My name is CarmenXXL. Beneath my ordinary fall clothes—baggy jeans, a gray sweater, and a leather jacket—I'm hiding a secret. A red lace thong caresses my skin, and a small bra supports my natural, small, pear-shaped breasts that quiver with every step I take. I'm a cross-dressing person, naturally hairless, with a chubby body that I know sometimes attracts curious glances. That evening, at the Gare de Lyon, I was about to experience something I'd never forget. It was an October evening, and the fresh autumn air hung in the station, a mixture of coffee and metal smells. I'd planned to take the train to Clermont-Ferrand, a trip I rarely made. But, naive and distracted, I'd misread the schedule. When I arrived on the platform, out of breath, my backpack swinging against my hips, the train had already left. The station, almost deserted at this late hour, seemed immense and intimidating. My heart was pounding, not only from my rush, but also because I was alone, far from home, with no immediate solution. Sitting on a cold bench, I nervously fiddled with my phone, looking for another train or an affordable hotel. That's when he approached me. He was tall, in his thirties, with a neatly trimmed beard and a piercing gaze that made me shiver. He wore a dark coat and a red scarf that gave him an elegant, almost dangerous air. "Lost?" he asked with a wry smile. His voice was deep, assured. I explained to him, a little stammering, that I had missed my train. My naiveté shone through, and I think he sensed it. He introduced himself as Marc, a traveler who often passed through the station. He suggested I sit with him in a café that was still open inside the station. “We can talk while you find a solution,” he said. I hesitated, but his confidence and smile won me over. I followed him, my cheeks flushed with nervousness and a strange excitement. The café was subdued, the lights dimmed. Marc offered me a glass of wine, and I found myself speaking more freely. I told him I was in transit, that I lived a discreet life, but that I had always had… daring thoughts. He listened to me attentively, his eyes sometimes gliding over my body, as if guessing what I was hiding beneath my clothes. “You seem to have secrets, Carmen,” he murmured, his knee brushing mine under the table. My heart started beating faster. Was it fatigue, the wine, or this heat rising inside me? I didn’t know, but I felt alive. He took out his phone and sent a message, a mischievous smile on his lips. “I have a friend who could join us. We could… have a little fun, if you’re up for it.” I blushed, trembling. Me, CarmenXXL, the naive little transvestite, alone in a train station with a stranger who was proposing something so daring? I should have refused, left, but a part of me, the one that secretly dreamed of breaking free, said yes. His friend, Julien, arrived shortly after. Younger, with curly hair and a mischievous look, he greeted me with disconcerting familiarity. “So, you’re the naive little girl Marc told me about?” he said, laughing. I looked down, feeling ...

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