10. Sam

Oh, god. No way did I get to see C.L. Masterson—Cameron—in real life again, right? And not only see him again, but I asked him for his number and he gave it to me. How the hell did I get so lucky? I needed to go play the lottery, pronto.

I hopped in the car with Alex, who'd been patiently waiting for me to wrap up. He was going to drop me off at my car at work, where I'd left it when Christian had called Alex to ask if we could fill in for him. Thankfully, I'd planned on attending anyway and had had my things with me.

"You will never believe what happened, dude."

Alex smirked as he pulled out into traffic. "Considering I heard some guy yelling at you after yoga class, probably not."

I stuck my tongue out at him. "Well, ‘some guy' was C.L. fucking Masterson."

The car swerved in the lane as his head whipped to me. "What the fuck, dude?! For real?!"

"Eyes on the road, man!" After he'd corrected our course without incident, I breathed out a laugh. "And yes, for real. He seemed a little weirded out to see me; he thinks I'm stalking him or something, but how could I have been? I didn't know he'd be there! But anyway, I checked him out—he definitely had all the yoga moves down and his ass, man, shit—and I'm pretty sure he was checking me out, too, so I asked for his number, and he gave it to me."

"Okay, wait, wait. That's a lot to unpack." He took a breath. "You actually got his number? C.L. Masterson? So you're going to ask him out?"

I ignored his line of questioning. "I notice you skipped right over the fact that he has a fantastic ass."

Alex laughed. "I mean, I didn't really pay attention to his face, but I actually did notice his ass in class. It was pretty fantastic."

"Right?" I chuckled but then sobered quickly, sighing. "But I probably won't ask him out."

"Samuel Coleson, why the hell not?"

I snorted. "Samuel?"

"Samson? Samerthason?"

I laughed. "You're so ridiculous. I haven't actually decided yet. But props for trying. Just Sam for now."

He huffed. "Well, Sam Coleson just doesn't give me enough syllables to properly chastise you." He eyed me. "But answer the question: Why aren't you going to ask him out?"

I sighed. "No reason."

"Sam," he growled. "Why. Not."

My glare could've set him on fire. "Because there's no way he'd want someone who looks like me. Not until I transition fully."

"Bullshit."

My mouth fell open. "What?"

"Sammy—ooo, I like that one—you can't wait until your life is perfect to go after what you want. You said he was checking you out, so you have to trust that he's into you. Right-now you, even as you're still changing and evolving."

"But . . ." I shut my mouth, unsure I wanted to say what was really on my mind. I didn't know how much I wanted to divulge to a coworker. Even if he was my best friend.

"But . . . ?"

Fuck it. "But I can't give him what he needs in bed."

"And how in the ever-loving hell could you possibly know that?"

"It's just . . . I just couldn't. You wouldn't understand." I didn't want to say more. Couldn't say more.

Ever the long-suffering friend, Alex sighed. "Okay, dude. But listen—you need to get out of your head on this one. He. Is. Attracted. To. You. Explore that. Let it bloom. Give into it, if it gets that far. Don't turn down a chance at love—or hell, even just a steamy hookup—because you don't think your body is perfect yet."

"Okay, I get it," I replied, though that was a half-truth. I knew he was giving solid advice—I just didn't want to talk about this anymore with Alex. He couldn't possibly understand.

But I knew someone who could.

***

I opened my computer as soon as I walked in the door. I'd probably need a shower, but right now, I wanted to talk to Cameron. The one who knew me as S.M.C. The one who I could be honest with. Mostly.

Shit.

If he ever found out that the guy he'd just run into for the second time was the same guy who'd been emailing him over the past several months, he'd definitely be convinced I was stalking him. That we'd met by coincidence twice just seemed so unlikely, even if it was the truth.

I sighed.

I probably should just tell him. Call him up and confess my secret. That would be the prudent thing to do. But I didn't want to give up what we had in either context—the way his pupils dilated when he looked at me, the way I felt I could tell him anything in our emails—I was too scared . . . and a little selfish. Not to mention that divulging the truth now would in no way convince him I was not stalking him. I had no rebuttal for that.

Selfish or not, I needed him. This wasn't about a crush any longer; I'd met the man in real life twice, and despite his salty attitude, he was even more amazing than I'd expected.

I'd have to see this through. Get to know him better, like we said, but online. And hope he'd forgive me later on if he ever found out.

I drew in a breath as I pulled up my browser, replying to Cameron's last email. It was time to take this to the next level.

Cameron,

I know, up to this point, that I haven't told you much about myself. But I want to. I feel like we're friends, and I need a friend right now.

Would you be willing to move this to a messaging app? I can give you my handle on—

I paused, considering what I wanted to say next. Did I dare bring up the Daddy's Boy app?

I'd done a lot of exploring since Alex had brought it up all those months ago, and I was still working up the courage to attend an in-person meetup. But the few virtual meetings I'd attended had gone really well, so I'd created an account on the app and had been able to explore a side of myself I'd never dreamed possible.

I was almost certain I was a Daddy.

The resources I'd found on their website—Alex had been right about that—had given me the basics, but multiple sources seemed to agree that trying it out with someone would be the next step.

