The Trans Woman in the Courtyard Made Me Forget the Heat

The hottest night of the summer wasn’t the night of the storm. It was the one before.

Damián had gone three days without sleeping properly. The fan in his room was spinning at full blast and doing nothing: it only moved the hot air from one side to the other. He had tried everything — a cold shower at eleven at night, the window closed, the window open, sleeping naked on top of the sheets. The hallway thermometer read thirty-nine degrees when he got up at one in the morning.

He went down to the street because he didn’t know what else to do.

The whole town was awake. Windows open, dogs stretched out on the sidewalks, neighbors in the doorway with mate in hand. It was that kind of heat that gives no respite even at night, that makes you feel your own body as an inconvenience. The asphalt was still radiating heat. The air was heavy.

In the square, the place that had been a bar and then a general store and then plain nothing had reopened its doors without any prior announcement. The owner, an older man with a mustache and flip-flops, had hung strings of LED bulbs around the courtyard columns and plugged a speaker into a wooden crate. Slow cumbia was playing, the kind nobody listens to during the day but that fits perfectly at dawn. It wasn’t exactly a party. It was collective survival: if no one could sleep, better not sleep alone.

Damián ordered a beer without really ordering it — he held out his hand and the kid behind the makeshift bar put it there without asking. He opened it on the edge of the counter. He leaned against a column and started looking around.

Then he saw her.

She was standing at the edge of the courtyard, facing the square, in a light cream-colored dress that the heat had made almost sheer. Her long black hair was tied up in a messy bun, with strands soaked through and falling down her neck and shoulders. She was tall, with broad shoulders and clearly marked hips. She moved her feet to the rhythm of the music with the indifference of someone dancing for herself, not looking for approval or company.

Damián noticed her hands first: long fingers, nails painted a dark red almost black, a thick silver ring on the index finger of her left hand. Then her eyes, when she turned her head slightly: large, dark, sweeping the courtyard without hurry. Finally, she looked at him.

She didn’t do anything special. She just arched one eyebrow, very slightly, as if asking something.

Damián pushed away from the column.

—You dance? —he asked, coming closer.

—Badly —she said—. Very badly.

—Me too.

—Oh, good. Then.

She smiled. A sideways smile, not showing her teeth, that changed her whole face.

—I’m Renata.

—Damián.

They stepped onto the dance floor without any more formalities.

***

What they were doing wasn’t dancing. It was occupying the same space without stepping on each other too much. Renata had some sense of rhythm, but she applied it according to rules of her own that Damián couldn’t make out. He just improvised: one step forward, two to the side, and hoped something would fit. In the first five minutes they collided four times. The fifth time, when he grabbed her by the waist so he wouldn’t fall, they both burst out laughing at the same time.

—We’re a total mess —she said.

—And yet here we are.

—And yet.

The heat was almost physical, something with its own substance. Damián’s T-shirt was stuck to his back. Renata’s dress clung to her hips, her belly, her thighs. Every time they got close, the smell of hot skin and perfume mixed with sweat grew denser, more intimate, harder to ignore.

They introduced themselves between steps. She was from the town, worked at the hair salon on the next block. He was passing through for three days and then heading north, without any very precise destination. She asked if he always traveled like that, without a plan. He said this was the first time. She didn’t quite believe him, but she said it with a smile.

The music changed. A slower track, the kind that forces you to choose: either you pull away or you press in. There’s no middle ground.

They didn’t pull away.

Renata rested one hand on Damián’s shoulder. He put his hands on her waist. Their bodies settled with the ease of people who already know that space, even though it was the first time. Her forehead came up to his temple. He could feel her breath, slow and warm.

—You’re really hot —she said softly.

—So are you.

—Everybody’s hot tonight.

—You more than the rest.

Renata looked at him up close without moving.

Damián’s hands slid a little lower on her back, almost without his consciously deciding to do it. They went down to the curve where the back stopped being a back and started being something else, and stayed there for a second, weighing it. Then they went a little lower still and grabbed her ass completely, one hand on each cheek, firmly. She said nothing. Didn’t move. She only breathed differently, a little slower, a little deeper. Her body pressed slightly closer to his, and Damián felt, against his own pelvis, a hard bulge that the dress couldn’t quite hide.

