Wish On A Star

I met Lance on Grindr. We've become very close. He doesn't know I'm a trans guy yet. When do you bring up something like that?

Brady has been longing to meet that special guy. One he can call his boyfriend. One he can cuddle with on the sofa—fall in love.

He thinks he has found that person in Lance, a guy he met over Grindr. They have spent weeks texting and talking on the phone, sharing all aspects of their lives—except one.

Brady hasn’t told Lance he’s trans. He’s afraid that will be a deal-breaker, but his feelings for Lance have grown exponentially. When should he tell him?

The two finally meet on their first real date together. Brady decides to rip the bandage off and tells Lance the truth. How Lance reacts is beyond what Brady imagined.

What does the future hold for them? Is there one?

---

I was as nervous as hell. No exaggeration. I hadn’t been on a first date in years. Not since before my transition. Going on a date as a bona fide guy was going to be nerve-wracking.

Circling through my section of the restaurant, I made sure everyone had what they needed. Three couples were finishing up, a group of four were content to continue drinking, and another four tables were waiting on food. It was a busy night. I had my hands full.

My mind wandered back to my date tomorrow night. I met Lance on Grindr. After a few weeks of texting and phone calls, he asked to meet me. The thought gave me butterflies in my stomach. He didn’t know I was trans yet. When did you bring up something like that?

I lifted my tray over my head to get past a group of people headed to the restroom. I was closing tonight. The plan was to crash when I got home. Sleep until one in the afternoon tomorrow, then get ready for my date. We were headed to Chez Louis Trattoria. It was a bit of an expense for a first date, but we had established a great rapport. This was hopefully leading somewhere.

I wasn’t looking for a one-night stand—a quick hookup. I was searching for long-term. I wanted a boyfriend—a real one. One I could cuddle with on the sofa and watch movies. Someone comfortable. Not someone I needed to impress every single day.

Although I was no slouch. I took care of myself.

Four days a week in the gym had turned my curvy, feminine body into one sculpted with muscle. I stroked my short beard. Even that had come in nicely. I had been on hormones for five years already. I’d had chest surgery two years after starting them. My chest was lean and sleek. I had splurged on tattoos on my chest last year to cover the scar lines.

“Brady.” I turned to my manager.

Now what?

“What can I help you with?” I tried to smile. My manager was a pain in the ass. No idea what he was doing. Spent most of his time in his office rather than helping out on the floor.

“Table six’s drinks are almost empty.”

“They said that was their last round.”

My manager scowled. “Go ask anyway.”

I sighed. Right … push the damned alcohol. Sometimes I felt like a pimp, shoving temptations at innocent bystanders. No empty glasses allowed. That was an unofficial restaurant policy.

I wandered over and asked if they wanted another round. They hesitated for a moment, then ordered their fourth set of drinks. I would have to cut them off at some point, regardless of what my manager said. That same manager would have my head, and I would lose my job if the restaurant lost its liquor license for overserving.

I rang the order into the computer and presented the chit to the bartender. One of the food runners was serving one of my tables. I checked to make sure I had already brought the cutlery. I was supposed to bring it as soon as they had placed their order.

I remembered.

Serving was fairly new to me. I had a degree in psychology, but that hadn’t landed me any work. My roommate had suggested I apply to the same restaurant where she worked. I had begrudgingly agreed. They had only taken me on because of my roommate’s recommendation. I had some food service experience, but the restaurant needed to train me in serving.

I was damned lucky to have a job. The economy wasn’t good. Although the restaurant was busy tonight, it wasn’t always like that. Sometimes the tips barely covered the cost of my staff meal. Busy nights like tonight, I stood to take home a couple of hundred bucks. It was close to the end of the night, and I had sold almost two thousand three hundred dollars. If I kept it up, I would be a contender for the employee of the month title.

I rolled my eyes. Such an accomplishment. Despite how hard I worked, my parents were not impressed with me. They had spent a lot of money on my education. And then halfway through my degree, I had gone and transitioned. It wasn’t a total surprise to them. I had insisted I was a boy for as long as I could remember. It was the fact that I was a guy and gay that freaked them out.

