16. Sam

Last night was the most fun I'd had in a long time. And probably one of the hottest nights I'd ever experienced, too, though Cameron and I had only kissed the one time.

Yes, my sex life was terrible, at least in real life. We'd established this.

But as I lay in bed the following morning and stared at the ceiling—I'd uncharacteristically awoken before my alarm went off—guilt started to churn in my stomach. Cameron and I had moved from acquaintances to something, well, more, and I couldn't keep being his virtual Daddy if we kept going down this path. And if I had my way, we would.

I needed to tell him who I was.

But instead of jumping up to do it right away, I procrastinated like the coward I was and simply lay in bed, replaying last night.

Cameron had pulled me back to his group of friends and proudly introduced me to all of them—though I'd already known Ethan, obviously—as if he was showing me off. I puffed up at the thought of being claimed, however minimal it was in actuality. My imagination had taken off then, picturing Cameron showing me off to everyone he knew, claiming me as his.

Fuck, I wanted that more than I wanted air to breathe.

I'd been crushing on the man forever, I'd met him in person earlier this year, and we'd been exchanging emails since last November. Plus, we'd been messaging multiple times a day for a month, talking about anything and everything. And the virtual sex had been incredible.

I was falling in love with the man.

It was scary, sure, being in love with a man who didn't know the real me. But even more terrifying was the idea of telling him who I really was. Because now that I'd had a mere taste of what we could be, relinquishing my secret to him now could break my heart. This secret could tear us apart.

Sighing to my much-too-empty bedroom/living room/kitchen, I scrubbed a hand over my face then pushed myself up to sitting. Stomach cramping, I reached for my phone on the rectangular stool I used for a nightstand and dragged it toward me.

It lit up, and I instantly noticed a direct message had come in from an unfamiliar handle on the Daddy's Boy app. Brow furrowing, I clicked the notification to open my DMs.

Hey, this is Oliver the message read, and my gut unclenched, just a little. Somewhere deep inside, I knew I'd have to psych myself up again to message Cameron, but this was a welcome reprieve. I didn't feel ready.

I messaged him back, tapping out a quick response, and we talked for several minutes. He was so easy to talk to—I felt like I was finally making an actual friend—and soon he was offering a listening ear for my dilemma. I wasn't even sure how he'd gotten that out of me so quickly.

But I needed to talk to someone, and I didn't think Alex could fully understand. He'd be asleep at this early hour anyway. So I'm into this guy, and we've been hanging out online.

Hanging out?

I smirked. Yeah. "Hanging out."

Ah, gotcha.

I laughed. The problem is that we've met a few times in person, total coincidences.

I waited several seconds for his reply. Okay . . .

We kissed last night.

He instantly sent back a double exclamation point emoji before typing out a longer reply. No shit? Congrats!

Thanks. I added a smiling emoji and sent it before typing out another text. But he doesn't know the guy he kissed last night is the same guy he's been messaging online for the past month—and emailing for almost a year.

His reply took a minute. And that feels deceitful?

I was nodding as I typed. Yes.

Got it. What's your next step, then?

I sighed. I'd resigned myself to emailing him and telling him the truth just before you messaged me.

Oof. Sorry to interrupt.

Naw, man, it's cool. I'm not even sure I'm brave enough to do it. Maybe I just need to tell him we can't see each other anymore.

Are you in love with him?

I stared at the screen, blinking at the way he'd just thrown that out there. After I'd recovered, I slowly, one at a time, typed out three little letters. Yes.

Then don't you owe it to him—and to yourself—to tell him the truth?

Maybe . . .

Listen, Sam. I know we haven't known each other long, but I've learned the hard way that love cannot be real, cannot be lasting, unless everyone is honest about who they are.

Tears burned at the back of my eyes as he started typing again.

If you love this man, he deserves to know the real you. He can't give you the love you deserve unless he does.

I swiped at my wet cheeks, blinking to clear my vision so I could read his next text.

Have you told him you're trans?

