The Transsexual Who Dressed in Silver to Forget

April closed the bathroom door and leaned against the cold tiles. Four weeks. Four weeks since Marcos had left for the architecture congress in Córdoba, and four weeks since she had crossed a line she should never have crossed. It had been a Tuesday afternoon. Iván, Marcos’s best friend, had come by to pick up some keys he’d left in the apartment. April opened the door in a T-shirt and panties, without a wig, without makeup, thinking it would be a moment. It wasn’t a moment. Iván rammed her against the back of the sofa, gripped her throat with one hand, and said things that made her tremble with shame and excitement in equal measure. The pleasure had been brutal, almost animal. The guilt, worse than any hangover.

I’m not going to think about that, she ordered herself, squeezing her eyes shut. Today is for Marcos. Only for him.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Nothing on, no wig, no artifice. Just April: high cheekbones, brown skin, shoulders that still seemed too broad to her, and small breasts that hormones had taken two years to give her. Marcos always said they were perfect. Marcos said many beautiful things. Marcos had no idea that while he was presenting papers on bioclimatic design, his best friend had ripped off her underwear and fucked her mercilessly against the cushions in the living room.

Cold water on her face. Again. Again. She breathed deeply until the shaking in her hands went away.

Enough.

***

That morning she walked to the mall with a steady stride. The lingerie store was on the second floor, between a hair salon and an optician. She went in chin high and headed straight for the special sets section. She knew exactly what she was looking for: something that would erase what had happened, something that would return her to the place where she was supposed to be.

The bra was silver lace with underwires that lifted her breasts. The thong, tiny, barely a triangle of shiny fabric that disappeared between her buttocks and could hardly contain her cock. The garter belt had metal clasps that jingled when she walked, and the stockings were black, silk, with a seam up the back from heel to thigh. She found the silver pointed-toe heels in the shoe store across the way. Twelve centimeters. She tried them on in front of the mirror and a smile slipped free that she hadn’t expected.

She paid for everything without looking at the cashier. She walked back slowly, the bag pressed against her chest, already feeling the hot anticipation in her lower belly.

***

Getting ready took more than two hours. First the hair removal: cream on her legs, armpits, chest, the line of her stomach, every fold between her buttocks. She ran her hand over her skin to make sure not a single hair remained. Then the moisturizing cream with an almond scent, spread slowly over her thighs, buttocks, breasts, the curve of her neck. Every caress over her own skin was a rehearsal for what was coming.

She sat in front of the vanity and worked the makeup with the precision of someone who had been practicing for years. Metallic gray shadow on her lids. Thick black liner that elongated her gaze toward her temples. False lashes that added drama to every blink. Lips a deep red, almost burgundy, shining under the bathroom light like ripe fruit. The wig was the last thing: straight hair, jet black, falling over her shoulders and framing her face like a silk curtain.

When she looked one last time, the woman in the mirror carried no guilt and kept no secrets. She was someone else. Someone who deserved what she was about to receive.

The metal plug was in the nightstand drawer. Heavy, cold, with a jewel-shaped base that Iván had given her for her birthday, in front of Marcos, assuring him it was a decorative paperweight. Marcos had laughed. April hadn’t. Now she coated it with transparent gel, knelt on the bed, and pushed it in slowly. The cold of the metal against her inner walls tore a low moan from her.

—Fuck... —she whispered when the widest part opened her up and the base settled against her skin. Every movement amplified the pressure against her prostate, and her cock began to harden beneath the silver thong.

She put on the full set. The garter belt marked her hips, the stockings tightened over her thighs, the heels forced her back to arch and her ass to push out. She sat on the edge of the bed with her legs crossed.

She waited.

The doorbell rang at quarter to nine. April stood up, smoothed her thong, checked her reflection in the hallway mirror, and opened the door.

Marcos was there. Backpack hanging from one shoulder, four weeks’ worth of beard, dark circles under his eyes, knuckles reddened from carrying luggage. And the most honest smile April had ever seen in her life. That smile that hid nothing, calculated nothing, simply thrilled to see her.

His eyes swept over her from head to toe. The heels. The stockings. The garter belt. The shiny thong. The silver bra. The red lips. The black wig. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again.

—April... —was all he said, and let the backpack fall to the floor.

He stepped forward, closed the door with his foot, and kissed her. Not hurriedly, but with contained hunger, as if he had spent four weeks rehearsing that kiss in the solitude of a hotel room. One hand at her waist, the other on her cheek. He tasted like airport coffee and mint gum.

His hands slid down April’s back, over her ass, and found the base of the plug.

—What’s this? —he asked against her mouth, turning it slightly.

—I wanted to be ready for you —she answered, her voice breaking.

Marcos lifted her in his arms as if she weighed nothing. April looped her legs around his waist, the heels dangling at her sides, and he carried her to the bedroom without breaking the kiss. He laid her on the bed with a tenderness that hurt in some place she had no name for.

***

Marcos took off his T-shirt and jeans in seconds. Olive skin, lean fibrous body, a trail of dark hair running down from his navel. His erection strained against his gray briefs. He pulled them down while looking into her eyes: his cock hard, thick, the head shiny with anticipation.

He knelt between April’s open legs and moved her thong aside. He took her half-erect cock in his mouth, swallowing it all the way to the base in a single movement, slow and deliberate. April felt the wet heat surrounding her and arched her back against the mattress with a gasp she couldn’t hold in.

—Marcos... yes... —she moaned, tangling her fingers in his hair.

