6. Sam

Ididn't know why I hadn't told Alex about my email exchanges with Cameron. Because there had been multiple. Even though our conversations were mostly anonymous and completely virtual, I felt like I was getting to know him as a person. And reality was even better than I'd imagined.

I definitely had a crush.

"Have you finished The Prince's Rule yet?"

My work bestie laughed as he spun in his office chair to face me. "For the fifteenth time, not yet. Chill, dude. I will soon." Alex called everyone dude, and I freaking loved it directed at me.

I shrugged. "Well, I'm excited to talk about it. It's my favorite book. So sue me."

Alex's smile turned kind. "I get it—I know how much you enjoy his books."

My forehead scrunched. "Enjoy. Love. Obsess over. Sure." I glanced around, seeing no one nearby. "How far did you get?"

Alex's brown curls flopped as he cocked his head to one side and scrunched his forehead. "Stephen just snuck into Rafael's bedroom."

I squealed. Quietly. Because work. "Oh, shit, it's about to get good."

He smirked. "I don't doubt it. I'm starting to get a feel for his writing, and I know something hot is about to go down." He narrowed his eyes at me. "I'm right, aren't I?"

I wiggled my eyebrows. "Maybe." What I didn't tell him was that Rafael catches Stephen in his enormous royal bedroom in a modern-day castle and makes Stephen strip for him, then Rafael spanks him for trespassing before fucking him into the king-sized mattress. It was one of my favorite sex scenes of all time, and I was jealous Alex would get to experience it for the first time.

Alex just rolled his eyes at my antics.

I clasped my hands in front of me and clutched my chest before letting out a dramatic sigh. "I love our unofficial book club."

He snorted as he turned back to his computer, taking a second to scan and archive the email that had just come in. I'd been copied on it, too. Nothing critical. "It's true. I swear you got me hooked on his novels just so we could talk books between projects at work."

I grinned shamelessly as I cleared my inbox, too. "Guilty. I am nefarious—I mean, brilliant—like that."

He scoffed, but his tone was prim. "You are brilliant, and I actually do have to thank you. I've found so many new favorite authors thanks to your recommendations. In fact, I've shared the brilliance—Christian is into them now, too."

I gasped appropriately at the mention of his brother. "Isn't he straight?"

Alex nodded, a wide grin on his face. "As a ruler. Been married to Ginny for . . . um . . . like thirteen years now?" He furrowed his brow. "Yup, thirteen. No kids in sight, though. Hm."

I stared at him. Something in his tone . . . "You think he's in the closet?"

He bit his lip, tilting his head as he considered it. "Maybe? But who am I to judge? At forty-two, Christian can live his life how he wants to. And if he wants to read about men getting down and dirty and falling in love—which we both know is the shit—I say more power to him."

"Aren't his classes usually full of gay men, too?" I'd been to several of the yoga classes he taught at his studio and had witnessed it firsthand, after all.

Alex laughed, a little too loudly. "They do seem to love ogling my brother. A yoga studio is not a bad place to do so, I suppose."

I couldn't disagree. Besides, Alex's brother was definitely easy on the eyes. I'd actually admired him from afar during said classes—not that I'd ever tell Alex that.

After a minute had passed and I didn't hear anything else, I glanced over at him. My chest clenched as he stared, unblinking, at his screen. "Alex, what is it? What's going on?"

He blinked at my words then slowly turned to me. "Sam . . ."

Okay, now I was worried. I swallowed around a huge lump in my throat. "Alex, tell me. What's wrong?"

His eyes caught mine, and I swear I could feel my heart pounding against my ribs. "Have you looked at C.L. Masterson's socials today?"

My stomach dropped. I hadn't had time before work to read the newsletter he'd sent this morning or even hop on social media. "No, why?"

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath. "Pull it up."

I snatched my phone and opened my favorite social media app, the one Cameron was most active on, quickly clicked over to his profile, and tapped on his most recent post. And my heart dropped to my shoes.

Shit.

Cameron's most recent post was a full-fledged, profuse apology rife with self-recrimination. He was postponing his next release indefinitely, and he was clearly beating himself up about it. God, the language he was using broke my heart. Things like "I'm the worst person for doing this" and "I am so sorry I couldn't manage to actually write like a writer is supposed to." I just wanted to give him a long hug and cook him a comforting meal before chastising him for the way he was referring to himself then giving him a thorough spanking so he'd never talk about himself that way again.

Wait, what?

