The Trans Woman Who Invited the Corn Vendor Home

I’m twenty-two years old and I’ve been living alone in this fifth-floor apartment for almost two years, which means I’ve also spent two years being the only person responsible for my cravings. Nighttime or not. Food cravings or not.

That night I was lying on my bed with my phone on my chest, watching a video in which two trans girls were doing things that kept me more than entertained —one had the other bent over the edge of the sofa, fucking her in the ass with a cock bigger than my forearm, and the one underneath was moaning as if her soul were being ripped out through her back— when I heard the unmistakable beeping of the corn vendor’s cart sweeping down the street below. That metallic little bell that has sounded the same for as long as I can remember, and suddenly the only thing I wanted in the world was an elote with chile and lime.

I shot up out of bed. I didn’t think about the time —it was almost nine at night— or about what I was wearing. I only thought about the elote.

I ran almost all the way down the stairs, wearing the blue T-shirt that falls to my hips and the white Lycra leggings I should have put away as home clothes ages ago. They’re the kind that, at night, under streetlights, practically stop existing. The black string thong I had on underneath, the one that disappears between the curves of my ass, was the closest thing I had to underwear at that moment. I didn’t even remember I was dressed like that until I was already on the sidewalk.

—Sir, wait! —I called, waving my arm from the curb.

The man stopped the cart and turned around. He must have been in his fifties, brown-skinned, with the tired face of someone who’s spent hours pushing that thing around the neighborhood. But his eyes weren’t tired. His eyes were wide awake, and when they saw me, they stopped exactly where I’d expected them to stop: on my thighs, on the line of my hips, on the ass the leggings wrapped around without leaving anything to the imagination.

I didn’t realize it then. I was only thinking about the elote.

—Can you make me one with everything? —I asked as I got closer.

—Of course —he replied, though his voice came out rough, like he had to clear his throat before going on.

As he peeled back the husks and dipped the corn in sauce, I noticed his gaze never left my body. It went from my thighs to my hips, from my hips to my back when I instinctively turned to look for the money in the imaginary pocket of those leggings that, of course, didn’t have pockets.

The money. Of course.

—Hold on, I forgot my wallet —I told him, with the best smile I could improvise.

—No problem —he said—. But hurry up, I have to keep going.

I rushed upstairs, grabbed the bills off the entryway table, and came back down. By the time I got there, the man already had the elote ready and handed it to me without saying anything, though his eyes said plenty when I stopped in front of him under the streetlight. I paid. I thanked him for waiting. And when I thought that was the end of it, I looked at him properly for the first time.

He was sweaty. His shoulders hung low with the weariness of someone who’s been standing since early morning. And even so, something in the way he held my gaze made me stay an extra second.

—Would you like a glass of water? —I asked him, almost without thinking.

He hesitated. Then he nodded.

I went in to get the bottle, and when I came back out, he had already rolled the cart closer to the building entrance. He took the water with both hands and drank several long swallows without taking his eyes off my legs. When he finished, he handed me back the empty bottle.

—Listen —he said, lowering his voice a little—, could I borrow your bathroom for a minute? I’ve been out on the street for hours.

—Sure —I said—. Come in.

***

I led him inside and pointed to the bathroom door at the end of the hall. I sat on the sofa in the living room to wait for him, still holding the elote, taking distracted bites and thinking about the video I’d left paused in my room —the girl on the bottom wasn’t moaning anymore, she was screaming, with the other girl’s cock going all the way into her—.

But the minutes went by and the man didn’t come out.

Five minutes. Seven. Almost ten.

I got up slowly, without making a sound, and walked to the bathroom door. And then I heard it. It wasn’t the sound of water running. It was another sound: a wet, steady one, with heavy breathing on the other side of the wood. The unmistakable slap of a hand sliding up and down a hard cock, skin slipping over saliva or whatever he was using for lube. A sound I knew very well because I made it myself quite often.

