Page 16 of Becoming His Perfect Daddy
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 wasa 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 worseperson—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.”