My parents were worried about me. I get it. Why make my life more difficult than I had already made it? But talking to someone like Lance cemented my sexual identity as gay. I had no interest in women. Men were what I wanted—what I craved.

Body and mind.

All my tables now have their food. It was just a matter of keeping their drinks topped up and waiting for my other tables to leave. We weren’t seating any more guests.

I sipped on my Sprite, jiggling the ice with my straw. It wouldn’t be long until I could take a pee break. I tried not to drink too much on shift, but all that running around made me thirsty. Breaks, while there were guests in the restaurant, were out of the question unless it was an emergency. I would be eating my staff meal cold. I had to order it before the kitchen closed and sneak bites off it while I was working. Often, any fries I ordered would be depleted each time I went back to get some. The other servers had a habit of absconding with them.

Such was my life. Cold food and late nights. The only reprieve was my nights off, when I could cook my own food. I often opted to order out or endeavored to prepare a meal kit. Tonight, a staff meal of macaroni and cheese and popcorn prawns. Two things I didn’t mind cold. I couldn’t get a burger down. Too much congealed hamburger grease.

One-thirty in the morning, and the night finally came to an end. I said goodnight to the last guests, locked the doors, and breathed a sigh of relief. I still had another fifty minutes of work to do. The manager wouldn’t be as lucky. He would likely be here until three.

It was just the bartender out front and me. Derek, the bartender, and I had fun. A little banter went a long way to alleviate the boredom of tidying up and restocking. I ran the last tray of glasses through the dishwasher. Derek would have to stay until he put them all away.

After finishing my cleanup, I started my cash out. Most of the checks had been paid with debit and credit cards. I wouldn’t be getting any cash from tips until at least tomorrow. I took my percentage from the cash I did have. It was enough to get me home at least.

Finally, free to go, I called a cab.

The ride home was quiet, the driver not the talkative type. Not that we had much to say to one another. I had been in this particular cab with this particular driver so many times that we were all talked out. Fifteen minutes later, I was fighting with my keys to get into my apartment.

My roommate was asleep, so I slunk in as quietly as I could. I was still hyper from my shift. My usual routine was to climb into bed, watch a show on Netflix on my laptop, take a few drags off a joint, curl up, and go to sleep. Five nights a week, it was the same thing.

At least my life had routine.

The sun streaming through my window woke me up, and then the smell of coffee. I rolled over and looked at my phone. Seven-thirty in the bloody morning. I had forgotten to close my curtains and to turn on my white noise machine last night.

My roommate worked day shifts at the restaurant. She didn’t make as much money as I did, but she wasn’t as stressed as I was most nights. She was up and about, doing her thing.

I turned away from the window and tucked my face into my pillow. I was too tired to get up and close my curtains.

Sleep swept over me, and I didn’t wake up again until my alarm went off at one. I had the whole day to get ready for my date. I would start by lazing around in bed, checking Instagram and TikTok. Then head for the coffee pot. After that, I would go to the gym, get my muscles nice and pumped for tonight. I had the perfect shirt to wear. Short sleeves, button-down—black.

I looked hot in it.

I went to get changed for the trip to the gym. I hauled on some briefs and positioned my prosthetic penis down the front, making sure it looked as natural as possible. Without it, my tight shorts would have given me away. Granted, the silicone would get sweaty from the workout, but I could swap it out later. I had plenty of other options.

I was preoccupied throughout my workout, thinking about Lance and when and how I was going to break it to him that I was trans. We had already established he was all for trans rights in one of our conversations. That was a huge hurdle crossed off the list. Still, it was one thing to talk about trans rights. It was another thing entirely being presented with a prosthetic cock.

The apartment was quiet when I returned. My roommate must have gone out after work. Probably groceries. We were running short on milk and a few other things. I dropped my gym bag and headed for the shower. The hot water soothed the muscles I had worked on today.

It was coming up on five-thirty when I checked my phone again. I had entertained myself by watching another movie. Lance and I had decided to meet for dinner at six. Lance was an elementary school teacher and needed to be up early in the morning.

