When Rodrigo Discovered My Most Secret Side

I’m twenty-seven years old, I live in Zapopan, and ever since I was a kid I knew there was something in me that didn’t fit with what was expected of me. It wasn’t a dramatic revelation or a specific moment: it was more an accumulation of the things I was drawn to and learned to keep hidden. Women’s clothing, gestures, the way certain women moved through a room. I internalized all of it with the same discipline I later learned to bring to training.

In everyday life I’m completely invisible. No one at work, no one in my family, no one at the gym suspects a thing. But in private I become Valentina, and that part of me is as real as any other. I take care of her, rehearse her, perfect her in silence, and have done for years.

Rodrigo came to the gym two years ago. He was fifty-five, though he wore it well: broad back, salt-and-pepper beard, big hands. One of those men who don’t need to prove anything because time has already done it for them. From the first day I saw him in the locker room I knew I liked him, and I also knew it was a thought I had to keep tucked away with the same care I kept everything else. Once I saw him come out of the shower with a towel over his shoulder and a thick cock hanging between his legs, still half-swollen from the hot water, and that image stayed burned into my mind for weeks.

We got to know each other little by little, as usually happens between people who cross paths in the same place several times a week. He told me he was divorced, that he lived alone in an apartment in Lafayette, that his children were already grown. Small talk. Nothing that suggested what was coming.

One Thursday afternoon, while we were putting our things away after training, Rodrigo hurried more than usual. He showered in ten minutes, changed in a rush, and as he passed me he said, almost in passing:

—I’ve got plans today. A date.

—Someone special? —I asked, without really thinking.

—Special enough, yeah. —He paused. He checked that no one was nearby and lowered his voice—. She’s a trans girl. A travesti, transexual, call them whatever you want. I’ve had them before and it’s hard to go back to the usual after that. Once you try them, fucking a normal woman gets boring.

I stood still for a moment.

—Since when? —was the only thing I could say.

—Since I split up. I decided to try things I’d never allowed myself before. —He slung his gym bag over his shoulder and smiled—. I don’t regret any of it. I like how they suck dick, how they offer themselves, how they squeeze when you put it in them. No comparison.

He left in a hurry, with that smile. And I spent days thinking about what he’d said, with my cock hard under my sweatpants every time I remembered the line.

***

Three weeks later he texted me on a Tuesday at six in the evening.

—Hey, I’ve got some work documents I don’t quite understand. Could you help me go over them? If you want, you can come by my apartment and then we’ll head to the gym together so we don’t have to take both cars.

That day I’d left the office two hours early. I had time. And in my backpack, as always, I had my Valentina things with me. Clothes, wig, makeup, heels. Absolutely everything, just in case. Always just in case.

—Sure, I’m on my way —I replied—. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.

While I drove to his building I felt that the “just in case” had finally arrived.

Rodrigo opened the door for me in sweatpants and a T-shirt. His apartment was simple, clean, with a large TV in the living room and the smell of fresh coffee. I sat in front of his computer and we started reviewing what he needed.

At some point he stopped talking about the documents.

—Do you remember what I told you at the gym? —he said from the sofa.

—About your date —I answered without turning around.

—Yeah. Since then I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. —He paused—. Monday at the gym I couldn’t stop looking at you. When you were doing legs in those tight clothes... my cock got hard right there, I had to turn around so it wouldn’t show. —He stopped—. Have you ever thought about trying something like that?

I breathed slowly before answering.

—What kind of something like that? —I asked, though I knew exactly what he meant.

He stood up. He walked over to where I was sitting and said in a calm voice:

—Help me have a good afternoon. Suck me, let me put it in you, whatever happens.

He took four bills from his wallet and placed them on the desk without drama, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

—If you’re not interested, we’ll forget it —he added—. No problem, we’ll keep being friends like always.

I looked at him. I looked at the bills. I thought about the bag I’d left in the car.

—Give me ten minutes —I said—. I’m going to get something and then you can decide whether you regret inviting me.

I went downstairs almost running.

***

When I came back, Rodrigo had turned something on on the living room screen. He pointed me toward the hallway bathroom and I shook my head.

—I’d rather use your bedroom, if you don’t mind.

I closed the door and started transforming. Fishnet stockings up to mid-thigh with garters, black satin bikini panties, matching bra, dark blue pencil skirt, cream silk blouse, long wavy brown wig, black leather stiletto heels. I took my time with the makeup: dark lips, soft contour, mascara on my lashes. Valentina needs her time. She always has.

