I’d been in a horrible work accident and I’d lost my dick?”
That got exactly the reaction I’d been hoping for. Sam gaped at me before bursting out laughing.
“I’d ask what you did for a living.”
“I’m a high school principal,” I informed him. He’d missed the point, but the tension had been cut.
“Would you think me less of a man if I didn’t have my penis because of a work accident?”
“Of course not!”
“Then why would I think any less of you because you weren’t born with a penis attached to your
body?” At every turn, Sam amazed me. His earlier apprehension made sense now. He’d been scared
that being honest with me would send me running, but the exact opposite was true. It was nearly
impossible for me to keep from pulling him onto my lap so I could tell him it would all be okay.
I wouldn’t lie and tell him there wouldn’t be any adjustment period being with him, but I was
more intrigued now than before. It had nothing to do with what was or was not inside his jeans, but
the strength it took to not only live authentically, but to speak so frankly about his truth.
“You really mean that?” he asked, curling into a tight ball on his chair, arms pulling his knees to
his chest. “You don’t think I’m less of a man because I’m trans?”
“No, I don’t,” I responded firmly. And if we’d already come to an agreement about how our
relationship should look, I’d have threatened to spank him for saying such a thing. But that wasn’t
really fair, either. His fears were rooted in his past experiences, and the best way to show him how I
felt about him was to show him every day that he was special and worthy, and exactly how he was
meant to be.
It was impossible for me to not go to him. I carefully rounded the cocktail table between us,
crouching in front of him. I smiled when I held out my hands and he placed his in mine. “I’m so proud
of you for telling me. I hate that you felt you had to, but I get it. And I promise, if you give me a
chance, I won’t do anything to hurt you and I will never use this against you. When is the next night
you’re off work?”
“Monday, why?”
“Because I’d like to take you on a proper date,” I explained. “This is a bit of an unconventional
way to start a relationship, and I’d like the opportunity to properly court you.”
“I’m not some nineteenth century maiden,” Sam argued.
I gave in to the need to touch him. He smiled when I traced my thumb over his cheekbone. “I’m
