I won't be taking the time to address the specifics of the situation that have caused the "epilogue" of this section of my blog. In fact, as even the least technical-minded of my readers may note, I haven't updated my blog in months.

Evidently though, my blog wasn't poppin' enough for several of the people who live in my community. So they took words I had written and ran with it.

My, how I wish I could say more.

I want the world to know that the unsinkable Rashid Darden is on top -- again -- and has weathered his most recent rainfall.

Yes bitches, a rainfall -- you weren't a storm.

If it wasn't clear in any other entry, I will make it plain: I loved being a teacher. I love children. I am one of the few gay men under 30 that I know who really wants a family.

I will never forget the first student who ever [i]asked[/i] to read to me. He wasn't the perfect reader at all, but he tried. And you know what? He is so good now. I don't claim that -- he had good teachers and a mother who he really admired and respected.

That's the crux of the crisis in the schools..... many children I worked with over the years had no one at home to respect. Sure, they loved them.... but when they looked at their parents, they did not see adults that they wanted to become.

And I don't blame them.

I have been the victim of a grassroots campaign of homophobia. Members of my community ignored the greatness that I provided to the students in the form of a positive male role model, a respectful and respectable Washingtonian, a Student Council Advisor, a tutor, a multicultural liaison... they ignored that because they read my blog and got offended.

Sure, I call the kids "little bastards" and "Satan's Little Helpers" in my blog. This blog was also never promoted or publicized to the children. Ask ANY child who ever asked me "Mr. Darden, what's your book about?" and they will say they don't know -- because I never told them. I respected their boundaries and the boundaries that their parents set for them -- homosexuality is not something I want children exposed to through MY novel for the first time. When they're teenagers, find the book in a store, and purchase it with their own money, then clearly they will be ready to deal with the issues.

But several irresponsible adults shared my blog with the children and rather giving them proper guidance, hyped up things I said and took them out of context. In addition, there was never proof that I was even telling the truth all of the time. I write novels for God's sake, not the news.

A discerning reader (as most of you are) would know that I never once disclosed the location of my job in this blog, nor did I ever publish names or addresses of students. But homophobia is deep and rampant in this community.....

Straight people have done far worse where I worked and gotten away with it.

Luckily, I believe in all that I have ever written in this blog and refuse to edit it. I have said some things that have changed my life, most for the better, some for the worse. There are people who I have hurt in this blog.

But for anything I said regarding the children I work with or their parents or the situations I found myself in that were sad, witty, horrible, and great -- I DO NOT APOLOGIZE.

The urban school systems are doomed to fail for several reasons -- the primary one being the irresponsible parenting that I have encountered. I can count on ONE HAND the parents or guardians who I really believe are doing their best. The rest.... well, smoking weed in the car with your child before school... that's normal behavior, right?

No punishment for your child calling a teacher a bitch or a faggot....that's normal, right?

Your child hitting a teacher....no punishment....that's normal, right?

Oh wait, those things should be enforced by the principal, right? Right. But we're not going to get into that -- I have no respect for a man or woman who would allow the type of witch hunt to occur to me. But then again, I couldn't respect someone who was handed a position rather than working for it anyway.

No respect. Urban school systems might fail with bad parenting, but they WILL fail with bad administration. I hope to never have the misfortune of working with anyone like that ever again. The stories I have in me could fill a book.

Hmmm..... a book....now there's an idea.....

He is not old enough to be my father or young enough to be my son.

He is outgoing outgoing, not obnoxious; laid back, but not passive or nonchalant; agreeable, not a pushover but not antagonistic; intellectual, but not a know it all.

He has a stable career or at least realistic and attainable professional aspirations. His hobbies and interests are legal and do not physically or emotionally harm him or others. He drinks....responsibly.

He's out to his family and his straight male friends. If he is not a Black gay man himself, he can empathize well.

He has an understanding and appreciation for fraternity and sorority life.

He lives in or near DC and transportation is not a problem.

He believes in God.

Have you seen him?

Stop emailing me.

YOU HAVE A MAN.

I'm selfish and unfair? Isn't it more selfish to have a man yet continually reach out to me?

I HATE YOU.

You don't even know how to BE a friend, so how can you want a friendship with me? The one time I ever needed you YOU FUCKING STOOD ME UP AND AVOIDED ME FOR A WEEK.

And where were you? Too scared of the world to leave the bed.