When I stepped out into the hallway, the sound of my heels on the wooden floor was the first thing. Rodrigo looked out from the living room before I even reached it, drawn by the sound he clearly recognized. He looked me up and down without saying a word for a full three seconds, and I saw the bulge press immediately against his sweatpants.

—Jesus Christ —he murmured—. What’s your name?

—Valentina. —I used the voice I practice, the one that comes out on its own when I’m like this—. But you can call me whatever you like.

—Valentina —he repeated, savoring the word—. I’m Rodrigo. And from today on you can call me whatever you want. Slut, my love, my bitch, whatever you feel like.

I laughed. He was a direct man. I’d liked that about him from day one.

—Are you hungry? —I asked.

—What did you say?

—That if you’re hungry. Sit down, I’ve got it.

I went to the kitchen and, with what I found in the fridge, made something simple: eggs with ham, beans, hot tortillas. The sound of heels on the kitchen floor mixed with the sizzle of oil and the murmur of the TV in the living room. Rodrigo didn’t get up from the sofa, but he also never stopped watching me whenever I crossed toward the dining room, his eyes locked on my ass, tight inside the pencil skirt.

I poured him a tequila while we waited. He brought one for me too, even though I hardly drink.

—Let’s toast —he said, raising the shot glass—. To secrets worth keeping.

—And to men who know how to keep them —I replied.

We toasted twice. By the second shot I felt the warmth spread from my chest outward, and something in me loosened: that undercurrent of tension I always carry whenever I’m out like this and not in my room.

We ate slowly, talking little. Rodrigo had that quality some confident men have: he didn’t need to fill the silence. He asked me a few things about myself, about how long I’d been Valentina, whether I had a partner, what I was looking for. I answered honestly, maybe more honestly than I would have without the tequila.

—I’ve been like this for years —I told him—. Very closeted, very discreet. I still can’t be any other way. Family, work, all of that.

—I understand perfectly —he said—. I keep up appearances too. But here, in this apartment, we can be whatever we want.

There was a moment of silence.

—What exactly are you saying? —I asked.

—That I’d like you as my partner. Discreet, casual, just ours. Without anyone else knowing anything. —He looked at me without looking away—. Do you want to be my girlfriend, Valentina?

I didn’t answer right away. I looked at him, looked at the apartment, thought about the years I’d spent waiting for someone to see me like that and ask me that way, without my having to explain anything or apologize for anything.

—Yes —I said at last—. I do.

***

The first kiss was slow. Rodrigo put a hand on my jaw and turned me toward him with a certainty that made something in my knees go unsteady. His mouth smelled of tequila and coffee. His beard brushed me lightly. We kissed for minutes on end without either of us making a move to stop, tongues deep in each other’s throats, saliva mixing between our mouths, while he gripped the back of my neck with one hand and squeezed one ass cheek over the skirt with the other.

His hands roamed over my shoulders, my back, the curve of my hip. He stopped at the stockings, at the garter belt, and I felt it: his breathing changed. That tiny, revealing change. He pressed himself against me and I felt the rock-hard cock pushing into my stomach through the fabric of his sweatpants.

—Come —he said.

He took me to the sofa. He kissed my neck, down my collarbone, and slowly undid my blouse, button by button, like someone unwrapping something they’re going to devour. When he got to the bra he took it off without difficulty, with the skill of someone who knows what he’s doing, and began sucking my nipples one after the other, biting them just enough to pull a moan from me each time. They were sensitive already, and with his hot tongue circling them and his beard scraping my skin, they got hard as rocks.

—What pretty little tits —he murmured against my chest—. Look how they get.

His hand slid under my skirt, hiked it to my waist, and he groped me over the satin panties, feeling the bulge that had already begun to grow there. He slipped his fingers under the elastic and took my cock in his hand without ceremony, squeezing it firmly while he kept sucking my nipples.

—And this I’m going to eat too —he said—. All of it.

No one had ever touched me like that.

He lifted me in his arms, which I hadn’t expected, and carried me to the bedroom. He laid me on the bed and stood there looking at me for a moment: me in stockings, garters, satin panties and heels still on, blouse open and tits out, skirt wrinkled up around my hips.

—Stay like that —he asked—. Don’t move.

He knelt at the edge of the bed and kissed me from the knees upward, slowly, stopping wherever he felt like. When he got to the panties, he pulled them to one side without taking them off completely, and my cock sprang out, hard, the tip already wet with pre-cum. Rodrigo looked at it for a long moment before grabbing it with his hand and lowering his mouth onto it in one smooth motion.