I took one last look at myself in the mirror. I had shaved my beard down to just stubble. It made more of a statement. I was pleased with the way I looked. My mom often told me I was handsome. But then she was biased. The only thing backing that up were the compliments I received on Grindr. Apparently, I was a catch in the looks department. After months of being on the app, the attention finally gave me enough confidence to move forward with someone.

And now, I got to meet him in person.

---

I pulled open the door of Chez Louis Trattoria and was greeted by a cold gust of air. Air conditioning. Perfect. The last thing I needed was to sweat through my shirt. I was nervous enough as it was without having to worry about sweat stains. I spotted Lance at the far end of the dining room, sipping on a glass of wine. He had already ordered a bottle. I was fine with that. I had told him I wasn’t the best at wine pairing. Wasn’t even sure what I liked.

“Brady.” Lance rose to his feet as I approached, a brilliant smile dancing on his face. “So nice to finally meet you.” He reached for my hand. The handshake seemed awkward after we had shared so much about ourselves over the past few weeks.

One night, in particular, stood out to me … when we had fallen asleep after talking on the phone for hours, and I had awoken to the sound of him snoring on the other end of the line.

“You as well.” I brushed my hand down the front of my shirt, reassuring myself that all was as it should be. “This is great.” I looked around as I took a seat across from Lance. I looked at him properly for the first time since I had entered the dining room. The pictures on his profile and the ones he had sent me did not do him justice. He was gorgeous. Dark hair and deep brown eyes.

“This is my first time here,” he said.

I swallowed. “Me too.”

“Wine?” Lance lifted the bottle and hovered it over my glass. “It’s a Pinot Grigio. I think you’ll like it.” I was glad he remembered I didn’t like red wine.

“Sure.” I nodded my head. My mind was occupied elsewhere. On the trans thing again. I felt like I was leading Lance on. Now that we had seen each other in person, the spark of attraction I had felt between us over the phone was firing on all pistons back and forth across the table.

“You work today?” he asked.

“Mm …” I took a sip of wine and shook my head. “No … last night.”

“Good shift?”

“Manageable.” I drained a bit more of the wine from my glass. “How was school today? Any rebellions or outright mutinies?”

“No, everyone was well behaved. Standard fare for a Tuesday. They’ve all pretty much settled in for the week. Grade three is a challenging age.”

“Aren’t all ages?”

Lance laughed. “I wouldn’t want to be teaching teenagers, that’s for sure.”

“Agreed.” I flipped open the menu and perused my options. It was one of those restaurants that didn’t bother to include the prices. Like it wasn’t supposed to matter how much anything cost. We would be splitting the bill. Even though Lance had asked me out, I wouldn’t budge on that.

I decided to throw caution to the wind, price-wise, and selected the Cioppino Livornese. I loved shellfish. The mix of white fish, mussels, prawns, clams, and scallops sounded amazing.

“Same for me,” Lance told the server. He poured me another glass of wine. I was on my way to being tipsy. I must have been grinning at Lance because he laughed and winked at me.

The flutters went straight through to my groin. Talk about being hot and bothered. Lance was warming me up in all the right places. He wasn’t just a nice guy—he was amazing.

We spent the next twenty minutes talking about everything. Our childhoods, schooling … aspirations. Fears—passions. I felt a connection with him right down to my toes. I nearly passed out when Lance reached across the table and took my hand.

“Is this all right?” he asked.

I looked around at our fellow diners. No one appeared to be taking any notice. A quiet, whispered, “Yes,” escaped my lips.

“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, but I don’t believe in hiding who I am.”

“Me either.” I squeezed his hand as my stomach sank. I felt like such a hypocrite. What if he wanted tonight’s dinner to lead to more … what then? When did I tell him?

“Uhm …” I cleared my throat. “There’s something I need to tell you before this goes any further.” I clung tight to his hand. “I really like you.”

“I really like you too.” Lance’s brows furrowed. I had obviously confused the crap out of him. Such a big lead-up just to tell him I liked him. I leaned back as our plates arrived. It could wait until after we finished our meal. I was starving. Confessions could wait.

Every last morsel went into my mouth. Lance’s too. We even swapped a few pieces of each other’s dinner when we discovered our favorite shellfish were different from one another.