GO FUCK YOURSELF and the caballo you rode in on.

dear sir and ma’am:

under the black light everything felt right
wish it could have lasted all night
three parts and three hearts and no false starts on that night
(this is no explication but a dedication to him and her and me)
three thirsty souls in the center of a sea
of bodies

like two sharks we encircled her
obeying the Miami bass
we grinded and freaked
and grinded and freaked
like ticking, like tocking
like grandfather clocking
like sucking and fucking we wished we were doing
her and me at the same time
so when we came together (to dance)
you got a snake in your hips and started to prance

you’d never been in a circle of three degrees
a circle of amour, not knowing what was in store
it was just a fucking party and we were just freaking this girl,
this girl was the last one on earth because she gave me my first hard on in years
and i had no fears, even if “oh, shit! what if I am straight?”

through the stench of cigarettes and sweat, i still made you and her wet
we encircled her
you touched my arm
i touched your hand
and suddenly we three understand
if this ever could really happen
it could only be her, you, and me
only that night

the crowd disappears around us and all that’s left is the black light
stranding three bodies in the black sea –
just her, you, and me
i touch you, you touch me, we touch she but
does she even need to be there for us to be aware
of the erectile function unifying our conjunction
we are fucking each other through her but
does she feel the prick, does she ride it, does she feel like a queen
inspiring the manhood of two to arise in between
you cannot look me in the eyes, ashamed at the blatant display of lust
that has caused this show
ashamed that
we each had someone else but they didn’t know
that she was the only woman that could make me think twice
and i was the only man that could make you think twice
and twice plus twice was about to get real nice
raw energy bubbling under skin threatening to explode
we were live we were hype we were the essence of sex
fluid crowds evaporating to reveal
you and you and i, he and she and me, girl and guy and guy
we are free
love: me

Tyler slowly awakened to see his father’s milk chocolate brown face. As he wiped the sleep from his eyes, his father’s million-watt smile beamed down on him.

“You ‘wake, li’l man?”

“Yeah, daddy,” Tyler said.

“You ready for the first day of school?”

Tyler nodded and smiled the toothless grin of a seven year old.

“I knew you would be,” his father said as he tickled Tyler. He giggled.

“Daddy, I’m glad we moved to DC,” Tyler laughed.

“So am I,” he said. “You’re gonna love it here. Bunker Hill is a great school with a big field you can play on and lots of great teachers. And there are gonna be field trips, too.”

“And I’m gonna get a girlfriend, too!” Tyler said.

“A girlfriend! In second grade?”

“Mmmm-hmmm! And I’m gonna marry her and she’s gonna be Mrs. Tyler Liston. And we’re going to adopt a kid, just like you did, daddy.”

Mr. Liston smiled.

“I hope you find all that someday, boy. But let’s focus on one thing at a time, aight?”

“Aight, daddy!”

Tyler bounded out of bed and ran to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Mr. Liston – Asa to his friends – remained seated on his son’s bed. He was back in DC, this time to stay.

“It’s only a matter of time,” he said softly to no one in particular. He came back to DC for opportunities, both the chance to run a non-profit organization that was dear to his heart and the chance to find his one true love again.

Asa stood up, left his son’s small room and returned to his own. On his dresser, squeezed in between the mirror and the wood was a photograph. The fair-skinned man with the shoulder length dreadlocks looked somehow sad, melancholy. Yet, he was beautiful.

“I’ll do right this time, man,” Asa said to the photograph. “I promise.”

*****

“I really wish you would leave that man alone,” the Attorney General of the District of Columbia said to the Mayor as they rode down 14th Street in the jet black executive Cadillac Escalade.

“You know that ain’t gonna change, Shawn,” the Mayor said as he checked email on his phone. “Raffi’s been part of the team since long before I was mayor.”

“And I’ve been part of the team since before him, since your skinny ass was a pledge.”

“Yes, Dean Big Brother Shawn,” the Mayor mocked, never releasing his gaze from his mobile device. If he turned it a certain way, he could see his reflection. He looked damn good for 45. His caramel colored skin showed nary a wrinkle, save the insignificant lines at his eyes caused by years of smiling and laughing.

“Stop fuckin’ around with that damn Sidekick and look at me,” Shawn demanded, his coal black eyes now burning with annoyance. The Mayor finally looked up and responded to his lifelong friend.

“This is not a Sidekick. Sidekicks are for college students and club kids. This is a T-Mobile MDA.”