I swallowed the air. He took it all the way in, to the root, and started sucking me with a skill that left me pressed into the mattress. His tongue circled the head, his lips tightened around the shaft, and every so often he went down to lick my balls, sucking them one by one while he stroked my cock with his hand. He knew exactly what he was doing. It wasn’t his first time, that was clear within the first thirty seconds.

—Oh, Rodrigo —I let out, without meaning to, Valentina’s voice in tatters—. Like that, like that, suck it like that.

He answered with a low growl, mouth full, and took me to the root again. He sucked me for minutes, unhurried, while with the other hand he groped my ass over the stockings, slipping a finger under the panties, barely brushing my opening, teasing me. I pushed my hips upward, seeking his mouth, seeking his finger, seeking anything that would give me more.

—Turn over —he ordered suddenly, pulling my cock out of his mouth with a wet sound—. Get on your knees in front of the mattress.

I obeyed without thinking. I knelt on the floor, heels planted behind me, chest on the bed and ass lifted. Rodrigo stood behind me, pulled my panties halfway down my thighs, and I felt his hands open my cheeks firmly. Then his hot tongue, wide and wet, licking my hole from top to bottom.

A long moan escaped me. He was eating my ass with the same dedication he’d used on my cock. His tongue went in and out, pushed, circled, and his hands kept me open, not letting me move. His beard scraped my cheeks and even that detail was driving me crazy.

—What a pretty little ass you have —he said, pulling back for a second—. You can tell you take care of it.

—It’s all yours —I answered, pressing my face into the sheet—. Keep going, please. Don’t stop.

He slipped in one finger. Then two. He moved them slowly, searching inside, and when he hit the right spot my back arched on its own. I was biting the sheet so I wouldn’t scream too loud.

At some point I turned around. I pulled down his sweatpants and had him in front of me, hard and hot, thick, laced with thick veins, the head shining and a clear drop hanging from the tip. It was exactly the cock I’d imagined in the locker rooms, and now I had it an inch from my mouth. I took it carefully, licked it from base to head in one long stroke, and slid it into my mouth slowly to get used to the weight and texture. His hands settled in my hair, gentle at first, then with more pressure. His sounds were low, contained, which made each one mean more than if he’d been shouting.

—You do that so well —he murmured—. Slowly, like that. Slut, suck it all.

I took him down my throat. I coughed once, swallowed, pushed him deeper again. He held my head with both hands now, setting the rhythm, pushing me against his pelvis. The cock hit the back of my throat and I let my eyes water without pulling away. Saliva dripped down my chin, onto my tits, and he looked down and smiled in that way men do when they see a woman doing exactly what they want.

—That’s it, my love, that’s it, swallow it all.

He yanked out of my mouth suddenly. He slapped his cock against my lips, against my cheeks, smearing my saliva all over my face before pushing it into my mouth again. I sucked him with real hunger now, my hands braced on his thighs, hearing his breathing get more and more difficult, knowing I was the one getting him like this. I sucked his balls too, one by one, taking them whole into my mouth while my hand kept stroking him slowly.

—Enough, enough —he panted, pulling my head away—. If you keep going I’m going to come now, and I don’t want to, not yet.

***

Afterward we lay down on the bed. Rodrigo took a condom from the nightstand and a bottle of lube, which told me this wasn’t his first time with someone like me. He rolled the condom on slowly, his cock so swollen the veins could be seen pulsing. He smeared lube on my ass with two fingers, pushing them in, circling them to open me. He put some on his own cock too, coating it well from top to bottom.

He placed pillows under my back. Instinctively I lifted my legs and spread them, the stockings taut against my thighs, the heels pointing toward the ceiling. We looked at each other. He settled himself slowly between my legs, unhurried, finding the right angle, pressing the head against my entrance.

Entry was gradual. He made it gradual on purpose, I could tell from the start. He pushed a little, stopped, pushed again. The head went in first, with a bit of resistance, and I let out a long moan when the ring gave way. Then the rest, centimeter by centimeter, until I felt his balls against my ass. He asked me with his eyes if I was okay, and I nodded each time. When he was finally all the way inside, he stayed still for a moment and I didn’t move either. Just the sensation of fullness, of heat, of something I’d imagined for years and which was finally real and tangible and mine.

—Are you okay? —he asked.

—Very okay —I replied, and it was absolutely true—. Put it all in. Fuck me now, Rodrigo, please.