The old man was masturbating in my bathroom. Thinking about me. About my ass in those leggings. About my pussy outlined under the white fabric. He was jerking off thinking about the little chick who had just bought him an elote.

I froze for two seconds. Then I felt the heat rise from my legs to the base of my neck, a heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment. My pussy clenched on its own, as if it recognized the situation before my head did. My tits hardened under my shirt and I felt my nipples rubbing against the blue fabric.

I leaned against the wall beside the door, my back pressed to it, and without thinking too much, I slipped my hand inside the leggings and the thong. My pussy was already soaked, swollen, with the lips parted and slippery from how wet the idea of that old man with his dick in his hand on the other side of my door was making me. I found my clit immediately, hard as a button, and started circling it slowly with my middle finger, while with my index and ring fingers I spread my lips and stroked my entrance, sinking the tip of one finger in until I felt my pussy swallow it without resistance.

On the other side, the man’s rhythm sped up. I heard a low, restrained moan, a rough male gasp on the edge. I slid in a second finger and curved them forward, searching for the spot I knew would make me gush, and started pumping myself while with my other hand I squeezed one tit over my shirt. The moans I struggled to hold back I smothered against my shoulder, biting my own sleeve so I wouldn’t give myself away.

That was when my cell phone rang from the sofa, at full volume.

The bathroom went silent all at once. I heard frantic movement. I pulled my fingers out of my pussy, left them shining with my own juices, and backed away from the door running so I could drop into the sofa just before the knob turned. I casually wiped my fingers against the inside of my thigh.

The man came out with a red face and unable to meet my eyes for more than a second. I saw the bulge still marked there, barely hidden under his pants. He hadn’t finished. I had interrupted him.

—Sorry to take so long —he said—. I got carried away.

—Don’t worry —I answered, with a voice rougher than I would have liked—. Whenever you want to come back, you know where I live.

***

I walked him to the door. I moved ahead of him slowly, very aware of what I was doing with my hips, swaying them so they’d burn themselves into his memory. I heard something behind me that was half sigh, half stifled gasp, and when we reached the entrance and I turned to say goodbye, he wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore. The bulge in his pants was obvious. Big. Brazen. The kind of bulge that doesn’t go unnoticed even when you try not to look. The head of his cock was outlined against the fabric, pointing upward, and I could even make out the curve of the crown.

I didn’t try not to look.

Our eyes met. He knew that I knew. And I knew that he knew.

I took an unprepared elote from the cart. I held it in my palm and began stroking it slowly, from bottom to top, closing my fist around it and sliding it as if I were giving a man a handjob, never taking my eyes off him. The old man’s cock gave a visible twitch inside his pants.

—How much do you charge for one of these, like this, uncooked?

—That one’s yours —he said, in a deeper voice than before—. What do you want it for?

—So I can shove it up my ass later tonight —I answered, without lowering my voice—, in bed. I’m going to think of you while I fuck myself with this.

Silence. Long. Hot. His cock swelled another inch inside his pants, I saw it.

—I’d like to see that —he said finally.

I smiled.

—If you want, you can come in and help me get it ready.

He didn’t think twice.

***

Back in the kitchen, I put the elote under the stream of cold water and started removing the husks one by one. He stayed a step behind me, too close, breathing on the back of my neck. I felt the heat of his body before I felt his hands, and when his hands landed on my hips, rough and heavy, callused from years of pushing carts and hauling corn, I let out the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. He gripped my hips and pulled me back, and I felt the full length of his hard cock pressing against the crack of my ass, barely separated by two thin layers of fabric.

—You’re shaking —he murmured against my ear.

—I’m not shaking —I lied, my voice breaking.