“What the fuck ever, nigga,” Shawn said. “That man is bad news and you know it.”

“Shawn, listen. Leave him alone. It’s bad enough he thinks you don’t like him. Stop being a homophobe, okay?”

“You of all people should know that I have no problems with gay people. I mean fuck, we’re all Democrats here. I just want you to be careful with him. Your administration is progressive enough and I don’t want everything fucked up because he’s always just…around.”

“Get over it, Shawn. Six years in office and Raphael Stevens has been here the whole time. He’s not going anywhere and neither are you.”

“We’re almost at P Street, Mr. Mayor,” the woman in the front row said. She was his bodyguard, a tall and lean blond in her thirties who took shit from no one.

“Thanks, Shannon.” The Mayor smiled and looked back into his mobile device.

“You really like him,” grumbled Shawn. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“He’d never hurt me,” the Mayor shot back. “You know that.”

The Escalade slowed to a halt and the Mayor could make out the image of a tall man with insanely long dreadlocks standing at the corner of 14th and P Streets in Northwest DC. The Mayor rolled his window down halfway.

“Going my way, sir?” he said. The man with the dreadlocks smiled.

“If you’re going to 37th and O,” he replied. “But I’d hate to take you out of your way…”

“Nonsense,” the Mayor said. Instantly, Shannon stepped out of the front seat and opened the side door of the Escalade.

“Good to see you again, Dr. Stevens,” Shannon said with the hint of a smile.

“Likewise, Ms. Turner,” Raphael replied.

Looking all around her as a good head of security should, she lightly held the dreadlocked man’s back as he stepped into the car, sliding next to the mayor. Making sure no stray locks hung outside the door, she shut it and took her place in the front passenger seat.

“Mr. Mayor,” he said, shaking his hand. “And Mr. Attorney General, good to see you.”

“Same here, Dr. Stevens,” Shawn said as the SUV headed west on P Street. “How are things up on the hilltop?”

“Just fine,” Raphael replied. “Today’s the first day of class, you know.”

“Shit,” the Mayor said. “I knew I forgot something.”

“What?” Shawn asked. “Forgot to put something in that phone of yours?”

“Yeah,” the mayor said. “Me and Teresa were supposed to drop the kids off at school together this morning. It’s their first day, too.”

“Damn man, you’re fucking up,” Raphael said jokingly. The mayor smiled.

“Teresa will be fine. So will the kids.” The Mayor sighed and typed a text in to his wife.

“Are they still at Sidwell?” Raphael asked.

“Oh hell no,” the Mayor said. “I finally convinced Teresa to enroll them in public school. It doesn’t look good for the mayor’s kids to be in private school.”

“I suppose not,” he said. Shawn, who had looked annoyed the whole time, answered the vibrating buzz in his pocket. As he took the call from his administrative assistant, the Mayor scooted closer to the Professor.

“Tonight?” he mouthed eagerly. The Professor stared out into the heavy pedestrian traffic through the tinted window.

“Come on,” the mayor whispered. “Stop playin’ around. Tonight, right?”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” he said.

“What time should I send a car?”

The men looked at one another and smiled. The Professor put his hand on the Mayor’s knee, laughed, and pushed him away.

“Fuckin’ cock tease,” the mayor whispered, laughing with his friend.

*****

“Son of a bitch.”

The First Lady of Washington, DC, was not pleased to read the text from her husband: early morning meeting. won’t make it to school w/you and the kids. kiss them for me.

“Everything okay, Mrs. Beckley?” Mrs. Wentworth, the housekeeper asked.

“Everything is the same as it always is, Mrs. Wentworth.”

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked.

“Just fix breakfast for the kids, please. I’ll send them down in ten minutes.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mrs. Wentworth said softly. She had already fried several strips of bacon – their favorite – at the crack of dawn. Maybe a scrambled egg? No, not enough time. A small bowl of oatmeal will do for the first day of school.

Mrs. Wentworth was one of the few lifelong Caucasian residents of Washington, DC. She came from a working class family from Southeast Washington, spent 30 years as a teacher’s aide in the DC Public Schools, and now kept house for the first family of Washington, DC. A stout woman in her fifties, Mrs. Wentworth had known the Beckley’s since John’s Kindergarten year at Lafayette Elementary in Upper Northwest DC.

And now he was mayor. She always knew he’d go on to great things. His only mistake, in her eyes, was marrying that bitch Teresa.