He started moving. Slowly at first, finding the rhythm, pulling almost all the way out and driving back in to the hilt. His hands held my hips firmly without squeezing too hard. He kissed my neck, my shoulder, my mouth when he leaned toward me. My hands were on his back, feeling the muscles tighten with every thrust, and my legs were wrapped around his waist, heels crossed at the level of his lower back.

—Feels so fucking good —he said into my ear, picking up the pace—. So tight, baby. What a little ass you’ve got for me.

—Don’t stop —I answered, biting his shoulder—. Don’t take it out, not yet. Put it in harder.

He started fucking me harder. The bed creaked beneath us, the headboard hit the wall with a rhythmic thud, and his balls slapped against my ass, making a wet sound that filled the room. My own cock bounced between our bellies, so hard it already hurt, and he noticed and grabbed it with his hand and started jerking me off in the same rhythm he was fucking me with.

—I’m going to come —I warned him, gritting my teeth—. I can’t hold out like this for long.

—Hold on, not yet —he said, and let go of my cock—. Almost.

At one point he turned me over gently. I got on all fours, arched my back, rested my forehead on the pillow and lifted my ass high. He settled behind me and drove into me in one single thrust, all at once, and I screamed into the pillow. From that angle everything was more intense, deeper. I felt the cock hit the back of me with every stroke, hitting that spot inside that made me see lights.

His hands roamed over my sides, my back, stopping at my hips to push harder when I asked him to with a movement or a sound. He grabbed my hair, wrapping the wig in his fist, and pulled back until I arched even more. With his other hand he landed a sharp slap on my ass that rang through the room.

—Who are you giving that ass to, Valentina —he said, fucking me hard.

—You, Rodrigo, only you, all yours.

—Whose little ass is this?

—Yours, my love, yours.

Another slap. Another thrust to the hilt. There was no need to say much. He understood and I understood and we were both exactly where we wanted to be.

Then he lay back and motioned for me to climb on top. I settled myself, grabbed his cock with my hand to guide it, and worked it in slowly until I sat down on him. I started moving, first rising and lowering slowly, then with more rhythm, riding him with my legs open and the stockings taut around his hips. In front of us was the closet mirror and for a moment I stopped just to look: me on top of him, stockings still on, heels digging into the mattress, the tangled wig falling over my bare tits, my cock bouncing against my stomach with each movement, and his expression of concentration and pleasure as he held my hips with both hands.

It was an image I hadn’t known I wanted to see until I had it in front of me. I kept looking at myself in the mirror, watching myself ride Rodrigo, watching his cock going in and out between my ass cheeks, and I grabbed mine and started jerking off without stopping my movement on top of him.

—Look at you —he panted, looking at the mirror too—. Look how fucking slutty you look, riding me like that.

—I’m your slut —I answered, breathless—. Your slut, Rodrigo.

I felt him tense beneath me. His breathing broke apart, his muscles hardened under my hands, his hips drove upward with more force without my asking, battering me from below as I came down. He grabbed my waist with both hands and started moving me over him as if I weighed nothing, lifting and lowering me to his rhythm, burying his cock to the root each time.

—I’m coming —he growled—. I’m coming inside, baby.

—Yes, come, come inside.

He came with a long, low sound, arching his back against the mattress, squeezing my hips so hard I’d have the marks of his fingers the next day. I felt the final thrusts, each one deeper, and though the condom held the semen, I felt every pulse of his cock inside me. That I had done something right. That Valentina had done something right.

Without pulling out of me, he grabbed my cock with his hand and started jerking me off fast, firmly, looking me in the face.

—Now you —he said—. Come for me, I want to see you.

I didn’t last a minute. With him still inside and his hand moving over my cock with just the right pressure, I felt the orgasm rise from my feet. I came across his chest and stomach, thick jets that fell over his salt-and-pepper beard and onto his tits, while I trembled on top of him and clenched my ass around his still-hard cock. He was smiling, with my semen on his face, looking at me as if I were the best thing he’d seen in months.

***

We stayed in bed without talking for a while, sticky, sweaty, our breathing slowly returning to normal. There was a damp stain in one corner of the apartment ceiling. I looked at it without thinking about anything specific.

—Do you have fantasies? —Rodrigo eventually asked—. Things you’d like to try someday.

I thought before answering.

—Many —I said—. But let’s start by getting to know each other properly first.

—Fair enough. —He turned toward me—. Am I still the man you liked at the gym?

I laughed.

—More —I replied.

Rodrigo smiled. He put his arm over me and I moved closer to his chest without thinking too much about what that gesture meant or what would come after. Outside, it was night. The gym would still be there tomorrow. The secret was ours and, for now, that was more than enough.