I blinked unseeing at my phone, feeling like my world had been flipped upside down for a second time in just a few months. What the hell did that reaction mean?

Of course, I was attracted to Cameron. And I'd even suspected he was a boy given the types of books he wrote, but to think . . .

No, I couldn't be . . .

It just didn't make sense that I . . .

Wait—was I a . . .

I couldn't even think the word, but my existence had fundamentally changed at the thought.

Realizing I was trans was big enough, and a top at that, but a . . . a . . . a Daddy, too?

But just as my trans revelation had, this felt right, a deep knowing that settled in my bones the minute I'd started to accept it.

I was a Daddy. And I wanted to be his.

"Sam? You okay?"

I shook my head to clear it then eked out, "Uh, yeah, I'm good. My brain went someplace else." I blinked a few times before looking over at him. "Sorry."

He smiled gently and waved me off. "It's fine. Happens when you get old."

"Hey!" I threw back, a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. "I'm not even forty yet."

"Just two more years," he quipped with a wink.

"Shut it, jerk. You're not far behind me."

He raised a single finger into the air. "Oh, but I am behind you, thank you very much. And that's what counts."

I smirked, unable to resist that setup. "And here I thought you were a bottom?"

We had very few secrets between us.

He gasped dramatically, playing aghast as only he could complete with a flying hand to his chest, but I only snickered, thankful he'd teased me out of my stupor.

"Just for that, I may forbid you from reading Cameron's next book, whenever it comes out."

One of his eyebrows raised. He knew I was jealous that he could do that, the asshole. "Cameron? Are we referring to him by his first name now?"

The shit-eating grin that spread across my face made my cheeks hurt. "Yup."

Alex shook his head. "I swear you have a crush on the guy."

I swallowed, turning to stare at my computer screen a little too intently. "I don't even know him."

"Ha!" he cried. "You do! I knew it."

I waved him off without looking his way. The words on the unfinished press release I had open on my screen were all blending together, but he didn't have to know that. I felt his gaze on me while I tried to focus. After a few long seconds, I started to edit the words on the page, adding a comma here, changing a word there, accepting—but more often, rejecting—spellcheck's suggestions. I got so deep into it that I'd almost forgotten about Alex's too-true assertion. And about my revelation prior.

But then my coworker bestie broke the comfortable silence between us. "So have you read any of Teresa Quincy's books?"

I gasped, whipping my head toward him. "Yes, oh my god! I love her books!" She'd made her name in the Daddy/boy romance world, and her books were on the hardcore end of the spectrum. "But aren't they, like . . . too kinky"—I whispered the word—"for you?"

His eyebrow wiggle made me want to snicker, which was completely inappropriate work behavior. "As you well know, you can't swing a cat in the gay romance world without hitting a Daddy book. The Daddy/boy book of Cameron's you recommended was intriguing, so I may have found one or two on my own. And the rest, as they say, is history."

I couldn't let that one slip by without poking at it. "One or two?"

Now he blushed, just a little. "One or two . . . dozen."

I gasped.

"What? They're good! And the D/b rabbit hole is deep, dude."

"Well, I know that, but I didn't know you did!"

He grinned. "Now you do."

I exhaled dramatically. "Wow. You think you know a person . . ."

He kicked the air between us. "Give it a rest. We both know you love Daddy romances just as much as I do. Probably even more."

My grin was wide. "True story." We both cracked up at that. Quietly, of course. This was still work. Speaking of . . . I launched into a workload update in preparation for our trip next week to a client's office in southern California. Alex confirmed he was still set to go and offered to do a final virtual prep session with me tomorrow afternoon after we'd finalized everything.

"Sure," I offered. "Just send me a meeting with a link. I'm working from home tomorrow, as usual."

He eyed me as he started clicking away, no doubt scheduling that meeting. "Same." My computer dinged a few seconds later with the meeting notification. I quickly accepted it, then we both dove back into work.

My mind kept swirling with everything we'd talked about as we worked—including my suspected Daddy inclinations that I would most definitely be researching when I got home tonight—and the things we hadn't, like my emails to Cameron. I wasn't ready to share my suspicions about being a Daddy with Alex, since I would need time to work that out in my head, but maybe it was time to share more of myself with him, the guy who'd become my best friend and helped me be brave enough to start to create the life I wanted.

Maybe it was time to come out. To him, anyway.

But not here. "Hey, man, you wanna grab a drink after work? Friendly Mike's?"

Alex scoffed. "You know I'm always down for happy hour at Friendly Mike's. Though I wish they'd come up with a better name."

