Samantha’s Tale Ch. 02

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Thank you for your patience, and all of your feedback and votes so far! Here is the second chapter of my slow burn, lesbian romance between a cis woman and a trans woman. Whilst not all chapters will contain kink, this is amongst other things a D/s story, the themes of which will develop as we go. There’s also still no sex in this chapter. If that’s not your thing, then you might not like the story.

A massive thank you to ButteredCrumpet for her help with editing — this chapter wouldn’t be the same without her. As before, please rate and leave some constructive criticism as you are willing and able!


I gave a slight groan of pleasure as I pushed away my empty plate, and caught Kate’s eye across the table “Have I mentioned how much I love your cooking?”

She laughed. “Only every Saturday for the past… oh I don’t know.. 16 years, is it?”

I giggled back at her. “It can’t be every Saturday, I’m sure there are a few I’ve missed.” I closed my eyes, savouring the lingering taste of the coriander, lime, and spices that had featured heavily in today’s Mexican meal. Kate and I had always been interested in food. We’d met at a cooking class when we were both still at university, trying to distract ourselves from our respective workloads by indulging a passion that also made everyday life more pleasant. I’d been in my final year of physiotherapy, and Kate in architecture. We’d hit it off over the course of a few weeks, discovering we shared much, much more than a love for food, and had been best friends since. Over those 16 years, we had recurring invitations to each other’s tables — Saturday lunch at hers, and Wednesday dinner at mine — and whilst we hadn’t kept tabs, we couldn’t have missed more than a handful over that time. It was our chance to catch up, to share food, to help each other if needed, or just to hang out without needing to worry about impressing whoever we were eating with.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw that Kate’s smile had been replaced by the look which meant she was worried about me, and that I’d better start talking. I’d discovered the first year of our friendship that it was pointless trying to resist her in that mood. I would end up spilling my guts regardless, and the less I made her wait, the better we both felt about it.

“What’s up Kate?”

“You tell me Samantha — you’re the one who’s barely said a word. I know my cooking’s good, but it doesn’t normally stop your tongue wagging.”

I couldn’t resist a tiny tease: “Your cooking must have been excellent this time then.”

She threw her napkin at me, grinning in the process. “Spill, before I throw something heavier!”

“Fine, fine, no need to get violent! I… I have a date tonight.”

“No way! Already?” Kate looked dubious, and for good reason. It normally took me at least two weeks after a hook-up rejection to even open the dating app on my phone again, and the harsher the rejection, the longer it took.

“It’s different… she was in the bar when we were there and came up to me afterwards.” I related the entire encounter to Kate, which was easy — she was one of the 4 people who knew that I was submissive.

“That’s awesome! But wait, hold on… you’ve not mentioned whether she knows you’re trans. She knows right?”

I gave her a nervous smile: “I didn’t… quite… get to that part. I’m telling her tonight, I promise!” I added quickly before Kate could start ranting. She knew how hard I found it to tell dates about my gender, which is why she’d recommended the dating app in the first place. Telling someone like Louise, on a second encounter, was already something I was dreading. I was openly trans in my life, having originally thought I had no chance of ‘passing’, and had discovered I didn’t really care who knew. The exception to this, stubbornly so, was prospective partners: the fear of rejection, of humiliation, and of real physical pain had hindered my dating life for over 5 years now, ever since my last partner had called it quits.

“You have to Samantha — you both deserve to know sooner rather than later if that will be an issue.”

I sighed. “Believe me Kate, I know… And I will.” I sniggered. “I suspect she’ll even have me revved up pretty quickly, so I want to tell her right at the start!”

Kate laughed, having seen first-hand how a dominant woman could interfere with my cognitive abilities. “I’m sorry I can’t be a fly on the wall tonight hun! Go on, what does she look like?”

I hesitated. “She… hum… she’s got purple nails?” I tentatively offered, before hiding my head in my hands. Kate roared with laughter at my comment “I don’t believe it! You must really like her! You seriously didn’t notice anything else?!”

