The Night My Trans Lover Introduced Me to Renata

Several weeks had gone by since that first drink, the one that supposedly meant nothing and ended up changing everything. What began as a barroom curiosity had become something Damián no longer knew how to name: a habit, an addiction, a part of himself that only existed when he crossed that door. Each encounter with Salma pushed the line of what he believed himself to be a little farther. And that night, without yet knowing it, that line was going to disappear altogether.

He arrived after work, as was already ritual. He climbed the three flights without waiting for the elevator, his tie loosened and his pulse racing since the corner. He had a key, but he still knocked with his knuckles before going in, a formality that made her laugh.

—It’s open —Salma’s voice said from inside.

He found her on the sofa, as on so many other afternoons. Naked, with a glass of red wine in her hand and her legs parted with a naturalness that still took his breath away. But that night there was something different in the air, a thick, perfumed, electric tension.

She wasn’t alone.

***

—Damián, let me introduce you to Renata —Salma said, not moving from the sofa—. She’s a friend. A very close friend.

Renata got up slowly from the armchair lost in the half-light. She had a feline beauty, almost dangerous: brown skin, short hair shaved on one side, a smile that seemed to know everything in advance. Her body was more streamlined than Salma’s, less full but just as imposing, and she moved like someone used to being watched.

—So you’re the guy who stole Salma from me —she said, licking her lower lip as she looked him over from head to toe—. Let’s see if you live up to all that fame.

Damián swallowed. He felt the heat rush up his neck, that familiar mix of shame and desire this house always stirred in him. He opened his mouth to say something clever and nothing came out.

—Relax —Salma whispered, finally standing—. Tonight you don’t have to do anything. Just let yourself go.

***

Renata didn’t wait any longer. She crossed the living room in two long strides and knelt in front of him before Damián could even process it. She loosened his belt with quick fingers, lowered the zipper, and freed him in one tug. He was already hard; he had been since he saw the second silhouette in the half-light.

—Mmm. Interesting —she murmured, and took him into her mouth without warning.

Damián let out his breath sharply. Renata took all of him, to the hilt, never once taking her eyes off his. There was a challenge in that look, a determination to prove something. Behind her, Salma came up naked, bent down, and began to caress her friend’s breasts while she kept sucking him with a calm, methodical ferocity.

—See how good she is at it? —Salma told Damián, her mouth right by his ear—. Learn. Tonight you’re going to learn a lot.

The game began without pause, without protocol. They guided him to the floor, onto the living room rug, and finished stripping away what little clothing he had left between the two of them. Soon he was lying on his back, bare-chested, breathing in short gasps, with Renata sitting on his face and Salma riding him lower down.

The weight of them, the heat, the taste, all at once. Damián stopped thinking. There was no room for anything that wasn’t tongue, hips, the moans bouncing off the living room walls. Saliva, sweat, panting. For the first time in his life he was licking and being ridden at the same time, and the overload of sensations left him without thoughts, only nerves on fire and a pleasure that kept growing without limit.

Renata moved over his mouth with a calm demand, setting the rhythm, unhurried but relentless. Salma, lower down, rode him with her back arched, her eyes half-closed, throwing herself completely into every movement. Every now and then the two of them would reach for each other over his body, kiss, laugh softly, and he stayed beneath them like the center of a game he could barely begin to understand. Every time he thought he was catching his breath, one of them took it away again.

***

After a while they changed position. Salma sat in one of the armchairs facing him, crossed her legs, and beckoned him with one finger, drawing him toward her like a well-trained dog.

Damián turned and crawled across the rug. He reached her sex and started licking it from below, tracing all that piece of flesh that had become an obsession for him, a sweet and blessed addiction that no longer left him the least bit ashamed. Salma buried her fingers in his hair and sighed, satisfied.

That was when he felt Renata moving behind him.

—Hold still —she said in a low voice—. Don’t move.

Damián felt a knee settle on the rug beside his thigh. He felt Renata’s firm hands gripping his hips. A second later, he felt warm saliva falling where he had never felt anything like it before. He wanted to turn around, but Salma had him by the nape, keeping his mouth full, with no possible escape.

I wouldn’t dare. I couldn’t. Not with this.

He did dare. Or rather, they dared him.

***

Renata entered slowly, with a patience that contradicted her fiery gaze. First just the pressure, then the burn, then something Damián couldn’t tell whether was pain or the opposite. He let out a muffled groan against Salma’s skin, more from surprise than anything else, and stayed very still, fists clenched in the carpet and his whole body tense.

—Breathe —Renata ordered from behind—. Let go. Let yourself go.

He obeyed. He loosened his shoulders, released the air he’d been holding, and something inside him gave way along with his breath. The pressure changed. The burn became heat, the heat became a current that climbed his back and raised the hair on his neck. Renata began to move with a slow, deep rhythm, sinking all the way in with each thrust.

—Look at how much you’re enjoying it —Salma murmured from above, holding his head, setting the beat with her own hips—. You were mine. Tonight you’re hers too.

Damián couldn’t answer. His mouth was occupied, his body split between two opposite pleasures, giving and receiving at the same time, and his mind completely blank. He had never imagined that surrendering could feel like this, that giving up control could be its own kind of power.

***

Renata didn’t talk. She was focused, eyes closed, only letting out the occasional grunt when she sped up. Damián learned to read her rhythm: when the thrusts grew shorter and faster, she was close. And when he noticed, when he knew she was on the edge, a need of his own flooded him too.

He took hold of his own erection and began to stroke himself to the rhythm Renata was setting in him, as if the three of them were one coordinated mechanism. He didn’t last long. Pleasure burst from inside him, a release that ran through him completely, and he spilled onto the rug with a moan he didn’t even try to hold back.

Renata followed a few seconds later. She clutched his hips with both hands, drove herself in with two final thrusts, deep and precise, and stayed there, trembling, her breath shattered by effort and pleasure. Damián felt every beat of her, every spasm, until little by little Renata’s body relaxed over his.

***

Salma had watched the whole scene from the armchair, still holding the wineglass, like someone admiring a work of art. Her work of art. At last she came down, lifted Damián’s face by the chin, and masturbated in front of him, slowly at first, then frantically, her eyes fixed on his and an expression of pure vice he had never seen on her before, not even on their most intense afternoons.

—Stay still —she told him—. I want to see you.

She came all over his face, marking him, claiming him, without looking away for a single instant. And Damián, instead of feeling ashamed as he would have weeks earlier, closed his eyes and let himself be, grateful, defeated, completely hers.

***

In the thick silence that followed, the three of them stayed still for a moment, listening to their own breathing settle into the same rhythm. Then came the smiles, first Renata’s, then Salma’s, and lastly his. The three of them kissed, with no order or hierarchy, sharing the taste of the night.

—Welcome to the club —Renata said, giving his shoulder a gentle bite—. There’s no going back now.

Damián laughed softly, still dazed, his heart pounding in his ears. There was no going back, that was true, and for the first time the idea didn’t scare him. He had discovered that surrender could be his most honest form of desire.

They got up amid soft laughter, their legs still trembling, and crossed the living room on the way to the shower. Damián walked between the two of them, feeling that something in him had changed permanently, that one more door had opened and would never quite close again.

And as the hot water began to run and both their hands started seeking him again, he knew that this was not an ending. They were only just beginning. That night was followed by many others, each one farther than the last. But that, as they say, is another story.