The New Tranny the Boss Wanted to Try That Night

The routine at Las Camelias club had become a memorized choreography. Every evening, at six-thirty, we went down to the main room where the long dark-wood bar stood. We went down done up, perfumed, made up to the last detail, in dresses that left little to the imagination. We danced to the music and waited. We waited for a customer to choose one of us to go up to a room, or at least to invite us for a drink, which also left a few coins in your pocket.

I had only been at the house a few weeks and I was still the novelty. The other girls looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, as if they were waiting to see how long I could hold out before leaving. Some talked to me kindly when nobody could see them; others moved away from me at the bar so they wouldn’t brush against me. But I wasn’t planning to go anywhere. I had gotten there with too much effort to give up at the first crooked look.

Every night was a small battle to make a place for myself. I learned quickly how to read customers, to tell the one who only wanted company from the one who was really going to go upstairs, the one who paid without arguing from the one who haggled over every last bill. But no matter how many drinks and services I won, something was missing. What was missing was for the whole house, starting with the man upstairs, to see me as one of them.

That night, almost at the end of the shift, Tarek came up to the bar. He was the owner of the place, a man of about forty, broad-shouldered, with a deep voice that didn’t need to be raised to be obeyed. I was finishing a drink bought for me by a pushy customer, the kind who touches a lot and decides very little. Tarek leaned in toward my ear and lowered his voice to almost a whisper.

—As soon as you’re done with him, you go upstairs and get yourself nice and pretty for me —he said—. Tonight I’m spending it with you.

—All right, I’ll do that —I answered.

I felt my heart lurch and start beating fast. It wasn’t just desire. It was the certainty that that night could change everything. That the owner of the house choosing me meant something more than money: it meant being accepted, being one more girl among the girls, earning a respect that no drink was ever going to give me.

The customer at the bar kept trying to flirt, kept pawing at me with that lewd clumsiness of someone who thinks that paying for a drink gives him the right to everything, but he still couldn’t decide to go upstairs. So as soon as I finished the glass, I said goodbye to him with a professional smile and went up to the floor above, just as Tarek had asked.

I took a quick shower. I put my makeup on again calmly, this time for one person only. I chose a red fishnet bodysuit that went from my shoulders to my ankles, with a strategic opening in the back, and underneath, a matching set, minimal, the same burning red. I slipped on towering stiletto heels and worked my hair until it had volume. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I knew I was ready. I stood there in the middle of the room, waiting.

Tarek knocked on the door half an hour later and came in. He looked me up and down before saying anything.

—Sorry I’m late, I had to take care of something —he said, and then added, almost to himself—: Damn, woman. You’re gorgeous. No wonder Bruno kept telling me you’re as much women as women, if not more.

Bruno was an Italian truck driver, a friend of his, who stopped by the club every few weeks. I guessed it was from him that Tarek got the urge to try something new.

—So you like me? —I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

—I like you too much —he said—. What I don’t know is whether I’m going to measure up. It’s the first time I’ve been with someone like you.

—Don’t worry about that —I told him, coming closer slowly—. You relax and let me take the lead. You’re going to change your mind about us. Lie down on the bed.

Tarek sat first, then reclined, leaving his legs dangling over the edge, his feet on the floor. I knelt between them. I opened his pants without haste but without hesitation and freed his cock from his underwear. It was big, very big, clean, circumcised, the head exposed and shaped in a way that invited a mouth. I didn’t think about it. I took it all into my mouth and started sucking it slowly, working it wet and deep, looking for that point where a man stops thinking.

My movements were rhythmic, steady, with the occasional deep push that made his whole body tense. I could feel him hardening against my tongue, the veins standing out, his breathing getting heavier and heavier. I kept my own pace, moving up and down, pressing my throat against him until a hoarse moan slipped out of him.

—You do that so well —he murmured with his eyes closed—. What a mouth you’ve got. Keep going, keep going like that.

I stayed at it a good while. I enjoyed the power I got from having him like that, undone, repeating my name under his breath. I’m the one in charge here, I thought. Even if this house is his, this room is mine.

—I want more —he said suddenly, sitting up—. But you have to tell me how it’s done. Show me.

