trembling on the chair, vision blurring, and he kept squeezing my wet cock until the last shudder. Almost at the same time I felt him tense under my hand, push his hips upward, and spill hot and thick into my palm, coming silently with his eyes closed and his forehead pressed to mine.

When we parted, barely a few centimeters, I realized I was shaking again, but no longer from fear. I was shaking from something new, something that had waited for years under lock and key in a shoebox. I pulled my stained hand out of his zipper, and he, never taking his eyes off me, took my fingers into his mouth and sucked them one by one, licking his own cum clean off my skin. Another low moan slipped from me.

—Do you come here often? —he asked, his forehead against mine and my taste still in his mouth.

—It’s my first time —I admitted—. The first time I’ve gone out as myself.

Something changed in his gaze when he heard that. Unexpected tenderness mixed with desire, and he stroked my cheek with his thumb as if I were something valuable and fragile at the same time.

—Then I’m glad it was me who noticed it —he said—. Welcome, Lilith.

And in that underground bar in Aldecoa, with darkwave wrapping everything in its arms and a stranger speaking my name like a prayer, I understood that I was no longer Lilith only on the inside. That night I was Lilith for the world. And, above all, I was his Lilith.