I chuckled as I scanned my inbox. "As long as they keep serving half-price drinks on Thursdays, I'll go no matter what they call the place."

He toasted an imaginary drink in the air between us. "Amen, dude."

***

Five o'clock came and went, but we managed to wrap everything up by six fifteen. Thankfully, happy hour went until seven.

"Ready to go?" I asked as I grabbed my coat.

Alex nodded. "Yeah. I actually took the train in, so I'm good to get as drunk as you'd like."

"Same. We can grab dinner, too."

His mouth dropped open. "I can't believe you just assumed I don't have a hot date tonight."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Do you?"

He huffed as he shrugged his coat on. "Obviously not. My love life is as exciting as yours."

I ignored the pang in my chest at his words. He didn't know the extent of my love-life troubles, just that I basically didn't have one, so I knew he didn't mean anything by it. But it still hurt, just a little.

That pang was familiar at this point. Over the past few months, it had happened with frequency, every time someone called me Samantha, referred to me as she or her, or otherwise addressed my assumed gender. It wasn't their fault—they didn't know—but again, it hurt just the same.

Which was why I had to tell someone. Alex was the obvious choice, and I knew he'd be my greatest ally as I started the process of socially transitioning. Which might have been more nerve-wracking than the physical transition, honestly. I couldn't know how everyone would react.

We got to the bar in time to order a first and second round of dark lagers at happy-hour prices, our drink of choice on nights like this. When we were sufficiently buzzed, I decided it was now or never.

"Alex," I started, pulling his attention away from the cute bartender behind the bar. He'd shamelessly flirted with Alex when he'd grabbed our second round, so I couldn't blame him. He was obviously into dudes, and given that and his short brown hair, clean-shaven killer jawline, slender build, and an ass that wouldn't quit meant I was into him. But he didn't give me a second glance, per usual. I couldn't blame him.

No one talked about how everything felt off-kilter to a transgender person while they were figuring things out.

"Hm?" Ever the attentive friend, Alex turned to me. His gaze was still strong, despite the beer, so now was the perfect time.

I swallowed hard. "I wanted to talk to you about something. Something personal, if that's okay."

His forehead scrunched as his eyes turned curious. He placed his hand on mine on the table. "Of course, Sam." I loved that he used my preferred nickname. No one else did, and he'd asked for it without me even saying anything. "I'm always here to listen, you know that."

I nodded once, then, after a moment's hesitation, I took another drink of my warming beer.

"Sam? You're scaring me a little. What's going on?"

I locked onto his gaze. My pulse was pounding in my ears. My heart was racing. I was probably sweating like crazy.

And then I just spit it out. "I'm transgender. Trans-masc, specifically. FTM, female to male. That is to say . . . My name is Sam, and my pronouns are he/him."

I watched as he processed the information for a few infinite seconds before responding. Then a slight smile tugged at his lips, and in the next instant, he pulled me in for a hug. "Dude, that's amazing. Thanks for telling me, for trusting me with it."

When we pulled away, I searched his gaze. "You're not acting very surprised."

His smile widened. "I suspected. I'm very observant, as you know." He flipped imaginary hair off his shoulder.

I chuckled, feeling some of the tension I'd been holding on to all day lessening. "And it's okay?"

"Oh, love, of course it's okay. Better than okay—it's incredible. I'm so proud of you for figuring it out and owning it. Can I ask how you knew? And when?"

I nodded, the rest of my tension bleeding away as I spoke. "That's sort of a funny story . . ."

I let my voice trail off. I'd been dying to tell someone, and Alex was the perfect candidate. But I kinda wanted to hear him beg.

He didn't disappoint. "What? You have to tell me, man!"

His instant acceptance meant the world to me. I wasn't na?ve enough to think I would get this kind of reaction from everyone, but a . . . a guy—that still sounded weird in my head—could hope. "Okay. So you know Cameron's last book? Jay and Jesse's story?"

Alex was nodding profusely. He'd been obsessed with it since I recommended it to him months ago—I thought he'd even reread it since then. "Of course! It was so swoony. The way Jesse took Jay in hand was—oh, sorry. You know you shouldn't get me started on that particular C.L. Masterson book. Okay." He raised a hand between us and twisted his wrist. "Continue."

I chuckled. "Reading that book made everything fall into place. I saw myself in Jesse, and for the first time, a whole lot of things made sense. Like all these disparate pieces of my life had shifted into alignment and everything was suddenly clear. I knew then that I was a dude."

