Page 52 of Becoming His Perfect Daddy
I’m glad you’re my Daddy.
Chapter fourteen
Sam
Mid-September
It’d been four weeks since Cameron and I had started our online Daddy/boy relationship, and I had officially fallen for him. I lived for every word he spoke, every moan he uttered, every response he sent. Everything was perfect.
Okay, notperfect, per se. With every virtual scene, my need to be in the same room with him while he followed my commands and lost control grew stronger, and now it was an ever-present itch clawing at the back of my brain almost constantly. But as much of a mindfuck as that was, my need to just be near him no matter what we were doing was becoming unbearable.
Not to mention the fact that every time I tried to talk about something real with him, he deflected and turned to sex. I mean, sure, sex was a big part of a kinky virtual relationship; I could concede that. And my amped-up libido since starting testosterone wasn’t complaining, either. But I felt like he was keeping me at arm’s length.
Still, I craved him. I had his number, so I could’ve—should’ve—sent him a message and asked him out for coffee or something. We’d met at a coffee shop, after all, so it might’ve passed as an acceptable first date for an author who wrote in them, too. And drank copious amounts while under a deadline, per his emails.
But something was holding me back.
At first, I’d blamed it on my transition. But my facial hair was growing in every day, and I’d been misgendered less and less in public. I’d started to see myself as a man when I looked at my face in the mirror. I’d even come out at work, and aside from a few snags—I’d only heard a couple of snide comments by transphobic coworkers, but leadership and HR had shut that down so fast and none of the instigators were employed at our firm any longer—I was feeling included, accepted, like I belonged there.
It didn’t hurt to have such a strong ally on my side, either. Alex could shut any shit down with just a look; I’d seen him do it.
I was passing fairly well now, thanks to the nine months of testosterone and my favorite binders—plus a whole host of other things like masculine clothing, relearned mannerisms, and a concerted effort to carry myself as the man I now was—so a coffee date should be safe. My periods had even stopped, thank all that’s holy. But what if he wanted to have sex? How could my body possibly be what he wanted? I could barely look at my naked chest in the mirror.
Dysphoria was a bitch.
So after mulling over my dilemma for weeks instead of the days it should’ve taken, I decided to finally seek out like-minded people, people who may have been able to understand what I was dealing with, perhaps even offer sound advice. So I’d opened the Daddy’s Boy app and found a transgender Daddy meetup nearby. Their monthly meeting was tonight.
Nerves swirled in my stomach as I adjusted my binder and the navy-blue button-up I’d chosen to wear over it. I went without binding this morning at work so I could wear it tonight; I’d heard enough horror stories online of people who’d done damage to their bodies by wearing one for too long to scare me off of wearing a binder past the recommended eight hours.
Tiny white unicorns with golden horns adorned the silky fabric of my shirt, and I loved to show my personality off in that way, a way that felt genuine. For so many years, without even knowing why, I’d hidden behind plain, dark clothes. I now knew I was hiding behind them, trying to conform to something that never felt right, something that made me feel incongruous, disingenuous.
My light-colored khakis balanced out the outfit, and my favorite brown leather boots and matching watch strap finished the look nicely. I’d bought them for myself for my birthday back in early December, not long after I figured out I was trans. They were well-worn now and looked all the better for it.
The night was too warm for my leather coat, so I’d leave that home.
I almost snagged a light sweater out of habit, but my internal temperature was much warmer since starting T, and I remembered I wouldn’t need it. I loved that I didn’t have to carry one around anymore.
Transitioning could cause so much stress, so I’d resolved to make mine all about finding joy in the little things. And there were so many little things to be grateful for.
I shook off my musings as I reached for my phone and wallet, pocketing both before heading for the door of my studio apartment, grabbing my keys, and riding the elevator down to the parking garage for my SUV.
***
I wasn’t sure what to expect when I walked into the meeting room at the neighborhood LGBTQ+ center, but instantly spotting two of the most good-looking men I’d ever seen at the front of the room wasn’t it. After staring for what was probably an inappropriate amount of time, I peeled my gaze away to take in the rest of the room.
Fifteen or twenty metal folding chairs were arranged in a semi-circle in the center of the room, and by the looks of how many people had shown up, I suspected they’d all be full. Since I had a few minutes before we were scheduled to start, I sidled up to the small refreshments table and dispensed some water into a paper cup. I sipped it as I turned to take in the room.
“Hi, I’m Oliver.” One of the attractive men I’d noticed when I came in, one with strawberry-blond hair, came up on my left, pouring himself a cup of coffee from a carafe.
“Sam.” I leaned against the table, surveying the room while he added cream and sugar to his cup.
“It’s good to meet you, Sam. This is your first time, right?”
I scratched the back of my neck. “Am I that obvious?”
Oliver turned to me as he stirred his drink then smirked before taking a sip. “Not at all. I’m the moderator here, so I’ve attended every meeting.”
I simply nodded, unsure what to say.