Maybe this was mine. Telling Cameron about the app would key him into the fact that I was into his presumed kink but not where I fit. But I supposed if I was going to share something about myself, that was something I could share without letting him know his anonymous emailer was the same guy he saw in person just a few hours ago.

Besides, now he had my phone number, so that was out. Damn.

—the Daddy's Boy app. It's the same as this email address: booklover367. If you're interested, look me up, and we can chat further.

Always,

S.M.C.

God, I hoped he was interested.

***

My phone chimed just as I stepped out of the shower. I snatched it up, water still dripping off my body, when I saw I had a new message on Daddy's Boy.

Hey, thanks for trusting me with this. Given your love of my books, I guess I should've predicted you'd be into the lifestyle.

I grinned so widely my face hurt. Yes, I am. Call me Stephen. You know, from The Prince's Rule?

He sent a smile emoji. That's perfect. So can I assume you're male?

Yes. I nearly kicked myself at my one-word response.

Good to know. Thanks for sharing that—I was relentlessly curious. Hazard of the job, I suppose.

I smiled but didn't reply.

So you don't want to share your real name?

My gut clenched. I can't right now.

Okay, no worries. What did you want to talk about?

The water drying on my skin was making me cold, so I took a minute to towel off as I considered my response. I'd been conversing with the man for months now, and while we'd talked about things like our thoughts and feelings about certain news stories and events in the PNW and our love of books, we'd mostly kept to superficial topics. Though he had confirmed he was trans when he said he'd attended Pride back in June. I'd hinted at being queer but hadn't directly divulged anything. I supposed by bringing up the Daddy's Boy app, Cameron now knew I was gay.

Gray sweatpants and a loose T-shirt on—an outfit that never failed to give me the feel-good fuzzies of gender euphoria—I sighed, dropped down on my bed, and opened our chat. I wanted to talk about meeting him in person, express that I was a trans man still fairly early in his transition but had been checked out by my dream guy in person, before I fully passed as male, but of course I couldn't say any of that. I was too much of a coward to share that.

So I went a completely different direction, typing and sending what crossed my mind before I could overthink it. I think I'm a Daddy.

The three dots danced for a lot longer than I expected. But as the seconds passed, I realized that had probably been unfair. I'd effectively dropped an emotional atomic bomb, and until now, we hadn't really gotten that personal. And this was super personal.

My heart skipped a beat when his text came through. Why do you say that? You've never had a boy before?

I shook my head even though he couldn't see it. No. In a lot of ways, I'm just now discovering what I like, who I am. Damn, how true that was.

When he didn't respond, almost as if he was waiting for me to continue, I realized I actually did have more I wanted to say. And when I started typing, my fingers could barely keep up.

Okay, so I was raised submissive my whole life. I was taught to defer to everyone else to make decisions for me. But that never felt right. I resented the hell out of it, and I'm only now realizing the full weight of what that all means. So yeah, I think I'm a Daddy. Or at least, I want to be. I long to take care of someone, discipline them, meet their needs, and yeah, cuddle when my boy craves it. Because I do, too.

He didn't respond right away, and my stomach dropped.

Too much?

The tension in my shoulders eased a bit when I saw he was typing his response. Not at all, Stephen.

I smiled at the name, though I wished he'd used my own.

His next text came through. Actually, I'm really glad you told me. Like I said, I've been curious about you—who you are, what you do . . . even just your gender, honestly. I love that we can share pieces of ourselves like this, in this anonymous way. Well, I guess it's anonymous on my side. You know who I am, don't you?

I sucked in a breath, my throat tightening. Does that bother you?

If I'm being honest, which I hope we always can be with each other, it does a little. I mean, you could be anyone. You know my name and a ton of things about me from my emails and my books, but I feel like I don't know anything about you. Until now, that is. I get that you need to keep your real name a secret for now, and I'll respect that. But can you do me a favor, Stephen?

I'll try.

My heart raced as I waited for his response. When it came in, I had to read it a few times. Let me in. Let me see parts of you, the ones you feel comfortable sharing. Like tonight—that makes this feel real. And at the risk of sounding needy, I'd really like this to be real.

I squeezed my eyes shut, leaning my head back against my pillow and letting my phone fall at my side. My sweet Cameron, the man who'd been so guarded in person, was putting his heart out there like it'd never been broken, but I'd gathered from our previous conversations that he'd been hurt badly, probably repeatedly. My heart squeezed at his bravery . . . juxtaposed with my cowardice.

Was I leading this beautiful man on? Was I toying with him?

I took a second to check in with myself, do an honest inventory of my motivations. No, I wanted it to be real, too. I just didn't know how to tell him I didn't have the right parts to give him what he needed, should our relationship evolve to that level.

Then it hit me. If we did this virtually, I didn't have to have the "right" parts. I could try out being a Daddy—if he actually was a boy, as I suspected—and give him the parts of me I could without risking my identity or confessing my secret.

My eyes blinked open, and I pulled my phone to my face. The cursor blinked at me, waiting for my response. After another few seconds, I came up with the perfect one.