I enjoyed being able to make Kate laugh, even at my expense. It had long been a source of amusement to her that I was always attracted to personalities rather than bodies to start with — and the deeper my initial attraction, london escort agency the less I normally noticed what someone looked like. I still remember the eventual laughter we’d shared when we’d both discovered that our ways of “liking” people were such polar opposites — Kate was an incredibly visual person, and her job meant that she could accurately recall and describe any person she’d looked at for more than 5 seconds, whereas I was usually clueless about such things… unless of course I really disliked them.

“No wait, I did! She’s got sharp canines!” I laughed at myself as I said it, knowing it would get Kate to laugh so hard she’d cry. After a few minutes, she regained her composure, still smiling widely at me “You crack me up Samantha. Purple nails and sharp teeth! Please, please, notice more tonight so you can tell me later!”

“I make no promises.” I grinned.


It had been so long since I’d had an actual date, not just an initial meet, that I knew there was no point in trying to do anything overly productive that afternoon. Instead, I cleaned up my apartment a little bit, wrote my grocery list for the next day, ironed a few clothes, and was about to make myself a hot drink when I realised it was already 5 pm. Shit! I don’t want to be late!

I hurried to the bathroom and set about getting ready, taking a quick shower before blow drying my hair. I was grateful, yet again, for my decision to heavily invest in laser hair removal early on in my transition — it had saved me more time now than I cared to count, and so much hassle. I thought about my outfit as I teased my natural curls into a bit more bounce, and settled on a classic pairing for the bar: tight white jeans, a black peplum top with a lace-trimmed v-neck, and some light brown suede knee boots. A few light pieces of silver jewellery, my favourite darkish red lipstick and some mascara, and I was doing a final check in front of the mirror. It had taken me at least two years to stop judging myself by typical western fashion magazine standards, and I was conscious that as far as trans women went, I’d been fairly lucky with my genetic lottery.

Physically, I’d always been perfectly average, and 5 years of hormones had simply made me average for a woman. The contours of my face had softened just enough to make it feminine, and my slightly slanted dark brown eyes were pretty without being stunning. I had enough curves to stop my low levels of dysphoria, my dark brown hair and natural curls had thickened out enough that my high hairline didn’t draw too much attention, my fair-ish Caucasian skin had softened, and my legs, arms and shoulders were simply those of a 5’8 physically active woman, which I was. Could I have wanted slightly bigger breasts than my A cups? Sure, but then again how many women the world over did that apply to? I still didn’t feel that I needed breast augmentation surgery and all the women in my family were on the small side, so again, I was thankful.

Despite my early transition concerns, I was only rarely misgendered, although I was careful in my clothing choices to accentuate what curves I did have, and hide the ones I didn’t. Eighteen months of speech therapy had given me a voice which I was happy with and, most importantly, didn’t clash with the rest of me — my speech therapist and I had giggled like mad when we’d first played with pitches, and confirmed I did not want a typical, high-pitched voice as was so commonly found in western media. My new voice was in fact what had made me re-evaluate whether or not I could ‘pass’; I’d always assumed that no matter what I looked like, my voice would always give me away. That assumption had been thoroughly disproven within a few months however, which left me having to make conscious choices to either visually pass or not. I still tended to err towards choices which would decrease the odds of being identified as transgender, but was recognising this was more to decrease my own insecurities than anything else.

Checking that my purse had my phone and keys, I headed off to the bar, happy to arrive there a few minutes early. I greeted Beth, ordered, and settled at the same table as before, determined to observe Louise as much as I could when she arrived. I didn’t have long to wait, as she walked through the doorway right on time. A small part of my brain registered her punctuality, but most of it was completely distracted by the sight of her. I’d wanted to notice her appearance to get Kate off my back, but hadn’t expected to manage it quite so well. She was wearing a figure hugging, dark red velvet dress that ended just below mid-thigh, which made her curves obvious without actually showing anything. The asymmetrical neckline drew the eye to her right shoulder, which displayed the red and black tail of some kind of reptile winding its way over onto her back. Her gait as she came towards me was confident and poised, and I was pleased to see how gracefully she walked in what escort london must have been five inch open-toed heels. (It sounds silly, but few things put me off as quickly as someone picking a heel height they can’t walk in).

