The Trans Woman on the Corner Taught Me What I Was Looking For

What I’m about to tell you was my entry into a world I didn’t even know existed back then. I live in a big city in the center of the country, and for many years now I’ve been seeing trans girls. I have other stories tucked away, some so old I can barely remember them, but this first one is burned into my memory as if it had happened last night.

Back then I was twenty-three. I was a shy, skinny guy, one of those men women like without realizing it, and with very little experience under my belt. I worked during the day in a boring office and on weekends I went out looking for something I myself couldn’t quite understand.

That night I’d gone out partying with some coworkers. I drank more than I should have, ended up alone, and drove back slowly, with the window down and my body still hot from the alcohol and from wanting. It was hot out, one of those sticky nights when the city seems unwilling to go to sleep. On other occasions I’d already pulled over to hire some woman off the street, those quick escapes to get myself off and go home as if nothing had happened. It wasn’t something I was proud of, but at that age you’re guided more by desire than by your head, and I was carrying far more desire than sense.

I was driving down a broad avenue near the San Telmo neighborhood, where at that hour there were always girls standing beneath the streetlamps. I slowed down. And then I saw her.

I couldn’t describe her exactly, but something about her pinned me to my seat. She was leaning against the wall of a closed shop, wearing a short dress and with long hair falling over one shoulder. The orange light from the streetlamp traced the curve of her leg and the shine of her lips. She looked straight at me, unhurried, as if she already knew I was going to stop. Something about that confidence excited me as much as it intimidated me. I lowered the window a little more, and we reached an agreement in a few words, in that half-whispered tone people use for that kind of thing. She got into the car with a natural ease that undid me, leaving behind a trail of sweet perfume that hovered between us.

—Do you have somewhere to go? —she asked, smoothing her dress over her thighs.

—There’s a motel two blocks away —I answered, in a firmer voice than I felt.

I drove those two blocks with my heart pounding in my chest. We arrived, I asked for a room at the dark reception desk, and parked the car in the closed garage. We went upstairs. The room smelled like cheap disinfectant, and the only light came from a bedside lamp with a yellowed shade.

As soon as I shut the door, she pressed herself against me. And that’s where the difference from everything I knew began.

She kissed me. She kissed me for real, slowly, biting my lower lip and sliding her hands down my back. The other times, the street girls had been curt, distant, everything about it was get there, finish, and run off. Not her. She treated me as if we had all night and as if I mattered to her.

—Wait, keep the light low —she asked when I reached for the switch.

I didn’t care. I thought maybe she was shy, or maybe it was just a habit. The dim light seemed even better to me, more intimate.

She started undressing me with a patience I had never been given by anyone. She unbuttoned my shirt button by button, kissed my neck, moved down over my chest leaving my skin goosebumped. She touched me with both hands and spoke into my ear.

—You’re delicious —she whispered—. I deserved a guy like you tonight.

This isn’t like the other times.

I was lost. Every caress turned me on more. I had never felt that someone was taking their time with me like that, enjoying the journey instead of rushing it. She finished taking off my pants, and when she knelt in front of me, I was already so hard it hurt.

What came next made me close my eyes and grit my teeth. Her mouth was warm, skilled, it knew exactly when to stop and when to keep going. I dug my fingers into her hair and let myself go, breathing in short gasps, repeating to myself that I didn’t want to finish yet, that I wanted more.

—Wait —I finally panted—, I’m going to come like this. I want to do you.

She smiled against my skin and straightened up. She started taking off the rest of her clothes, but with the light so low I could barely make out silhouettes, shadows moving over the bed. She asked me to take her from behind.

—Take me doggy style —she said, and settled herself on her knees on the mattress, arching her back.

That position was one I loved, so I didn’t hesitate. I pulled a condom from my wallet, put it on with clumsy hands because I was in a hurry, and got behind her. I slid my hand over her hip, moving it forward to guide myself.

And then, instead of what I expected to find, my fingers touched something else.

I froze. It took me a couple of seconds to understand what my hand already knew.

—You’re a man —I blurted out, jerking back.

—No, baby —she answered calmly, looking at me over her shoulder—. I’m a trans girl, which is very different.

***

I sat on the edge of the bed with my head spinning. The alcohol, the arousal, and the shock mixed together in my stomach. I started protesting, in a rush, not really knowing what I was saying.

—You lied to me —I told her—. I don’t like men. Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you say so before you got in?

She sat down in front of me, not covering herself, not hiding, with a calmness that threw me off even more.

—I didn’t lie to you —she replied—. Everybody knows the girls on that corner are trans. It’s the neighborhood’s known corner. I thought you knew, that’s why you stopped there.

I didn’t know what to answer. The truth was I didn’t know a damn thing. I was a small-town kid in a huge city, looking for things I didn’t even know how to name. I went quiet, staring at the floor, feeling ridiculous and confused in equal measure.

She let the first blow pass. She didn’t come closer, didn’t insist, just waited. After a long while, she spoke again, softly.

—Look, a minute ago you were having an incredible time. You were enjoying yourself, I felt it. What’s the problem with me? Let me take care of you and I promise you’ll like it more than you think.

I should have gotten dressed and left. That’s what part of my head was telling me, the part raised on fear and on what you’re supposed to feel. But there was another part, one I was only just discovering, that still remembered her kisses, her hands, the way she’d made me feel desired for the first time in my life.

I stayed.

***

She came close again slowly, giving me all the time in the world to change my mind. She kissed me again, just like before, and I discovered the kiss was still good, that my body had not stopped responding just because my mind had gotten scared. Her hands moved over me again, warm, unhurried, and I felt the tension from the shock loosen in my shoulders. Little by little I relaxed. I let her lay me back against the pillows, let her take me in her mouth again, and this time I looked at her directly, no longer hiding from what was happening or what I was feeling.

When she asked if I wanted to try, I nodded without speaking. She guided me, with infinite patience, telling me how, telling me to go slow, not to rush. We did it that way, slowly, with her voice in my ear setting the rhythm. It was all new to me, every sensation, every detail, and to my own surprise I enjoyed it in a way I had not anticipated.

I finished with a shiver that ran through my whole body, holding onto her hips, my face buried in her back. I stayed like that for a few seconds, catching my breath, feeling my heart slowly settle.

Then came the awkward silence, the one that always arrives when desire goes out and reality comes back. I took off the condom, got dressed in silence, and gathered my things. She stayed stretched out on the bed, watching me with a half smile, as if she knew something about me I still wasn’t ready to admit.

I didn’t drive her back to her corner. I left her at the motel door, paid her what we’d agreed on and a little extra, and left without looking back. On the way home I drove with the windows open, as if the air could cleanse me of something.

I got home and went straight into the shower. I stayed under the water for a long while, scrubbing myself hard, wanting to get rid of a smell that wasn’t really on my skin but in my head. I felt dirty, weird, guilty. I kept telling myself it had been a mistake, that it was the alcohol, that it would never happen again.

But that night, already in bed with the lights off, I couldn’t stop thinking about her hands, her mouth, what I had felt. And I understood, however hard it was to admit, that something inside me had awakened and was never going back to sleep.

I wasn’t wrong. That unknown woman on the corner, whose name I never found out, was the beginning of a taste that has accompanied me for many, many years. It took me time to accept it without guilt, to stop showering afterward as if I had to erase something. But that first time, awkward and scared, is still the one I remember most fondly. Because it was the night I stopped lying to myself about what I was really looking for.