Lance poured the last of the bottle into our glasses.

“I want to backtrack.” I lifted the glass to my lips but didn’t drink. I set the glass back down. “When I said I liked you … I meant it. But there’s something I need to tell you.”

Lance smiled. “Are you going to tell me you’re not gay because that would definitely ruin my night. I was thinking we could extend this date another few hours back at my place.”

A shy smile lifted my lips. “I would like that.”

“So, what’s this big announcement you want to make?”

My heart was thundering around in my chest, making it difficult to hear. My palms were sweating—my underarms were dripping despite the cool air. I felt nauseous.

Best to just rip the bandage off.

I looked up at him. “I’m trans.”

Silence followed. Complete, utter, terrifying silence. Lance lifted his napkin from his lap, folded it, and set it on his plate. His gaze left mine, and he stared down at his hands.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“When? When should I have told you? We were just getting to know one another.”

“From the start.” He looked up at me. There was a hint of anger, but mostly confusion in his eyes. “It should have been on your profile.”

I knew that. I knew that—but I had convinced myself that any guy I talked to—wouldn’t lead to anything. Finding Lance had caught me totally by surprise.

There was only one thing to say. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” His eyes softened. “I really like you.” He fiddled with his napkin. “This really sucks. I thought we were going to hook up tonight. I really wanted to be with you.”

I motioned to the server for my check. There was nothing else to say. I learned a hard lesson tonight. Next time, I would be upfront about my gender identity. There was every likelihood that it would bring all the FTM trans fetish guys to the forefront, but I would never put myself in this position again; falling for a guy and then losing him because I didn’t have a real cock.

I wiped at a tear forming in the corner of my eye, then passed the debit machine back to the server. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Lance didn’t say a word as I got up and left.

The buzzing woke me up. I had turned my phone on mute, but it was vibrating under my pillow. It was still dark, so I checked the time. Two-thirty in the morning.

Who in the bloody hell?

I looked at the call display.

It was Lance.

I took a deep breath and answered.

“Yes?”

It took a moment for Lance to speak. “Please don’t hate me.”

“Why would I hate you? I’m the one who screwed up.”

“I didn’t react well.”

“You reacted as well as can be expected.”

More silence. “But I really like you.”

I rolled over in bed and made myself comfortable. I wasn’t sure where Lance was going with this, but I was open to talking to him about it.

“What do you need to know?”

“So … you were born a girl.”

“Right.”

“But now you’re a guy.”

“I always knew I was a guy. It just took me a while to get there—physically.”

“You took hormones.”

“Take. It’s a lifelong commitment.”

“And you like guys … you’re gay?”

“That’s right. No inclination toward women at all.”

Another pause. “Are you happy?”

“Without measure.”

A deep sigh drifted through the phone at me.

“What if I told you I’m willing to try?”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to see you again.”

Those words—my heart was in my throat, making it difficult to breathe.

“Yes … yes, I’d like that.” I played with the edge of my pillowcase. “But are you sure?”

“Brady, I really—really like you. I want to see you.”

“When?”

“Tonight. I want to see you tonight.”

“I thought you had to work in the morning.”

“I’ll call in sick.”

The sound of sheets rustling caught my attention. He was calling me from his bed. I longed to be there with him. “Where do you want to meet?”

“I’ll come to you.”

“You’ll need my address.” There was definite movement now. I sat up in bed as Lance put me on speakerphone. I could hear him pulling on his clothes.

“Text it to me.”

I looked down at my phone and texted him my address, including instructions not to ring the intercom, as it would wake up my roommate.

“See you in fifteen.” Lance’s voice sounded soft—seductive. It was a tone I hadn’t heard him use before. There was affection behind it—for me. I didn’t dare imagine what it meant.

I tidied my room and pulled some sweatpants on over my briefs. I couldn’t decide whether to put in a prosthetic. My silicone penis went back and forth in and out of my underwear until I decided it needed to be there. I put on a thin white t-shirt and fixed my hair in the mirror.