The colour of her dress contrasted nicely with her pale skin, and highlighted the light dusting of freckles over her collarbone. Her hair, a very dark natural black, flowed straight down behind her shoulders, and drew the eye to her amazingly pale grey eyes. How had I not noticed those yesterday? She was about halfway to the table when she saw me watching her, and her reaction surprised me. She slowed down, smiling at me as she gave me plenty of time to look at her, and that drew my gaze to her perfectly proportioned lips — I’ve always loved lips, and hers were beautiful, with her lipstick matching her dress. Before I realised, she was standing next to the table and looking down at me, her smile slowly turning into a smirk.

“Like what you see Samantha?”

I smiled, and tried to pretend she hadn’t had the same effect on me as she’d had the night before. I stood and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek in greeting, before responding in a low voice: “You know I do Louise. You’re stunning.”

As I stepped back to regain my seat, I saw the same flash of slight surprise she’d shown last night, but only for a brief instant. Before I could ponder it, she’d sat down across from me, noticing a glass of the same drink she’d had the night before.

“Thank you for the drink. I’m sorry I had to leave so quickly last night, so I’m glad we could meet again.”

“You’re very welcome. I enjoyed our little game of questions, and your company, so it’s not really a hardship.” I smiled at her, raising my glass to hers. “Cheers.”

She nodded her head and smiled, raising her glass before taking a grateful sip. “Cheers. It’s good you enjoyed the questions, as there are a great many more answers I’d like from you. Perhaps we should order first though — unless you’ve ordered my meal as well as my drink?”

I felt my heart rate speed up just a notch. There was that voice again. Not as.. strong as last night, but still there, in the final question. My usual choice of possible answers was glaringly absent, of course. “No… No, I didn’t.” Damn it, how could her voice strip my confidence so quickly!?

Her smile widened, and I knew she’d picked up on the effect she had on me. She let it drop though, and her normal voice came back: “I’ve not actually eaten here a lot, can you recommend anything?”

I chuckled, grateful for the slight reprieve. “I can, but only the one dish I’m afraid.” Before I could continue, she surprised me again. “Excellent! I’ve always wanted to try the chilli prawn linguine.”

I looked at her in surprise, trying to figure out how she’d possibly figured out the one dish I ordered here every time, without fail. She looked back at me with a look of complete self assurance, and I saw her right eyebrow lift ever so slightly as my silence grew, challenging me almost. I took a deep breath, mentally shaking myself out of the state she seemed to put me in almost without effort.

“You’re going to keep me on my toes a lot, aren’t you Louise?”

She nodded, and leant forward a bit to reply. “I am, Samantha. That’s not going to be an issue for you, though, is it?”

I gulped. We both looked down at my yet again goosebumpy arms, and she chuckled. “Didn’t think so.”

She took a long, slow sip of her drink, keeping her eyes on me. Waiting for me? Watching for my next move? I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. If I wasn’t careful, she’d distract me completely, and I would never get to tell her about me. I could already feel myself wanting to stop resisting her control, so it was now or never. Pulling as much self-confidence back to me as I could, I grounded myself again and opened my eyes. “Before we order Louise, there’s something I need to tell you.”

She tilted her head, and I nearly missed that same tiny look of surprise — She was getting better at hiding it, but it was there. Why, I had no idea, but I’d have to worry about that later. “I can’t find this out through our questions then Samantha?”

I shook my head. “You probably could, but it’s something I want to tell you now, before we get too far along.”

She sat back, and looked at me curiously. “I’m all ears then.”

This was it. If I’d been nervous last night, it was nothing compared to this. I really, really didn’t want her to reject me… and I knew that the longer I waited, the worse it could be. Already I wanted to just take my words back, and get back to our banter, and avoid the confrontation. I knew it would just get more painful though, and I also sensed, somehow, that trying to beat around the bush was not the right approach for her. I took another deep breath and just let my truth out.

“I’m transgender.”