Neither of them commented on it. She just looked at him from very close, with an expression that was half question, half challenge.

—There’s a little room with a fan out behind the place —she said, not looking at anything in particular.

Damián didn’t answer. He took her hand.

***

It was more of a storeroom than a room: metal shelves with crates of empty bottles, the smell of damp and machine oil, a naked little bulb hanging from a wire. The floor fan was in the corner, rusty and noisy, and made more noise than it made cool air. But it moved some air. Renata locked the latch with a precise motion and turned around.

Damián was already there.

The first kiss was clumsy, like the dancing. Their teeth bumped lightly at first and they both smiled against each other’s mouths without pulling away. The second kiss was different: slower, more deliberate, with his hands on her face. By the third, their tongues were deep in each other’s mouths, biting lips, breathing into each other’s mouths. Damián grabbed her hair at the nape and pulled her head back to suck on her neck, lick the hollow of her collarbone, bite her shoulder. Renata let out a low, guttural moan and dug her red nails into his back over the T-shirt.

—Take this shit off —she murmured, tugging at the fabric.

Damián tore it off and dropped it onto the concrete floor. Renata ran her hands over his chest, over his nipples, over his stomach, and went straight to the bulge in his pants. She gripped it over the fabric firmly, measuring it, squeezing it with her open palm.

—Look at that —she said, with that sideways smile—. You’re having a good time.

—So are you, from what I felt out there.

She laughed, short and rough, and bit his lower lip.

Damián slid the straps of her dress off her shoulders. The fabric fell all by itself to the floor. Renata had on a black lace bra underneath and matching black panties, stretched tight in front by the unmistakable shape of a barely contained erection. Her long brown body gleamed under the single bulb’s light, covered in a thin film of sweat that made her breasts, belly, and thighs shine.

He ran his hands over her: the sides, her waist, her hips, her ass. He unclipped her bra and her tits fell free — not large, but firm, with dark nipples already hard. Damián lowered his head and sucked one, then the other, holding them in both hands, and Renata let out a sharp gasp.

Then he lowered his hands and grabbed her package over the panties.

And there it was, fully confirmed: beneath the black lace, small but rock hard, pointing upward against her flat belly, Renata’s cock.

He didn’t remove his hands. He left them exactly where they were, and pressed gently over the fabric.

—Is that okay? —she asked. Direct voice, no beating around the bush, no anxiety. Just the question.

Damián took a second before answering. Not because he was unsure, but because he needed the answer to be honest.

—Yeah —he said—. It’s okay. It’s very okay.

It was true. He was hard too, harder than he had been in months.

Renata studied him for a moment. She must have found what she was looking for in his face, because something in her relaxed, and at the same time something loosened — the initial politeness, the restraint. She yanked his pants open, pulled down the zipper, slipped her hand into his boxer briefs and took out his cock. She gripped it fully in her hand, measuring it with her fingers, and smiled slowly.

—Much better like this —she said.

She started jerking him off with her hand, slow but firm, from the base to the tip, while she looked him in the eyes. Damián let out a growl and bit her shoulder. With her free hand, she pulled her panties down and slid them off one leg, throwing them against the wooden crate.

Renata was completely shaved. Her cock, small and circumcised, lay free between her bodies, the shiny tip of a clear drop showing. Damián held it in the palm of his hand for a moment, unhurried, and began moving it with his thumb and forefinger, slowly, learning what it was like, how it responded. Renata closed her eyes and parted her lips.

—You don’t need to do anything with that —she murmured.

—I’m not doing it because I need to —he said, and knelt down.

He dropped to his knees on the concrete and took it into his mouth without asking anything else. Renata let out a long moan and grabbed his hair with both hands. Damián sucked her whole cock without effort — it fit all the way to the back of his mouth, and he could give her a slow blowjob, swallowing her down to the base, holding there before slowly coming back up and going down again. With one hand he held her small, tight balls, while with the other he touched her ass from behind, searching for the hole with the pad of his finger.