He smiled slightly before his brows furrowed. "So that tracks. The masc wardrobe, the hair, the appointment with your therapist—"

"Hey! That was private. How did you know about that?"

"Nothing sneaky, I promise!" He held up his hands. "I just happened to glance over when you were mapping the route. No one else was around to see, I promise. I'm proud of you for doing that, by the way."

I nodded, the little kickstart to my heart from his mini-revelation finally settling. "Well, yes, now that you brought it up, I have been seeing a gender-affirming therapist. Insurance companies like ours—hell, even some doctors—require a letter or two of support from a therapist confirming a history of gender dysphoria before they'll consider me a candidate for top surgery. And I've already started hormone replacement therapy."

"I thought your voice was getting a little deeper." Alex slumped back in his seat before reaching for his beer and taking a sip. "But damn. That's a lot for you to go through, man."

I nodded, finishing off my beer.

"May I ask a question? And if it's too personal or insensitive, please tell me to fuck off."

I smirked. "Not a problem."

"Why do you think it took you this long to figure it out? Don't most transgender people know early on that they're trans?"

My head was shaking before he stopped talking. I'd mulled over this many times since my revelation. "My take? Everyone comes to things in their own time. Given the way I was raised, it doesn't surprise me that it took me this long to dig through all the layers of bullshit and programming to find my true self. Though I subconsciously realized something was different deep inside me my whole life, I didn't have a name for it. I wasn't even aware that transgender people existed."

There was that eyebrow again. "The way you were raised?"

Oh, right. I'd never told him much about my childhood, just an extremely vague overview. He only knew it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. "You've got some time?"

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, glancing at it before setting it on the table. He huffed out a humorless laugh. "I've got nowhere to be."

I snickered. "Okay, let's get some dinner ordered, then we'll settle in. But brace yourself. This is where shit gets weird."

***

We spent the next few hours rehashing my childhood. My parents were extremely religious growing up—still were—and were on the fundamental, conservative side of things. Which meant that being gay was "bad," men dressed as women were "unnatural," and transgender men just didn't exist. I attributed much of my ignorance about my own gender identity to that fact—I hadn't known being transgender was an option for me. I had no point of reference to explain why things had always felt a little off, even if I hadn't always recognized that feeling for what it was.

Now I did, and there was no going back.

That didn't mean I was looking forward to coming out to my family. I thought my brother and sister would most likely be supportive—they'd both deconstructed the way we were raised in varying degrees over the years, just like I had, and they had walked away from most of it—but my parents were another matter entirely. Being disowned wasn't out of the question, and I was bracing myself for that.

But I wasn't interested in keeping myself small for someone else any longer.

"Man," Alex breathed after most of the bar had cleared out. "That's tough. But what you said makes so much sense—no wonder you didn't figure it out until now."

I nodded solemnly, our fourth round—the second after dinner—warming on the table. "Yeah. It's like a curtain has been lifted. I never even questioned it before, but now having a chest feels wrong. This short hair? It's a huge change, but it also just feels right. Like I finally stripped away a piece of myself I hadn't known was fake. Does that make sense?"

"Totally."

I sipped my beer. "You know, the way women are treated in fundamentalism is so unfair. My parents assumed I was a woman because of my assigned gender at birth, so I was raised to be submissive, lesser than. I was implicitly—sometimes explicitly—told to keep quiet, to defer to men to make the important decisions. My life goal was supposed to be to get a good husband, so I was bred—okay, that word is gross but pretty accurate—to be as attractive to men as possible. And because I've always been into dudes, I didn't question that part. Any of it, really."

"What the fuck?"

"Yup." I popped the P. I wasn't drunk, but my favorite lager had definitely loosened my lips. "Hell, even the fact that I stopped wearing makeup a few years ago wasn't received well because it was somehow considered less attractive. But it felt amazing. That probably should've tipped me off. That and a whole host of other things."

We shared a chuckle.

"But the whole submissive thing never felt right. I've always had a masculine, dominant energy—why is pretty obvious now—so I resented the hell out of it. I'm only now realizing that being submissive isn't me. That's what's so fucked up: I lived most of my life backing off, staying silent, all so some old egotistical cishet white men could feel good about their tiny dicks."

Alex choked on his beer, launching into a coughing fit. "Holy hell," he sputtered when he found his voice.

I grinned.

Then he laughed. "I couldn't have said that better myself. Amen, brother." He raised his glass for a toast, which I languidly returned.

