1. Chapter 1

one

Will Wilson

Early November…

T he traffic to get across the city had nothing on moms in a department store. When the fourth or fifth person gave me a dirty look for being a large, single man in the children’s department, I headed towards the nearest stuffed animal display and grabbed the first thing I saw. It was an elf holding a mini teddy bear and a little book.

This would do for a start.

Watching the snot-covered crotch-goblins scream their lungs out while their parents dragged them around to look at things they couldn’t have, I was glad this trip wasn’t for children of my own. Not that I disliked them, I just didn’t want them in my own life. My brother had kids, and I liked being an uncle.

My niece and nephew lived out of state, so I’d send other presents to them by delivery, but I wanted to see if I could find something more personal to wrap and mail directly to them. My nephew was five, and my niece was three, but I hadn’t seen either of them since her first birthday. I had no clue what they were into, since I rarely talked to my brother or went on social media, but I couldn’t go wrong with something cute and something educational. The elf with the book fit both of those briefs.

Making my way to the edge of the section to wait for an opening by the toy cars, because I was sure my nephew still liked all things with motors, a gorgeous Christmas tree caught my attention. There were red, green, and gold notecards on the branches to match the ornaments.

“Hi there, mith-ter,” a lispy voice caught my attention and I looked down to see a dark-haired girl in a wheelchair wearing a frilly blue dress. As far as kids went, she was as adorable as they could be. “Want to make a with to th’anta and donate to a charity?”

“Oh, um,” I started, looking around for her parents and finding a woman who I assumed was her mom by their resemblance watching over her. The girl was holding out a piece of paper and a pen for my ‘wish to Santa’, so I took them to be polite. “What charity?”

“Chariots for Change,” she answered with a wide smile, showing off two missing front teeth to explain her lisp. “The one that got me my wheels!”

“They provide wheelchairs for children in need,” her mom explained. “Tory and I wanted to volunteer to help more kids get their mobility back. But you don’t have to donate to leave a note for Santa, or vice versa.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” I pulled out my wallet and handed over a twenty, which they both thanked me for before handing me a red-backed card.

“Hope Santa answers your wish,” Tory’s mom gave me a smile, turning to another stranger Tory started chatting with. I bet she was a handful.

Leaning over the table where they kept a stack of pens, ribbons, and blank notes, I thought about what I should write. I had a good job—a dream job for my favorite football team, actually—and a nice place to live south of San Francisco. I had some good friends and a membership to a kink club, though I had only gone a few times.

Anything I wanted or needed, I bought it for myself.

Except you don’t have everything you want … a little voice in my head needled at me.

Despite great friends and coworkers, I was lonely. I had been embracing the submissive little side of my personality, but only on my own. Dating apps were a bust, and everyone expected me to be a top or dominant when I went to bars or kink events.

The truth was, I was a big man, and trans on top of that.

At forty-five, I was past the time when most men figured out their kinks and got their horny gay sex life on. But I’d been working on accepting my body as I went through transition over the previous decade. I liked being thick and hairy, I just needed to find someone who liked me as much as I’d grown to like myself.

Not just someone … My internal voice piped up again. A Daddy.

Yes, I did want a Daddy. I wanted to be treated like a little boy and have a Daddy accept me as I was. I wanted to let go of my adult responsibilities and have a partner take the reins. I also wanted to be called a ‘good boy’ for all the years I felt like I was in the wrong body. I wanted my person to be good for .

Easier said than done.

My subconscious could be a real brat sometimes.

A man and a little boy were waiting to write their own Santa notes, so I put pen to paper and wrote my message down without thinking.

Dear Santa,

Since you never brought me the toy train or squirt gun I asked for—it was always dolls and dresses—this year, I won’t ask for things.

What I really want is a Daddy for Christmas. A Daddy to give me hugs and tuck me into bed. Someone to watch football games with and maybe throw a ball to at the park. A Daddy who loves me as I am.

Though a cute teddy bear to cuddle in bed would also be nice!

Sincerely,

Will.

Reading my scribbled words over, I nod and cap the pen. If anyone read it, they wouldn’t know I was a middle aged man. That would be embarrassing.

Folding the note in half, I strung a bit of gold ribbon through the hole in the middle and reached up high to hang it in a bare spot. There was a cluster around Tory’s height and her mom’s, so I was just evening it out, I told myself, not hiding it above where they could reach up and read my vulnerable words.

Stepping back, I took in the scene of Tory and her mom helping others write out the wishes. They were doing good in the world in more ways than one, the charity and making people smile. I grinned to myself at what I wrote. My mom believes in all that manifestation stuff, and maybe there is something to it.

Santa probably wasn’t out there granting wishes any more than he was when I was a child, but it felt good to write out what I wanted.

If only charity trees in department stores could make my dreams come true.