I handed him a condom and put it on myself, slowly, looking him in the eye. Then I got on all fours on the bed and showed him my back, my body encased in the red mesh, with the opening exactly where it should be. I asked him to stand up and come closer.

—Come toward me slowly —I told him, moving the string of the thong aside—. Slowly and firmly. I’ll guide you.

With one hand I spread myself to make room for him. With the other I helped him find the exact spot. I felt the first brush, the pressure, and then the slow push that opened me from the inside.

—Now push —I said, my voice breaking—. Slowly, hard.

Tarek obeyed to the letter. The friction was intense, almost too much, a mix of burning and pleasure that made me moan out loud, shamelessly, asking for more. Every centimeter he advanced pulled a new sound out of me.

—Ah, like that —I panted—. More, give me more, harder.

—You like it? —he asked, and I could hear in his voice that he had completely let go, that there was no trace left of the insecure man from a little while ago—. Who’s in charge now?

—You —I answered, and I surprised myself with the way I said it—. You’re in charge. Fuck me hard, I want to feel all of you.

—Ask properly —he said, slowing the rhythm on purpose, keeping me on the edge—. Unless you ask me like God intended, I’m not giving you any more.

—Don’t do this to me —I protested, twisting to try to get him—. I’m asking properly, I’m asking however you want. I’m yours tonight, only yours. Now keep going.

—That’s more like it —he said, and started thrusting hard again.

The blows became forceful, rhythmic, deep. He grabbed my hips and pulled me toward him with every thrust. I lost my mind, moaning with a pleasure that had something of pain in it and a pain that had a lot of pleasure in it. The bed creaked. My own body rocked against his, reaching for more, always more.

He stayed like that for almost half an hour, setting a pace that seemed never to run out. When I finally felt him tense all over, when I noticed that tremor that comes right before the end, he let out a long growl and emptied himself into the condom. Even through the latex, I felt his heat, and that sensation brought me to the edge of my own pleasure.

He came out slowly. I took off the condom myself and let him lie back, exhausted, with a silly smile of satisfaction on his face. I went to the bathroom for a moment to freshen up and touch up my makeup. When I came back, he had ordered drinks.

—Did you like it? —I asked, lying down beside him—. Was it good?

—I loved it —he said, putting an arm around me—. It’s been a long time since I enjoyed myself like that. You’re full of surprises. That’s why I ordered drinks to be brought up, to celebrate.

***

A few minutes later Nadira appeared with the tray. She was the oldest woman in the house, the one who had been with Tarek the longest, the one who until that night had shared his bed more than anyone else. When she came in and saw us together, him reclined and satisfied, me at his side, her expression hardened. She barely looked at me, and when she did, it was with something very much like envy.

—Nadira, you can’t imagine how well this one moves —Tarek said, without measuring the effect of his words—. Serve us and when the time comes close up downstairs. I’m not going down. I’m staying here with her.

Nadira poured the drinks in silence. She looked at me one last time, a long, piercing look, before asking permission to leave. Tarek granted it with a lazy wave of his hand. She went out muttering something I couldn’t make out, and I knew I had just earned myself a place and, at the same time, an enemy.

Tarek kept me with him for the rest of the night. He came looking for me several more times, in different positions, with the new confidence of a man who has discovered a pleasure he didn’t know he wanted. Each time he wanted me more, and I gave him everything, not just because it was my job, but because I enjoyed it too.

I understood that this had been my true entrance into the house. Not the weeks of going down to the room every afternoon, not the drinks with pushy customers, but that night. In Tarek’s eyes, I was already one of the girls. And if the owner saw me that way, the others would have to see me the same. All except Nadira, of course, who wouldn’t give an inch even though the rest of the house had already accepted me.

As the weeks went by, Tarek started looking for me often, just as he looked for the others. Every night, one girl slept with him; sometimes Nadira, sometimes me, sometimes another. What at first had been a conquest, a test I had to pass, also became routine, like everything else in that house of red lights and repeated music.

But I wouldn’t change that first night for anything. It was the night I stopped being the new girl, the weird one, the one on probation. It was the night I finally became one of them.