I'd like this to be real, too, Cameron. As real as it can be online—which, let's be honest, is pretty damn real. So I have a proposition for you.

Oh? He added the smirking face emoji, and my gut clenched in an entirely different way. One that went straight to my dick.

If you'd like, I could be your virtual Daddy.

I held my breath, my eyes peeled on those damn dancing dots. What would that look like?

That wasn't a no!I fist-pumped the air, a wide grin on my face. Does that mean you're a boy?

He simply sent a gif of someone nodding profusely, and I laughed out loud.

Would you like me to call you boy?

He sent the same nodding gif again.

Are you comfortable calling me Daddy?

Yes, Daddy.

Holy shit. A thrill sang through me just seeing the words, and any doubt I had about being a Daddy evaporated in that moment. In that instant, I knew: I was fucking born for this. Then here's how I think it could look. First, I'll give you a few rules to follow. I may even give you some tasks to report back on during the day. I may ask for pictures, but I'll never require you to do them if you're not comfortable.

Okay.

Now I was getting excited. Next, I expect you to address me as "Daddy" when we're talking online. We could do virtual scenes if you'd like, too. We can discuss what those would look like before they started.

Scenes as in sex?

Holy hell. If you're game, then I am. But for now, sexting only. Everything sound good so far, boy?

Sounds good, Daddy.

Thank you, boy. Now for the most important part: safewords. Do you use the stoplight system or something else?

Stoplights are fine, Daddy. I prefer them.

Great. At any time, if you're feeling like you need a break, aren't comfortable doing something I ask, or for any reason don't want to continue, I expect you to use them, okay? Green if you're good to continue, yellow for a break, and red to stop completely. We'll always talk through whatever happened so we can avoid it in the future.

Yes, Daddy.

Shit, those two words . . . this boy was going to kill me. Do you have any questions for me before we go further?

He was quiet long enough for me to head into the kitchen and grab a glass of water. I kept my phone with me, just in case. And as I was stepping through the door to my bedroom and heading toward my bed, my phone lit up in my hand.

I'm sure I'll have a lot of questions later, but I can think of two right now. Well, two items, since they're not really questions.

Shoot.

One: Tell me three embarrassing things about yourself I can use for blackmail later in case you decide to go public with this little arrangement.

I threw my head back as I cracked up. My entire body was shaking as I fought to respond with a string of rofl emojis.

His responding gif with someone impatiently pointing at their watch—followed by a winking then a laughing emoji—had me chuckling as I calmed down enough to consider his question. God, I loved his sense of humor. 1. When I was a toddler, my mom could never keep my diaper on me. I was always taking it off and running around the house naked. And the yard, apparently.

I could feel him laughing in his reply. OMG, that's amazing. I can just picture little Stephen running around with his tiny little bottom hanging out.

I snorted then pursed my lips, considering my second response. 2. I still sleep with stuffed animals. Not all the time, but it helps when my bed gets lonely.

His reply wasn't as quick, and I held my breath as he typed. I get that. The nights get long and lonely without someone to share your bed.

I sucked in a breath, the mental image of him in my bed combined with the realization that he was likely as lonely as me was overwhelming. After I sat with the thought for a few seconds, I squashed it down. Because I still owed him one more embarrassing thing. And this one would be a doozy.

3. I've only ever been able to orgasm on my own.

When he didn't reply instantly, I wondered if I'd stunned him. But my chest released a little when the three dots popped up. Wow, really? That sucks. Like, seriously sucks.

I took a breath. Yeah, it really does. I mean, my toys get a lot of action, and that's fun, but I've never been able to achieve orgasm with a partner. Because reasons.

Reasons?

Dammit, Sam, why'd you have to say that? Um, yeah. Reasons. I can't really share the details, but suffice it to say, I never could play the submissive role well.

Ah,he replied, and I somehow felt that in my soul. This is why you said you "think" you're a Daddy. Because you've always been on the other side of things.

It's not *quite* like that—I've never been a "boy"—but yes, basically.

He was silent for a moment. Then: Thanks for sharing those with me, Stephen.

Of course. And item number two?

His next message had my breath catching in my throat. Two: I propose that we put an end date on this arrangement. If in, say, three months, we decide that this is working for us, we'll try to move it offline and into real life. If not, we go our separate ways. Or just go back to being virtual friends. What do you think, Daddy?

He just had to throw the "Daddy" in there, didn't he?

I bit my lip as I considered his request. It was reasonable, I supposed, to put an end date on what amounted to a trial run. And besides, he would only get more curious about my identity as time wore on. Having an end date might help him get through it—and give me time to get used to the idea of coming out to him.

But would three months be enough time? That would put me at the eleven-month mark being on testosterone. I wasn't even eligible for top surgery until I'd been on T for a year, and I thought I wanted to wait until I was healed from that before I officially met the love of my life in person.

Love of my life? Geez. I was being dramatic. But if we kept this up for longer than even three months, I could see that possibility becoming reality.

My brain did the quick math, then I sent my response. I can do seven months. Then we can meet if we both feel this is working. I promise, as your Daddy. And Daddies never go back on their word. I capped it off with a basic smile emoji and settled under my covers to wait for his response.