The question stopped me short. I hadn't, had I? I assumed he knew—I wore a bracelet, pin, or both daily—but he definitely didn't know S.M.C. was trans. I'd deliberately kept that from him. It wasn't because I was ashamed of my identity, but it was because I was ashamed of my body's imperfections. I could never be the perfect man for him.

That pause tells me you probably haven't. And that's okay—everyone should come out in their own time. But if you truly love this man, I encourage you to tell him who you are. Better yet, show him.

How do I do that?

Let him in. Show him the parts of you you're ashamed of, that you hide from everyone else. Give him someone real to fall in love with, too. He added a winky emoji, and I smiled through my tears.

That's good advice, thanks.

Anytime. Thanks for confiding in me—I know we haven't known each other long, but I hope I helped.

You did. Thanks again, Oliver.

Of course. And when you and your man get together, you can name your first kid after me.

I started laughing as I typed. I don't want kids, but I might consider a pet rock or something.

He just sent a string of laughing emojis.

I flopped back down in bed, holding my phone aloft and staring at my DMs. Cameron's handle, writerboy57, stared back at me.

I needed a plan. I had to let him know who I was, and despite Oliver's encouragement, the sick feeling in my stomach was eating away at my confidence. No one brave enough to come out and reveal their true identity to the man they loved would feel like this.

But for him, maybe I could be brave. Maybe I could be strong. Maybe I could be the Daddy I was created to be, own up to the situation, and tell him the truth.

It was fucking scary, but then again, I'd done a shit-ton of terrifying things over the past year, hadn't I? I'd come out to multiple people, transitioned physically and socially, and kissed Cameron like I needed him more than air. Which was true, to be honest.

I had a year of being more brave than most people had in a lifetime. I could do this. I was a fucking Daddy, and it was time I acted like it.

So I slid out of bed, snagged my laptop, logged in, and climbed back under the covers before pulling up my browser. And then I started to type.

September 20th

Cameron,

I've met someone. Someone who means the world to me. But I have a secret. More than one, actually. And I know if I keep these secrets from them—from you—I will fuck it all up. I will fuck us up.

Because I want there to be an us.

Not just online, but always. I want you more than I ever thought possible, and I was kidding myself thinking I could wait seven months to be near you, hold you, make you mine. I barely made it a month.

But before we can do that, I have to come clean. I don't want anything between us if we're ever going to be real. You told me once you wanted this to be real, and this is the only way I know how to give you that, Cameron, my sweet boy.

I just hope you won't hate me when I'm done.

First . . . The reason I've kept my identity a secret is because I'm transgender. And because I have a lifetime of internalized transphobia to unlearn, I convinced myself you'd never want me if I didn't have the "right" parts, if I didn't immediately present as the man I am. That's so fucked up, right? Because everything you are is right and good, and you are so incredibly perfect for me. Why would I have a different standard for myself?

I sighed, relieved, but more vulnerability would be required, and I braced myself for it as I resumed writing.

It feels good to get that out, but that's not even the hard one. Because this final secret has the power to break us.

Sucking in a breath, I paused with my fingers hovering over the keys for a few long seconds, then I exhaled as my fingers moved once again, seemingly without my permission.

When you kissed me last night, my world was destroyed and reborn in a single moment. When you pressed your lips to mine, taking what you wanted, I wanted to hold you and never let go. When I held you in my arms, tasted your essence, I knew I was ruined for every other man.

If you haven't guessed, I'm Sam.

You've become my life, Cameron, and being your Daddy has been the honor of my existence. I hope this isn't the end of us before we even have a chance to begin. But if it is, I hope you know that someone out there loves you more than life itself.

Always,

Sam

After rereading it more times than I'd care to admit, I hit send, and my breath caught. Then, praying Cameron wouldn't hate me forever, I opened my text messages, pulled up our brief conversation from yoga last month, and sent him our very first real text as Sam, as S.M.C., as everything in between.

Then I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Nothing ever came.