Exactly ten minutes later, Mrs. Beckley came back down to the kitchen with Jasmine and Jahi, her beautiful children. While they were adorned in the burgundy and gold uniforms of Bunker Hill, she wore a smart salmon pink Chanel suit and a pearl necklace. Real pearls, of course.

“You look pretty mommy,” Jasmine said as she began to dig in her oatmeal.

“Thanks, baby,” Teresa replied. “You look pretty today, too. I like your school uniform.”

“Thank you mommy,” Jasmine said with a smile. She looked the spitting image of her mother, who, if you didn’t look hard enough, you might mistake for a white woman. Jasmine was a few shades darker, however, and her hair was curly as opposed to straight. But that child’s face was unapologetically Teresa Beckley.

“Where’s daddy?” Jahi whispered. Jahi never said much. Painfully shy, he clung to his father’s side whenever he was near.

“He has a meeting today,” Teresa sighed, sipping her orange juice slowly.

“But he said he’d take us to school,” Jahi whined.

“Your father is the Mayor, Jahi,” Teresa said sternly. Jahi knew not to utter a word after that point. He wasn’t sure exactly what the mayor did, but he knew his daddy ran the whole city. That was like the President, but better, because his daddy was black and didn’t have to live in the White House.

“Finish your oatmeal, kids,” Mrs. Wentworth said. “You’ve got a big day today!”

Jasmine smiled while a wave of dread swept over Jahi’s face.

This one definitely won’t be the mayor, Mrs. Wentworth thought to herself. Doesn’t have that confidence that John has. Maybe Jasmine, though…

*****

“You’re so good to help me out today, Adamu,” Councilmember Kristie Chavez said to her intern. “It’s darn near impossible to keep up with all this research.”

“Not a problem, Kristie,” Adamu said. A senior at Georgetown, Adamu was a beautiful, dark-skinned former runner at Georgetown University. He had volunteered with the Chavez campaign on a fluke two years ago when a guy he was dating dragged him to a rally. Adamu fell in love with Kristie Chavez’s vision for the city and hadn’t turned back since. Even though Adamu lived in Georgetown, which was Ward Two, he wanted to help Kristie preserve the historic and cultural legacy of Ward One, which included the largely Latino Columbia Heights and Mount Pleasant neighborhoods, Howard University and the Ethiopian neighborhoods to the south of the school, and the melting pot of Adams-Morgan. His work with her primarily involved research of various development projects in DC.

“Today’s your first day of school, too…isn’t it?” Kristie asked. “You’re not skipping class, are you?”

“No indeed,” Adamu laughed. “I’m a senior now; I know better than to schedule classes before 11am if I can help it.”

“I know that’s right!” Kristie laughed. She was a short woman of about 5’1” with a short, jet black bob. She was only in her early 30s and had won her election when she was but 29, unseating the longstanding incumbent in an upset. Like most elected positions in DC, Kristie was a Democrat. You just couldn’t win in DC any other way.

“But I guess I should head back now,” Adamu said. “I don’t want to miss my class with Professor Wonderful.”
“
You’re taking Raphael again?” Kristie smiled.

“That’s Dr. Stevens,” he corrected. “And yes. I mean, I’m minoring in English, so it makes sense to take the best professor at Georgetown.”

“I still can’t believe somebody I went to college with is a big time professor! I’m so happy for him. And who knows…once you leave Georgetown, maybe he’ll take you out!”

Adamu laughed. “A boy can’t dream, can’t he?”

“Well, again, I do appreciate all your help this morning,” Kristie said again.

“Not a problem,” Adamu said as he put on his messenger bag. “But Kristie, I’m curious…you’re on the Education and Public Works committees…what do you need all this research on development for?”

Kristie sighed. “Well Adamu, let me put it to you like this. I don’t want this city to turn into a parking lot. We need more mom-and-pop stores and affordable housing. When I drive on 395 coming from Southwest to New York Avenue, as soon as I emerge from the tunnel, all I see is cranes. Five cranes to the left, three more to the right. Now, I am all for fixing this city and improving the economy…but there’s something fishy going on here. And I just want to make sure that by the time my kids come around, it won’t be Washington, DC: Sponsored by Wal-Mart.”

“I understand,” Adamu said. “Nobody wants that, I’m sure.”

They bid each other farewell just as Kristie’s phone rang. She checked her caller ID and answered in a completely different tone than the one she used with Adamu.