He sucked her without haste, his tongue circling the head, his lips tightening as he came up, sucking as he went down with wet sounds that filled the room’s silence. One hand stroked her shaved testicles with the tips of his fingers; the other worked the plug, pushing and pulling it in a slow rhythm that unraveled her thoughts. Pleasure gathered at the base of her spine, a hot pressure growing with every movement of the metal against her prostate.

—No... wait... not yet... —April begged.

Marcos didn’t stop. He pushed the plug all the way in and held it there while sucking hard. April came with a silent spasm, her body taut as a bow, her cock throbbing inside Marcos’s mouth and barely releasing anything, only a transparent thread that he swallowed without hesitation.

—Good girl —he told her, kissing her flat stomach—. Now I want to be inside you.

He pulled the plug out slowly, carefully. April’s ass was left open, pink, shiny with lubricant. Marcos buried his face between her buttocks and licked her with a flat tongue, from bottom to top, again and again, each pass slower and deeper than the last. He slipped his tongue inside, noisy, sucking the edge with a dedication that made April grab the sheets in her fists.

—Marcos! —she shouted, yanking his hair—. You’re going to drive me crazy...

He kissed the inside of her thigh, right where the silk stocking ended, and climbed up her body leaving a trail of wet kisses on her skin. He looked at her from above. April saw tenderness. She saw desire. She saw a trust she didn’t deserve.

Marcos put on the condom, coated himself with lubricant, and entered her in one thrust. April’s legs over his shoulders, the silver heels pointing at the ceiling, her mouth open in a voiceless scream. He stayed still for a moment, both of them breathing in short gasps, and then he started to move.

Slowly at first. Long, deep thrusts that brushed her prostate and tore a moan from her with each one. He leaned over her and kissed her, tongue against tongue, while his hips kept the rhythm. April dug her heels into his shoulders without realizing it, and he smiled against her mouth.

—I love you —Marcos told her, stroking her cheek with his thumb—. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

April felt something break inside her. Not pleasure, which kept rising. Something worse. Something shaped like guilt and tasting like lies.

Marcos turned her over. He set her face down, on her knees, and fucked her from behind harder, holding her by the hips. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, rhythmic, obscene. The garter belt jingled with every impact. The stockings had slipped down to her knees and neither of them cared.

—Harder —April begged, burying her face in the pillow.

—Like this? —Marcos sped up, driving into her with thrusts that shoved her against the headboard.

—Yes... like that... don’t stop...

She came for the second time in that position, a weak spurt that stained the white sheets. Marcos growled when he felt her ass tightening around his cock, but he didn’t stop. He turned her again, sat her on top of him, and April started riding him in desperation. She braced her hands on his chest and moved her hips in circles, feeling how his cock filled her from a different angle, deeper. Her tits bounced inside the silver bra with every descent. Marcos stroked her breasts, pinched her nipples, gave her soft slaps on the ass that made her clench tighter.

—You’re incredible —he whispered, eyes half-closed—. Show me how much you want me inside you.

The last position was the most intimate. Marcos sat her on his lap with her back to him, holding her from behind, her legs spread. One hand jerked his cock with slow, firm strokes while he fucked her with short, deep thrusts. The other caressed her silk-covered thighs, up and down with the same cadence as his hips.

—Come for me —he murmured in her ear, biting the lobe—. I want to feel you clench around my cock.

The third orgasm surged up from her guts. April trembled all over, her ass tightening around Marcos’s cock in involuntary spasms, her cock throbbing in his hand while she let out a few hot drops between her thighs. A sound that was neither moan nor scream but something between the two rose from her throat, and Marcos held her tightly, kissing her shoulder, her neck, her jaw.

He came seconds later with a long groan, holding her against his chest, emptying himself inside the condom with shudders she felt all the way through.

***

They stayed wrapped in each other on the wrinkled sheets. Marcos kissed her neck, her forehead, the tip of her nose. He brushed the wig hair away from her face with a tenderness April did not deserve and yet needed more than anything in the world.

—You have no idea how much I missed you —he murmured against her skin—. Four weeks is too much.

April closed her eyes and sank into his warmth. Satisfied body, sensitive skin, heart beating slowly. But the memory came back as it always did. Without asking permission. Without warning.

Iván’s voice. His large hands pressing her neck against the sofa cushions. The brutality with which he had handled her that afternoon, as if she were not a person but something to use and throw away. The words he had growled in her ear while he penetrated her without a condom, without care, without anything resembling love: “Your boyfriend has no idea what you really need, does he? You’re a little cocked-up slut and you love being treated like that.” And the dark, unbearable pleasure April had felt every second of it.

What Marcos gave her was beautiful. Gentle. Full of love and words that made her feel human.

What Iván had given her was dirty. Humiliating. And she had needed it like air.

I want both things, she thought, heart racing. I want Marcos to love me and I want him to use me. To talk to me the way Iván talked to me. To stop treating me like I’m made of glass, even if only once. Even if I risk everything.

She bit her lip until she tasted blood.

—Are you okay? —Marcos asked, stroking her cheek.

—Yes —she lied—. I’m just tired.

He held her tighter and within minutes his breathing became deep and even. He had fallen asleep. April remained motionless against his chest, eyes open in the bedroom darkness, listening to the heartbeat of someone who trusted her without reserve.

—Tomorrow —she whispered, so softly she didn’t even hear herself—. Tomorrow I’m going to ask him to be different with me.

In the silence of the room, with her body still warm from pleasure and guilt burning in her chest like a red-hot iron, April made the decision she had been putting off for weeks. She didn’t know whether Marcos would understand. She didn’t know whether what she was about to ask for would bring them closer or destroy them. But staying silent was consuming her more slowly and cruelly than any confession ever could.

The risk was worth it. Or at least that was what she needed to believe.