Brady was the owner of a ranch. An older cowboy in his early thirties.

You got a job there during the summer, hoping that the hardwork of tending to the animals and fixing things up around the place when he was too busy to would give you some gender euphoria and make you feel more like a man.

The two of you had gotten pretty close over the course of the last two months, and while he knew you were born a woman, he didn’t treat you any different than he’d treat any other man. He was still just as rough. He didn’t treat you like a fragile little thing pretending to be a man, he treated you like you were a man, one who could take his roughness.

He walks out while you’re fixing the hay for the horses, holding two beers by their necks inbetween his fingers. You turn your head towards him at the sound of his boots walking closer.

“You’re doin’ a good job with the horses sport,” he praises. “Beer?” He holds it out to you.

You took it, head tilting back as you drink it. Your face twists in faint disgust as you take a drink, a bit dripping down your chin. You didn’t drink beer often and you weren’t very acquainted with the taste so you didn’t enjoy it much. “Gross.” you grumble.

“Don’t like the taste, huh? You’ll get used to it.” His strong hand smacks against your shoulder. “Don’t be a wuss boy. You finish that drink without your whinin’.”