More silence, with her only movement the slight london escorts rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Of all my coming out moments, of all the possible scenarios I’d ever played in my head, I’d never seen so little reaction to my news. I’d come out to family, to friends, to short term partners, to colleagues, and had plenty of practice trying to predict how they would react. For every minute of coming out, my brain had run through at least half an hour of variables and outcomes. Surprise, shock, and unsettledness were almost inevitable. Distrust, recoil, and dislike were less common, but often poorly hidden. Anger was fairly common with men, but thankfully not women, although I’d also been on the receiving end of sheer hate, and that was the worst of it all. But nothing? I’d never come across that.

I’d wanted to just wait, and not let on how much her reaction would matter, but I hadn’t planned on the absence of reaction. Feeling my heart stutter a few times, I reached forward and placed my hands on the table, palms up, invitingly. “Louise? Say something. Please.”

Her eyes moved. Just a tiny movement, but I saw them glance down from my eyes, and then back up. Still she said nothing. I couldn’t take this anymore. My breathing was already ragged, and I could feel the corner of my eyes start to burn as my emotions caught up with what my brain already knew — this night was over. Again. I went to move my hands back to leave before I started properly crying, but Louise suddenly moved again and caught my right wrist with her hand.

“Please stay.” It was soft, contrasting with how quickly she’d moved, and reminded me I’d said the words to her yesterday. Soft, but insistent enough to quiet my brain from yelling any more of its usual lines at me: “get out of here! Go! Leave, before she hurts you!” I focused on her eyes, and something told me she was thinking; hard. It was nerve wracking once I realised that. She’d already proven she could come to conclusions frighteningly quickly, so what was causing her to think for so long?

Before I could properly panic and bolt, she came alive again.

“I’m sorry — that’s not an easy thing to share, and my freezing on you must have made it worse.” She hesitated for a second, then took a breath herself. She took my hand in hers, squeezed it gently. “Thank you for telling me. It makes no difference to me, or to my intent for tonight, or anything beyond that.” All this time, she’d held my hand, her pale eyes fixed on me, her expression gentle and reassuring.

Despite this, I couldn’t quite let myself relax completely, and I knew she would feel my tension. “Are you sure? You seemed to take a long time to think, for someone who observes and analyses so quickly.”

“Says the woman who’s identified two of my main behaviours in less time than it takes to drink a glass of wine.” She smiled. “But yes, I’m sure. I can’t say I’ve been with a trans woman before, but I know other transgender individuals, and part of my long thought process was taking the time to make sure I didn’t know of any major conflicts beforehand.”

I barely held back a laugh. “Right, of course. You just analysed all of your past relationships, your personal and physical preferences, the variations of sex and gender possible for a trans woman, and the myriad of possible issues that a relationship with such a woman could throw up, in just what… 30 seconds?” Her lack of initial reaction had clearly upset me a lot — despite not being deliberate, the end of my question was downright frosty.

She picked up on it, obviously, and I saw her eyes, her lips tighten a fraction. She didn’t hesitate though. “Yes.” Then her features softened again. “It makes no difference to me that you’re transgender, what your transition involves, or how far along you are on that journey. I can even assure you that it doesn’t make a difference to me what you see the end of that journey looking like. I’ve seen enough to know I like you, regardless of gender or body. I want to get to know you better.” She lowered her voice now. “A lot better.”

It took a few seconds after her lips stopped moving before I fully understood that she meant what she’d said, and had, improbably enough, thought through many if not all of the ramifications. By then the emotions from the past few minutes were taking their toll, and I couldn’t look away from her, even if I wanted to. I realised with a start that I’d held my breath, and let it out in a rush. “In that case… thank you. And I’m sorry for being… snappy.”

“You’re welcome, and quite understandable. But we will have to work on your manners, won’t we? I can’t have you snapping at me every time we meet.” She was still smiling, still stroking my hand, but that dominant undercurrent was back in her voice.

“I would hardly call that snapping.” My tone was teasing, but it made no difference. She just raised an eyebrow and waited. We were back to gauging each other, back to our game. Even my emotion-wracked brain could figure that out. It was the game I’d really looked forward to playing tonight, and coming out had just been the prerequisite I’d set myself. I felt flat now though; I simply didn’t have the energy for the game anymore.

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