"It's all a mind fuck, growing up the way I did. Because of how I was raised—self-hatred being a big part of it, good intentions of the adults in my life or not—I have some internalized transphobia to work through. It all just sucks, and relatively, I'm one of the lucky ones. But religion shouldn't make you a worse person—it should make you better. It should be about making humans better humans, making them kinder to others. Helping other humans thrive. But that hasn't been my experience."

Alex shook his head, joviality gone. "I can see that." He took a breath, staring at me closely. "How can I support you?"

I shrugged, considering it. "I'm not sure. Just listening is enough right now."

His hand landed on my shoulder. "I'm happy to do it. But whatever you need, I'm here for you, dude. I hope you know that."

I nodded, fighting back tears. "Thanks, man. I do."

He nodded once, then we finished our drinks in companionable silence.

Until I broke it. "Oh! I didn't tell you. There's more."

His eyes widened comically. "What?"

I grinned. "I emailed him."

He blinked at the abrupt change of subject. "Who?"

"Cameron."

He squealed. The cute bartender had been sent home hours ago, and only the scruffy owner—presumably Friendly Mike, though his demeanor suggested he was anything but—looked up at his outburst. Alex turned in his seat, intentionally ignoring the man's stern glare. "OMG! What did you say?"

I took a breath. "I told him that his book changed my life. Thanked him for writing his books. Told him how much I loved his writing. Tried to encourage him to keep going."

"Damn, dude! Baller move."

I cringed. "You don't think it was a bad idea?"

"Reaching out to the guy you so obviously have a crush on? Absolutely not."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't refute his claim. "Okay, okay. It hasn't gone anywhere; we've just exchanged emails a few times. Had a conversation. We're conversing, that's all."

Alex shook his head indulgently. "Whatever you say, man."

"It can't go anywhere anyway," I mumbled under my breath.

His eyes shot to mine. "And why the hell not?"

I loved that he was so appalled on my behalf. "You know, this." I waved a hand down my body. "He's gay."

"And you're a dude."

I froze, his words hitting me in the gut. "I . . . what . . ."

His hand landed on mine gently. "Is this the internalized transphobia you were referring to?"

I blinked, slowly coming out of my trance. "Um, maybe?" I cleared my throat. "I still misgender myself sometimes. Then I hate myself for doing it afterward."

"Can I give you some advice?"

I nodded slowly.

"I know I'm not trans, but I have been around the block a time or two with my own internalized homophobia. So I imagine that living your life as a woman—as the wrong gender—for thirty-eight years is going to leave scars. You have to unlearn an entire way of thinking. Give yourself grace through the process, dude. You owe it to your future self—and your younger self, to be honest."

I couldn't help the tear that escaped down my cheek. "Thanks, man. Really. I needed to hear that."

He squeezed my hand with a smile, but then his eyebrows furrowed, and I knew he had more to say. "So what you said about not being submissive . . ."

Where was he going with this? "Yeah?"

"Nothing bad, it just got me thinking. Do you think you might be a Dom? Or even a Daddy?"

I blushed, feeling like Alex had reached into my brain and extracted my thoughts from earlier today. "Um, maybe? I just started considering it when I saw Cameron's post today, actually."

"Let me guess: You wanted to wrap him in your arms then punish him for talking so badly about himself, right?"

My mouth dropped open. "How the hell did you know that?"

He grinned widely. "Little-known fact: Despite having what some might consider boy-like characteristics and being a bottom, I'm actually a Daddy myself."

I smiled back. "Really?"

Still grinning, he pulled out his phone, unlocked it, and held up the home page, pointing to an app. "Download this. The app is called Daddy's Boy. It's a relationship app, sure, but they have a tab where you can find meetups with other Daddies or boys in your area, depending on where you fall on the spectrum."

He tapped open the app and turned his phone back to me. I was shocked to see a long list of a variety of in-person and virtual meetups in and around Seattle.

"Word is the creator lives in the area, which is probably why there are so many meetups in Seattle."

I just nodded, swiping down the list. A few caught my eye, which I'd be sure to check out later, when I was alone.

"My suggestion? Create an account, do some exploring. Given how well-thought-out this app is, their website probably has trustworthy resources about Daddy kink, too."

I exhaled. "Thanks, that's a great idea."

"Good." Alex grinned then tapped his phone. "Damn! It's almost midnight. I need to get home and get some beauty sleep."

I gave a teary chuckle. "We both know you're beautiful no matter how much sleep you get."

He gave a resolute nod as we stood and crossed to the bar to close our tabs. "Damn straight. And don't you forget it."