He yanked my shirt up over my tits. I wasn’t wearing a bra. My breasts were bare, my nipples stiff, and his hands —those thick, brown, worker’s hands— grabbed both of them and started squeezing, rolling the nipples between thumb and forefinger until I moaned. He lowered his mouth to my neck and bit it, sucking on my skin, while his cock kept pressing against my ass with a slow, hungry rhythm.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I took the elote with both hands and put it in my mouth slowly, my tongue working around it from the tip, sucking the whole thing like it was a cock, salivating it, moving it in and out of my lips while I looked at him over my shoulder.

His breathing caught. He squeezed my tits harder and shoved his hips against mine with a rough groan.

I started moving the elote in my mouth with a slow, deliberate rhythm, sliding my tongue underneath and licking the tip, looking at him the whole time. His hands traveled over my hips, down to my thighs, then back up to my ass and squeezed hard, spreading me over the fabric. I pushed back until I felt his cock jabbing between my cheeks, firm and insistent, and he didn’t pull away either. On the contrary: he started grinding against me like a dog in heat, growling softly against my ear.

He turned me around slowly, one hand on my hip and the other on my shoulder. His eyes were dark and he had the face of someone who’s wanted something for a long time and hasn’t allowed himself to have it. He looked me over one last time, lingering on my bare tits, on the wetness already starting to show through the leggings at my pussy, as if making a decision that had already been made for several minutes.

And he went down.

***

His hands slid down the leggings at a maddening pace, kneeling in front of me, his face level with my hips. I was left in just my soaked string thong, and he stared at it for a moment as if it were a problem he had to solve. The black fabric had worked its way between my pussy lips and made the shine of my juices visible through it. He pulled it aside with his thumbs without hurrying, leaving my pussy completely exposed to his face, shaved, swollen, shining from how wet I was.

—Look at that —he said in a hoarse voice—. All wet for an old man.

—Shut up and lick it —I shot back, grabbing his hair and pulling him toward me.

What followed were several minutes I won’t forget anytime soon. He started by licking the insides of my thighs, working his way up slowly, breathing on me before touching me. When his tongue finally slammed against my lips, he did it hungrily. He pried me open with his thumbs and sank his whole tongue into my pussy, pulling it out and shoving it back in, fucking me with it like it was a small hot cock. He went up to my clit and sucked it with his lips, sucking hard, then flicked it fast with the tip of his tongue, then took it entirely in his mouth and sucked it like a nipple.

—Oh, like that, like that, daddy, don’t stop —I moaned, shameless now, my head thrown back.

His tongue was slow and insistent, unhurried, with none of the nervousness I would have expected from someone his age. A man who knew how to eat pussy. Who had eaten a lot of pussy. Every time I moaned, he squeezed harder and pushed more eagerly. He slipped in two thick fingers while he licked my clit, and curved them inside searching for that spot that made me fold over him. I had to brace both hands on the counter to keep from falling.

—Don’t stop —I told him at some point, nearly crying from pleasure—. Please, don’t stop, I’m going to come, I’m going to come all over your face.

He didn’t stop. He sped up. He slipped in a third finger, opened me wider, sucked my clit harder, and I felt the orgasm rising from the soles of my feet. I clamped his head between my thighs and came in his mouth with a long cry, dripping all over his tongue, shaking all over, while he kept licking me and drinking down everything that came out of me without moving a centimeter. When I finally let him pull back, his beard was shining with my juices and he had a satisfied smile I hadn’t seen all night.

***

When I couldn’t take it anymore, I stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, still trembling. I took the elote from the counter, soaked it well in the spit from my own mouth, and turned to brace my hands on the counter and stick my ass out behind me. I passed the cob slowly over the opening of my ass, still wet from his tongue and my own orgasm, pressing the tip against my hole until the resistance gave way. The thickness was different from fingers: more uneven, with those kernels that felt like they scraped and massaged at the same time, denser, stranger and at the same time exactly what I wanted in that instant.

I pushed little by little. I felt my asshole opening around the cob, giving way centimeter by centimeter, swallowing the corn with delicious burning. He had stayed kneeling behind me, eyes fixed on how I was penetrating my own ass, breathing through his mouth.