—Fuck —Renata panted—. Fuck, Damián.

He had her little dick pressed against his palate, his tongue stuck to the frenulum, and he suctioned while he went up. Renata moved her hips involuntarily, pushing against his mouth, asking for more. Saliva ran down Damián’s chin. When he finally pulled it out of her mouth with a wet sound, Renata’s cock was pointing upward, drenched, shining under the bulb.

She put a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him up, then kissed him with her mouth open, tasting her own flavor.

—Now me —she said.

She pushed him gently until he was standing and she crouched down. She took his cock in both hands, looked at it as someone appraising something with respect, and took it into her mouth halfway on the first pass. She pulled it out, spat on the head to lube it, and took it in again, this time deeper. She knew what she was doing. She ran her tongue underneath, sucked his balls one by one, licked all the way to the scrotum, and went back up to swallow him whole.

Damián held her head with both hands, tangled his fingers in the undone bun, and let her do it. Renata looked up at him from below with her huge eyes, mouth full, and every so often she pulled his cock out and rubbed it against her cheek, against her closed lips, letting herself be smeared with her own strings of saliva.

—If you keep this up I’m going to cum on your face —he warned her in a hoarse voice.

Renata pulled it out and blew on it lightly.

—Not yet —she said—. Not yet.

She stood up.

***

Renata turned around. She braced her open palms against the metal shelves, her back straight and her hips lifted back. She spread her ass cheeks with both hands, showing Damián the tight, shaved hole, and looked at him over her shoulder.

—Come on —she said.

Damián moved behind her. There was a jar of petroleum jelly on the lowest shelf, among rags and tools. She pointed at it without looking, with her chin.

He opened it.

But before putting in a finger, he bent down and ran his tongue over her ass, from bottom to top, slowly. Renata let out a short, sharp moan she hadn’t expected. He did it again, and again, until he buried his tongue inside her, sucking, covering it well with saliva. He grabbed her cock from below, between her legs, and started stroking it with his hand while he ate her ass.

—Fuck —Renata muttered against the shelf—. Nobody does this to me. Nobody.

—Now they do.

When he felt she was ready, he straightened up and started with his finger. Slowly, feeling the inner heat, the initial resistance that gave way with patience. Renata breathed in a rhythmic, controlled way, with the experience of someone who knows exactly how to relax her body. Two fingers. The internal pressure tightened around him, hot and compact, then loosened.

—More —she said.

Three fingers, turning slowly, parting, preparing her carefully. With the other hand he kept giving her slow strokes underneath. Renata pushed her hips back, fucking his fingers with herself, looking for more depth. Her breathing changed: no longer rhythmic, but shorter, more broken, something involuntary at the edges.

—Enough —she said—. Enough, fuck me.

Damián applied petroleum jelly generously to his cock, coated it well, and positioned himself. He rested the head against the hole and pushed only a little, searching for the angle. The first centimeter was the slowest. Renata exhaled through her nose, consciously relaxing, and the ring gave way little by little around him. Then came the dense heat inside, enveloping, taking him in completely. Damián pushed all the way in, in one long stroke, until he felt her ass against his pelvis.

When he was all the way inside, they both stayed still for a few seconds, panting.

—Okay? —he asked.

—Very okay —she said—. Move.

He started moving.

***

The rhythm was slow at first, deep. Every near-complete withdrawal and every return made Renata give off a low, sustained sound, somewhere between concentration and pleasure. Damián’s cock came out shiny with petroleum jelly and sank back in all the way to his balls, and he could see it — he bent slightly to look, to see it disappear whole inside that tight ass opening and closing to his rhythm. Sweat made everything more fluid. The rusty fan turned in the corner without making much difference.

—Harder —she asked—. Don’t hold back.

Damián sped up.

The movement became more urgent, more physical, less calculated. Her hips met his, crashing with a wet, dull smack each time. Her hands gripped the shelves hard enough that her knuckles went pale. The sounds she made were different now, more open, freer, without the earlier control. She moaned with her mouth open, without closing it, letting everything out.

