What the Redhead from the Bar Was Hiding Under Her Dress

Marcos was thirty-seven and had been married for twelve years, and for a long time things with Carla had worked on one unspoken rule: each of them had their fun on the side, as long as neither asked too many questions. It wasn’t infidelity, they told themselves. It was oxygen. A way not to bore each other after so many years sleeping in the same bed.

That night he walked into the bar with one clear idea in his head. He wanted to hook up with some stranger, take her somewhere, and forget the world for a couple of hours. No phones, no names, nothing that lasted longer than the dawn.

When his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he started sizing up the place. There wasn’t much to choose from. Little groups of girlfriends laughing among themselves, couples glued to the wall, but no woman alone. He ordered a whiskey and leaned on the bar to listen to the music and watch people moving under the lights.

An hour later the place was packed, but there was still nothing for him.

Well, home then, let’s see if Carla’s in the mood.

He was already getting off the stool when he saw her come in. A redhead, tall, long-legged. She wore a red dress that matched her hair, tight, with a neckline that promised plenty. Marcos looked behind her expecting to see her companion arriving, but the woman was alone.

He followed her with his eyes as she crossed the room. She was hot as hell. She reached the far end of the bar and ordered something; the bartender served her a vodka with lemon. Immediately the flies started buzzing around her.

One after another, they came up to chat her up. She barely smiled, polite, and after a while each one retreated with his tail between his legs. Marcos watched it all from his corner, amused. When they stopped bothering her and he saw her drinking alone again, he grabbed his glass and walked over to her.

—I noticed how well you swat away the flies —he said, leaning beside her.

Despite the low light, he made out her eyes. Green, framed by very long lashes. They locked onto his.

—Looks like I’ve still got one left to swat away —she replied.

Her voice was deep, velvety. Her lips were full, painted a deep red.

—You mean me?

—No. The bartender.

Marcos burst out laughing. He knew that game already.

—All right, if I’m bothering you, I’ll go.

—I didn’t say you were bothering me.

It worked, as it almost always did.

—Good. The last thing I want is to bother the prettiest woman in the place.

She smiled, and her smile was the best thing about the night. Marcos ordered two more drinks. She accepted hers.

The music forced them to speak very close, almost brushing cheek against lips. Her perfume was thick, sweet, and from that angle Marcos could see the tops of her breasts whenever she leaned in. He felt his body start to respond. There was something about that woman that turned him on in a different way, a mix of elegance and shamelessness he didn’t know how to name.

On one of those too-bold looks, their eyes met.

—Sorry. I can’t help it —he said.

—I don’t mind.

Another good sign. Marcos could already see himself ending the night with her. He edged closer and made her laugh with silly remarks, brushed her arm, her hip, and she didn’t pull away. When he brought his mouth to her ear to say something, he felt her shiver.

Time for the last move. The woman was perched on one of those tall stools, and he was standing beside her. He stepped closer and rested his thigh against her leg, letting her feel how much he wanted her. She looked him in the eye and didn’t move.

That was the confirmation. Marcos leaned down and kissed her on the lips.

—You’re very forward —she murmured.

—When I find something like this, I don’t waste time.

Her eyes were shining. And then, suddenly, her expression changed. She drew her leg away.

—You’d better go.

—What? Everything was going well...

—Better before you get too excited.

—I’m already excited —he insisted, not understanding a thing.

She turned serious.

—Not everything is what it seems.

—What do you mean?

—You really haven’t noticed? —She paused, weighing her words—. I’m trans.

Marcos froze for a second. The word took a moment to sink in. He looked her up and down: the hair, the neckline, the legs. Impossible. She was a woman. She could be nothing else.

—If you wanted me to leave you alone, you could’ve said so without making up stories —he snapped, stung.

—Whatever you say. Leave me alone, then.

—Almost a pleasure —he said, and walked away without looking back.

***

He went back to his stool, finished his drink in one gulp, and watched her out of the corner of his eye. She stayed at the bar a little longer and then left. Marcos followed her with his gaze to the door. How can he be a man, with that ass, with those curves? She walked with her hips swaying in a way that dried his mouth. He wanted her, lie or not. He left some bills and went out after her.

He caught up with her on the sidewalk, under a streetlamp.

—Wait —he said, coming closer.

—What do you want?

—Are you really...?

—Yes.

Marcos looked at her for a long moment. Her hands, maybe, were a little bigger than usual. But he knew women with big hands. Everything else screamed the opposite.

—Then you’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen in my life —he said at last.

She smiled, surprised. Marcos took the last step and kissed her. This time she kissed him back eagerly. They clung to each other in the middle of the street, her body against his, and then he noticed it: an unexpected hardness pressing against his thigh. He didn’t pull away. He slid his hand down and squeezed it over the fabric of the dress.

—Wow —she whispered against his mouth—. You’re ready too.

—Do you have a car? —Marcos asked, his voice hoarse.

—No. You?

—Not far from here.

—Take me.

***

They walked almost running to the car, parked on a dark, quiet street. They got in. She settled into the passenger seat, turned toward him, and without saying a word, pulled down his zipper. She found him with her hand, freed him, and began stroking him slowly.

—I love it —she murmured.

As soon as she bent down and took him into her mouth, Marcos knew this was going to be different. Her tongue moved up and down, enveloping him, knowing exactly where to press and where to ease off. He leaned his head back against the headrest and let himself go. He ran a hand through her red hair, not to push, just to stroke it. There was no need to push.