—Slowly —he said in a rough voice—. Open wide.

I obeyed. I took more. I felt the elote filling me, stretching me, opening me in a way no cock had ever opened me before. Out. In again. The rhythm sped up on its own, as if my body knew what it needed without my having to reason it out. I screamed with pleasure without pretending otherwise, without holding back, eyes closed and hands gripping the edge of the counter as the elote slid in and out of my ass with a wet slap. I felt the man’s hand slipping between my legs, starting to rub my clit at the same rhythm I was fucking my own ass with the elote, and that drove me insane.

—Put it in me for me —I begged, panting—. Fuck my ass with this.

He took the cob from my hand and started moving it himself, with a firmness I lacked. He thrust it in and pulled it out, thrust it in and pulled it out, with his other hand rubbing my clit nonstop. I stayed like that for almost ten minutes, my face pressed against the cold counter and my ass impaled on an ear of corn the corn vendor himself was sliding into me. I came again, my asshole clenching around the cob and my legs shaking so hard I could barely stay on my feet.

***

When I pulled it out, I turned around and knelt in front of him without thinking. I fumbled with his belt with clumsy fingers. I yanked down his pants and underwear in one pull. What appeared made me wrap my fingers around the base before saying a single word.

It was thick. Hot. Longer than the bulge had made it seem. Veined like a man who’s been standing for hours and has all that tension concentrated in one place, with the head purple and swollen and a thick drop of pre-cum hanging from the tip. I licked it clean in one motion, tasting it, and he let out a guttural moan that made me squeeze my thighs together.

I brought it to my mouth and started slowly, with my tongue on the tip, circling the crown, then my lips closing around it and going down little by little, then with the full motion, taking him as far as I could, pulling off with a thread of saliva hanging and taking him back in with the steady pressure of my lips and my tongue working underneath. He put a hand on my head, not to force anything, just to lean on something solid.

—God —he said very softly—. Girl, you suck cock so well.

I pulled him out of my mouth only to lick him from base to tip, long and slow, holding his balls in the other hand and massaging them. I licked his balls clean, one by one, sucking them, while my hand kept giving him a slow handjob. Then I took him back into my mouth, all the way this time, until I felt the tip pressing against my throat, and stayed there, eyes watering and nose against his belly, swallowing around him.

—Holy shit —he moaned.

I sped up. I started sucking him hard, noisily, not caring about the saliva dripping down my chin and onto my tits. I focused on him: on his breathing, on the small involuntary movements of his hips, on how he started fucking my mouth slowly, on the body language of someone who isn’t used to receiving this. It didn’t take long. When he reached the limit, he came all at once and hard, with a sound that was half growl and half surprise.

—I’m coming —he managed to warn, but I didn’t pull away. On the contrary. I took him deeper.

I felt the first stream of hot semen slam against the back of my throat, thick, abundant. Then came the second, and the third. I swallowed as much as I could without stopping sucking, without stopping moving my tongue around him, squeezing him for the last drop. When the final pulse shook his hips, I pulled him out of my mouth and ran my tongue over the tip to clean off what was left, looking him in the eyes while I did it.

I wiped the corner of my lip with my thumb and sucked it clean. He leaned back against the wall and let out a long breath, eyes closed and his whole back giving out, with his cock still half-hard and gleaming between his legs.

***

I walked him to the door a few minutes later, after he’d put his clothes back in order and I’d pulled my leggings up over a pussy still throbbing. Neither of us felt the need to fill the silence with words. He gave me an awkward kiss on the cheek, with a warmth I hadn’t expected, before heading out into the hall.

From the cart, out in the street, he turned around one last time.

—The next time I come by here I’ll bring you a bigger one —he said.

I closed the door slowly and stood there with my back against the wood, smiling to myself, with the taste of his cum still on my tongue.

He better make good on it.