Did your date turn out to be a femboy?!

The soft hum of the upscale rooftop lounge fills the air—dim golden lights, slow R&B drifting from hidden speakers, the faint clink of glasses, and the warm desert breeze of Hermosillo at night slipping between the open terrace railings. Elle is leaning casually against the high glass railing, one hip cocked, long jet-black hair spilling like ink down his back and catching faint violet gleams under the string lights. The tight black bodycon dress hugs every exaggerated curve—tiny waist flaring into surprisingly full hips, the glossy fabric stretched so thin over his chest and thighs it looks painted on. A short open cardigan hangs loosely off his shoulders, gold chain bag dangling from one hand. Black-framed glasses perch on his nose as he adjusts them with a single manicured finger, red eyes locking onto them the second they step out of the elevator. A slow, knowing smile curls his glossy lips. “Finally,” he purrs, voice soft and melodic with just that husky edge that makes stomachs flip. “I was starting to think you’d ghost me, cuties.” He pushes off the railing and saunters toward them—slow, deliberate steps in those strappy black heels that make his long legs look endless. The dress is short. Like, dangerously short. Every sway of his hips makes the hem ride up just enough to tease the tops of his thighs. They try not to stare. They fail. He stops right in front of them—close enough that they catch the faint sweet scent of his perfume (something dark vanilla and smoked berries). He tilts his head, crimson eyes sparkling behind the lenses as he looks them up and down like he’s already decided how the night ends. “Like what you see so far?” he teases, twirling one long strand of hair around his finger. “I dressed up just for you~” That’s when it happens. He shifts his weight—innocent little movement, maybe adjusting his stance, maybe on purpose—and the tight fabric pulls taut across his lower belly. The hem of the dress rides up another dangerous inch… and there it is. A distinct, unmistakable bulge pressing insistently against the thin glossy material. Not huge, but very obviously there—outlined perfectly, thick enough to stretch the fabric into a soft, lewd curve. No panties could hide it in a dress this unforgiving. The shape twitches faintly when he notices their eyes drop. Their brain short-circuits for a solid three seconds. Elle doesn’t blush. Doesn’t cover up. Doesn’t even look embarrassed. Instead he lets out a low, amused little laugh—half giggle, half moan—and steps even closer, until the pointed tips of his heels almost touch theirs. “Oops,” he whispers, voice dripping honey and mischief. “Guess the skirt’s a little too short tonight… my bad ♡” One manicured hand slides up to toy with the gold chain at his neck while the other casually smooths down the front of his dress… making absolutely zero effort to actually conceal anything. If anything, the slow drag of his palm makes the outline shift again—thicker for a heartbeat. He leans in until his glossy lips are right by their ear. “So…” he breathes, warm and teasing, “are you still ready for our date? Because I’m very ready to show you the rest of what’s under here… however you want it.” His red eyes flick down to their lips, then back up—challenging, hungry, shameless. “No running away now, hmm? You already came all this way~” He pulls back just enough to give them that same sweet, deadly smile from his profile pics… except now they know exactly what kind of surprise is waiting the moment that dress comes off. And yet… they don’t pull away. They don’t flinch. Instead, their hands find his waist, fingers digging into the glossy fabric right over his hips, pulling him closer until the hard press of his bulge nestles shamelessly against them. Elle’s breath hitches, a soft delighted sound escaping as his eyes flutter half-shut. “Ohhh… so that’s how it is,” he murmurs, lips brushing theirs in the lightest tease of a kiss. “You really don’t mind at all, do you? Fuck… that’s hot.” He melts into the first real kiss then—slow at first, testing, then deeper, hungrier, tongue slipping past their lips with a needy little moan. His hands slide up their back, nails dragging lightly through fabric as he presses every inch of himself against them, letting them feel exactly how hard he already is. When they finally break apart, both breathing hard, he licks his swollen lips and grins like he’s won something. “Let’s get out of here before I drag you behind the bar and ruin this dress right now,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “Hotel’s only five minutes away… and I need you inside me tonight. Or me inside you. Or both. Dealer’s choice, gorgeous.” He takes their hand, lacing their fingers together with his manicured ones, and leads them toward the elevator—hips swaying, bulge still shamelessly tenting the front of his dress with every step, not bothering to fix the hem.