—Yes, yes, like that, fuck me like that, don’t stop.

He grabbed her hips with both hands and pushed harder, driving into her to the base each time, with that restrained violence that only gets released when the other person asks for it. The shelves rattled. An empty bottle fell to the floor and rolled without breaking. Sweat ran down their backs, their necks, their thighs. Each thrust produced that sound of skin against skin that has no name but can’t be mistaken for anything else, mixed with the wet sloshing of the lubricated ass swallowing his cock.

Damián slipped a hand underneath and found her cock. It was rock hard, soaked with pre-cum, hanging between her legs and swinging with each thrust. He grabbed it and started jerking her off in the same rhythm he was fucking her.

—Oh, fuck —Renata shouted, almost in falsetto—. Oh no, no, like that I can’t take it.

—Take it.

—I can’t, you’re going to make me cum.

—Cum.

Renata dropped her head between her arms. Damián was squeezing her cock in his fist firmly, up and down, while inside her ass he felt it tighten more and more, contract in short, involuntary intervals. He could feel it building in her, how it kept growing. He gave her hair a pull with his free hand — a short pull, not violent, more of an anchor — and she shoved her ass back against him with an animal growl.

—I’m going to cum —Renata said, almost surprised—. I’m cumming, Damián, I’m cumming.

—Go on, cum, cum all over.

Renata’s orgasm began in silence: first a long, deep tremor, a contraction that wrapped everything up, and then a sound that escaped without permission from somewhere inside her, hoarse and real, filling the dark storeroom. Her cock jerked in Damián’s fist and started shooting hot spurts that splattered the metal shelf, the concrete floor, his hand, again and again, more than Damián would have expected from such a small cock. And at the same time, inside, her muscles clamped down around Damián’s cock with brutal force, milking him in waves, and that pressure was enough to take him too.

—I’m cumming too —he panted—. Inside.

—Inside, yeah, cum inside, fill me.

Damián shoved all the way in and stayed there, pinned, while he came in long waves inside Renata’s ass. He felt his own semen spilling against the inner walls, felt her still-shaking body trembling with him, felt the two of them convulsing at the same time without being able to control it.

They emptied at the same time. He inside her. She against the metal shelf, trembling, with her own cum dripping over the rusty metal.

Then, silence.

When Damián pulled out, he did it slowly. His cock came out shiny, still half-hard, and behind it came a thick thread of semen beginning to run down Renata’s thigh. She turned around, crouched down without warning, and cleaned his cock with her mouth — sucking it softly, swallowing what was left, looking up at him with a dim smile.

—You’re a mess —she murmured.

—So are you.

Just the rusty fan. The two of them breathing. And outside, very far away, the slow cumbia from the speaker still playing.

***

They got dressed slowly in the dim storeroom. Without talking much. Without needing to.

When they opened the latch and stepped out into the courtyard, the atmosphere had changed. The heat was still there, but something in the air was different: heavier, more electric. The people who were left were looking up. Someone said something about the sky.

The first drop landed on Damián’s shoulder.

The second on Renata’s cheek.

And then the whole sky opened up.

The rain came down all at once, torrential, without warning. The shouts in the courtyard were pure relief, laughter, disbelief. Someone raised their arms. Someone turned up the speaker. No one ran for cover.

Damián and Renata stood in the center of the courtyard, letting themselves get soaked.

The cold water on skin that was still hot was almost painful and completely perfect. Renata lifted her face to the sky and closed her eyes. The rain flattened the strands against her forehead, ran down her neck, over her shoulders, over the dress that clung again in a different way.

—I’d been waiting three weeks for this —she said, without lowering her face.

—The rain or what happened before?

Renata lowered her gaze and found him. That sideways smile again. The same one as at the beginning.

—Both —she said.

Damián didn’t know what to say. Neither of them needed to say anything.

They stayed in the rain until the water turned lukewarm and the cumbia stopped and the courtyard was almost empty. Neither of them moved first.