51
A Pledge of Allegiance
“Your Aunt Gladean is a mess!” Darius and Bo had just returned to their Manhattan luxury hotel suite after a day of love, laughter, liquor, and good home cooking. Instead of the traditional fare, this island-born clan of Trinidadians had brought out chicken pelau, curried shrimp, zucchini corn bake, macaroni pie, callaloo, fish stew, plantains, peas and rice, and coconut bread pudding. At Darius’s request, Bo’s Aunt Gladean had also made what she called a yam pie. “I think I’m forever spoiled by her sweet-potato pie. I hadn’t had any that tasted that good since my grandmother died.”
“Yeah, old girl can throw down, that’s no joke!” Bo placed his pouch on the dining room table and proceeded to the bar, where he pulled out a bottle of Courvoisier. “You want some?”
“Just one finger; lots of ice.”
Bo nodded and yawned. “Lord have mercy, I love my family, but they wear me out!”
“I love them too. Growing up, I never experienced the type of environment that you took for granted. Grandma was superstrict and our house was literally a house of prayer—no music other than gospel allowed and even that was played low. No loud talking; I never remember her laughing out loud, you know, one of those good belly laughs like your Aunt Phyllis let loose all day.” Darius smiled; the memory alone felt that good. “I swear her laugh could be a prescription for depression.”
“And if that didn’t work, her punch sure could!” Phyllis’s punch was famous throughout their Queens neighborhood. A mixture of Hawaiian Punch, orange juice, lemons, and a blend of liquors known by her alone.
They walked from the dining room into the bedroom. Darius began undressing before they reached the room. “Man, I’m tired. That was the most fun I’ve had in a long time,” he said around a yawn. And DJ’s been in heaven these past two days. He was knocked out, wasn’t he?”
“Gonna be hard getting that boy to leave their house tomorrow. My sister’s place has been like heaven for that only child.”
At this comment, Darius plopped down on the bed and perched himself up on his right elbow. “What are we going to do about that, baby? It’s time for us to have another child, before DJ gets too big. Man, if Stacy had said yes, that would have been perfect !”
“Yeah.” Bo joined Darius on the bed, bringing their drinks with him. “It would have been nice if DJ’s brother or sister could have had the same mother. But this visit back home has me thinking.” Bo paused and sipped his drink. “We’ve got a little Darius. I think we need a little Bo.”
Darius sat up, laughing as he did so. “Oh, Lawd, no. One of you on the planet is enough, man.” When Bo didn’t join in on the joke, Darius sobered. “I’m sorry, baby. I thought you were playing. Do you really want a child of your own?”
“I know. I never thought I’d want that either. But DJ changed my life. I like that little boy like my own, and watching him laugh and play with all of his cousins got me thinking of how nice it would be to have my own seed, in the home, living with us. Maybe two.”
“Whoa, now wait a minute, baby. Don’t forget our crazy schedule.”
“Hell, if Celine and Beyoncé and J. LO and all them heifahs can drop babies and keep it moving, we can too.”
“Ha!” They were silent, sipping their liquor. “Do you have a mother in mind?”
Having finished undressing, Bo climbed onto the bed and positioned himself so that he faced Darius. He lazily ran a finger up and down Darius’s chocolate toned arm. “I’ve thought about it and I think that one of those surrogate agencies is the best way to go. You know, look through a catalog of women and their pedigrees like we’re shopping for designer clothes, and pick the one that will give us our dream baby.”
“I was kidding earlier,” Darius whispered, leaning over and placing a kiss on Bo’s waiting mouth. “I’d love to have a baby Bo.”
The lover’s innocent touches and light kisses soon turned more amorous. Bodies touched and hands roamed, until Bo squeezed Darius’s butt cheek and came in contact with the proof of prior anger. He began a journey along Darius’s body, kissing every square inch of exposed flesh—arm, chest, stomach, hip, thigh. When he reached Darius’s firm, round backside, he outlined the scar with his tongue, massaging the sensitive area just above his husband’s buttocks as he did so.
“Ooh, baby, you know I’m ticklish there,” Darius said, after Bo had licked a particularly sensitive spot of Darius’s lower anatomy. He returned to the scar, first licking and looking at it, really looking at it, for the first time.
“You know what, Dee? I think you need to get this scar tatted, memorialized. I don’t mean to be funny, but, baby, this kinda looks like a bow. I think you should add an arrow and let me forever be immortalized on your ass.”
“Ha! You are such a nut!”
“No, I’m serious. Hold on, let me get my phone.” Soon, Darius was looking at the scar that remained from Bo’s channeling Norman Bates in Psycho, when scissors instead of a knife punctured his soft flesh.
“You know what—it really does look like a bow. That’s crazy. I’ve wanted to get a tattoo. I think this might be the time ... and the place.”
“Well, you know I’m down with that,” Bo said, making a show of rubbing the name “Darius” that was written in calligraphy across his lower back.
Darius outlined the name emblazoned across Bo’s caramel toned body, skin that was baby smooth and blemish free, first with his finger. Then with his tongue. The lovers traveled familiar territory across each other’s bodies, their mutual desire clearly evident by raised flagpoles pledging allegiance to each other.
“You know I love you, nut. I thank God for giving me you.” Darius positioned himself over his heartbeat, taunting, teasing, kissing his neck.
“Yes, and I love what the Lord made that’s tickling my backside,” Bo replied sarcastically. “Now let’s get this private party poppin’!”