My phone dinged—a text message from Lance. He had arrived and was waiting outside. I locked up and ran downstairs to let him into the building. He looked pensive as he watched me approach the door, as if he was unsure of what he had decided.

When I opened the door, though, a smile spread across his face. He followed me up the stairs, keeping his distance as I unlocked the door and invited him in. We had to be quiet, so I led him down to my bedroom and shut the door. I would have offered him something to drink, but that would have been ridiculous. It was late. And I wasn’t entirely sure why he was here.

Lance sat on the edge of my bed.

“I needed to see you.” His gaze wandered over me. “I needed to know how I felt.”

I sat down beside him. “Felt about what?”

“Felt about you.” Lance reached up and touched my cheek. “We’ve spent so much time talking over the phone, I felt like I knew you.” He lowered his hand. “You threw a wrench into that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. You are who you are.” Lance folded his hands in his lap. “But this is hard for me. I’m gay … I like guys.” He shut his eyes. “I know, I know you’re a guy, it’s just …”

“I don’t have cock.”

Lance opened his eyes and looked at me. “That shouldn’t be a problem, though. Should it? If you like someone.” He shut his eyes again. “But I don’t know if I can get past it.”

I laid my hand on his thigh. “Stop beating yourself up. This just isn’t going to work.”

His gaze fixed on mine. “But I want it to.”

“What do you want me to say?”

Lance set his hand on mine. “That you want it too.”

“Of course I do.” I nudged him with my shoulder. “But where do we go from here?”

Lance turned his face toward me. “Can I kiss you?”

“Please be sure about this first.”

“I am.”

“Then I can’t think of anything I want more.” I looked down at his lips just before they touched mine. They were velvet soft—and ever so gentle. He touched my chin and released my mouth.

“That’s a good start.” Lance smiled and brushed his fingers across my hair above my ear, the heel of his thumb skimming my earlobe. The concern in his eyes was startling. He wasn’t worried about himself—he was more concerned about how I felt.

“It was.” I leaned toward Lance and took his mouth, this time keeping us locked in place. The tremor of desire shook my insides; my heart thundered in my chest. I moaned and dove deeper, my tongue piercing the space between his lips. A wet, seductive dance ensued. His tongue and mine entwining—caressing, sharing each breath we took.

We fell over on the mattress, only aware of one another. Lance’s hand gripped my shoulder, clenching it as he deepened the kiss. His leg ended up thrown over my thigh, tugging me closer to him. His hand made its way to my ass, clutching it—hauling me closer.

“Take these off.”

It was a simple request from him. Take off my sweatpants. It shouldn’t have given me palpitations. But he didn’t know what he was truly asking.

I stood by the edge of the bed and slipped the sweatpants off my hips. I discarded them on the floor. Lance sat up, his feet on the floor as he watched me.

He touched the band of my briefs with his hands and hooked his fingers behind the elasticized waist. I shut my eyes as he pulled them down.

I was holding my breath. That much I knew for sure. Waiting for Lance to reject me, go screaming from the room; the thud of the prosthetic penis as it hit the floor resounded around me.

Lance’s hand brushed across my belly, then gripped my hip. He laid a simple kiss on my skin just below my belly button. I sucked in a hesitant breath. His other hand found its way onto my ass. He pulled me close to his face and laid another kiss on my pubes.

I brushed my hand through his hair. “You don’t have to.”

Dark brown eyes looked up at me. “I want to.” Lance retreated and reached for my hands. “Come lie down.” He rose to his feet as I tossed off my briefs and situated myself in the center of the bed. He pulled his shirt, jeans, and boxers off. The sight of him made my heart stammer.

He was beautiful.

Lance tugged at the corner of my shirt. I took the hint and stripped it off. He ran his hands over my chest, his fingertips caressing the tattoos. He paused as his fingers came to rest on the scars from my top surgery. He climbed onto the bed. Straddling my thighs, he kissed my chest, flicked my nipples, and ran his tongue over the scars.

I was breathing heavily, trying to calm myself. Never in my life could I have imagined such affection from someone. I had wished for it but never expected it to happen. He kissed the crest of my ribcage, my belly, my pubic bone—each of my hips.

He moved his knees between my calves.