He had always heard that nobody knows what a man needs like another man does. But he wasn’t thinking about that. He was thinking about that hot mouth, about those green eyes looking up at him, about how close he already was to losing control.

—Stop... or you’re going to make me come —he gasped.

She didn’t stop. On the contrary, she intensified the rhythm. Marcos gripped the seat and gave in. The orgasm shook him all at once, harder than he remembered in a long time. She took it without pulling away, swallowing, milking him dry, and only then did she let him go and sit up with a smile.

—I like you —she said, licking her lips.

—That was the best of my life —he admitted, still breathless.

—I know.

Marcos pulled her close and kissed her, not caring about the taste of himself on those lips. He caressed her breasts over the dress, firm, perfect, and let his hand slide down her thigh, over the softness of her skin, until his fingers found something hard. There it was. The reality his head refused to accept.

—I told you —she murmured, watching him.

—Fuck. I didn’t believe you. You look... —he didn’t finish the sentence.

She took his hand away and turned serious.

—For me it really was a pleasure to meet you. Goodbye.

She opened the door. Marcos grabbed her by the arm.

—Wait.

He looked at her again. Those eyes. Those lips. Her whole body, which smelled, moved and kissed like a woman’s, and which had just given him more pleasure than anyone in years. His desire hadn’t gone out; on the contrary, it burned brighter.

—Don’t go. Close the door.

She obeyed, staring ahead. Marcos gently turned her face and kissed her. At first she resisted, then gave in. Soon they were pressed together again, his hands roaming over her.

—I don’t care what you are. I want you. I want...

—To have me? —she finished.

—Yes.

—Then let’s go to my place.

***

He drove following her directions. She didn’t take her hand off him the whole way, stroking him again until he had to move it away so they wouldn’t crash. When they parked, in the elevator they were kissing again, him grabbing her ass, her erection over the fabric.

—You’ve got me on fire —she whispered.

—And you’ve got me too.

The apartment was small and warm. She took him straight to the bedroom, where there was a big bed. Between kisses she undressed him, and then turned around, offering him her back.

—Will you help me?

Marcos lowered the zipper. The dress fell to the floor. She wasn’t wearing a bra, only black panties. He admired the curve of her back, her shoulders, her waist. He slid his hands around to the front and caressed her breasts, surprisingly firm, with small hard nipples. He pressed against her, rubbing himself over the fabric of her panties, and kissed her neck while she tilted her head back.

—Take them off me —she asked.

He bent down and slipped them off her slowly. He kissed the small of her back, her buttocks, and felt her tremble. When she turned around, her sex, already hard, brushed against his stomach. Marcos looked down. For the first time he dared to really look.

—Fuck —he said, almost without meaning to.

—What’s wrong?

—Yours is bigger than mine.

She laughed, an open, charming laugh. Marcos looked at her and, driven by a curiosity he didn’t recognize in himself, reached out and caressed it. It was hot, throbbing. He had never touched another one like that, and yet he felt no rejection, only a mix of wonder and excitement. He started stroking it slowly, the way people had done with his, while they kissed with increasingly ragged breathing.

—I want you —he said against her mouth.

—How do you want me? —she asked, biting his lip.

—In every way.

She turned again and bent over the bed, offering herself. She moistened her fingers and prepared herself while Marcos watched, hypnotized. Then she looked over her shoulder.

—Come here.

Marcos moved closer. He set the tip in place and pushed carefully. She took him in with a long moan, and he went in slowly until he was buried all the way. It was an intense, tight sensation, unlike anything he’d ever known.

—Harder —she asked—. Don’t hold back.

He started moving, first slowly, then with real heat. He watched her back, the red hair spilled across the sheets, the way she arched with every thrust. When he felt himself coming close to the edge again, he stopped and pulled out.

—Why are you stopping? —she protested.

—Turn over. I want to look at you.

She lay down on her back. Marcos placed a cushion under her hips and slid back in, this time looking at her face. The look of pleasure on her, the half-closed eyes, the parted lips, seemed to him the most arousing thing about the whole night. While he drove into her, he took her sex in his hand and started stroking it at the same rhythm.

—Like that... just like that —she panted—. Don’t stop...

Marcos sped up. He felt her growing tighter and tighter until she shuddered all over and spilled between his fingers, over her own belly, with a muffled moan. The sight dragged him over too; an instant later he was emptying himself inside her, gripping her hips hard.

They collapsed side by side, panting, smiling like two conspirators.

—You’re so good at that —she murmured.

Marcos pulled her close and held her, without thinking about what his head would say in the morning.

—What’s your name? —he asked.

—Roxana. And you?

—Marcos. It was a pleasure, Roxana.

They spent a while talking in the dim light. He told her, without going into details, that he was married and that theirs was an agreed freedom. She told him that since she could remember she had felt like a woman, that she was one, and that for the moment she didn’t want surgery for fear of losing sensitivity.

—I like pleasure —she said with a shrug—. I don’t want to give that up.

Marcos looked at her. Something in him, something he had never imagined could exist, wanted to see her again.

—Will we see each other again? —she asked, as if reading his mind.

—If you want to.

—I do.

—Me too.

They exchanged phone numbers. She walked him to the door and they said goodbye with a long kiss. On the way home, driving through empty streets, Marcos replayed the whole night. He never would have imagined doing what he had done, and yet he felt not a shred of regret. Roxana was an extraordinary woman.

A special woman, unlike any other. And that, he decided as he smiled at the wheel, was exactly what made her unforgettable.