“Talk to me,” she demanded.

“Beckley and Camper picked up the dude – again.”

“Same one?”

“Yup.”

“Stay on him.”

“Listen, we’ve been at this for six months now. Maybe nothing’s going on.”

“Of course there is,” Kristie retorted. “As long as I’m paying you, this will be your mission. Track that son of a bitch until you get proof of what I know they’re doing.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the voice said.

Kristie clicked off the phone and stared at the pile of research on her desk.

“I’ll get you coming or going,” she said to no one but the walls of her office. Six years was far too long to have Mayor Beckley in office. It was time for him to go.

*****

“Next, please!”

The heavy-set secretary with the fierce wig looked around the crowded office at Bunker Hill Elementary School as the line of parents registering their children for the first day of school grew.

“I don’t know why I waited to do this, li’l man,” Asa said to his son, Tyler. Tyler sat quietly with his lunchbox in his lap. He had been paying attention – daddy’s turn was next.

He looked around him. This school wasn’t like his old school. It was…yellow. Old, kinda. But still nice. The lady with all the hair worked furiously at distributing the paperwork as soon as parents came in, so by the time she said “Next, please” all they had to do was turn the forms in and find out where the child would be placed.

“Next!” the lady said.

Asa moved up to the front desk with his papers in his hand, only to be subtly nudged to the side.

“Beckley, Jasmine and Jahi,” the slender and beautiful woman said.

“Excuse me, but I think I was here…”

“Second grade for Jasmine Beckley, Kindergarten for Jahi Beckley,” the woman continued. Asa looked down and saw two fair-skinned munchkins, the girl the spitting image of the mother

The secretary was frozen.

“Is there a problem?” Teresa Beckley asked.

The secretary looked at Asa and said “No, Mrs. Beckley. Uh, Mr. Liston, I’ll be with you in one second.” She smiled and winked.

Asa looked at Teresa up and down and then stepped back. She never once even acknowledged his presence.

At least the secretary handled Mrs. Beckley efficiently, not allowing Asa enough time to truly become upset.

Mrs. Beckley collected her paperwork and exited with a flourish, having received her children’s homeroom assignments.

“Who the heck was she?” Asa quietly asked the secretary.

“Chile, you don’t know who that was?” she asked.

“No, is she supposed to be famous? I only just moved back to DC recently.”

“That, dear heart, was Mrs. Teresa Beckley, First Lady of Washington, DC.”

“That was John Beckley’s wife?” Asa asked, bewildered.

“Mmm-hmm,” she replied. “And if I were you, I would not get on her bad side. She is a mess. A hot mess.”

“Duly noted,” Asa asked. He turned around to see Tyler standing in the doorway, craning his head to see where the mean lady and her kids went.

“You ready, li’l man?” Asa asked. Tyler smiled and nodded. “Aight then…off to second grade we go!”

*****

“So, that’s your syllabus for the semester,” Professor Stevens said to his Children’s Literature seminar at Georgetown University. “We’ll be reading many of your old favorites as well as some newer work. You’ll be writing two short papers, one long paper, and writing your own children’s book. And, for those of you who opt for the service-learning credit, we will be tutoring again this year at a DC Public Elementary School.”

Raphael looked around at his nine students. Six were black, two were white, and one was Asian. It wasn’t uncommon for his classes to be filled with black students – at Georgetown, the students were loyal to the handful of black professors that were employed there.

Many of his students were “repeat offenders” as he often called them, students who had taken his literature classes at least once before. He didn’t normally teach children’s literature, but being the darling of the English department – youngest tenured professor ever – he frequently took on new challenges just for the hell of it.

His most notorious repeat offender was Adamu Parker, a senior and former varsity runner with the body to match. The Professor didn’t often think of his students in that way, but dammit, he was only 35! He could at least look if he couldn’t touch.

As if he could sense his professor’s thoughts, Adamu raised his hand to speak.

“By all means,” Raphael said.

“I just wanted to let everyone know what a rewarding experience tutoring was last year. Not only can you earn an extra credit hour for it, but you can really bond with the students. A lot of us who did this before are seriously considering education as a career field now.”

Several of the other students nodded in agreement. Even if he couldn’t have Dr. Stevens, he could depend on him to be a team player, to really get involved in his academics on a deeper level.

“Well, thank you ladies and gentlemen. I’ll see you next time!” Raphael announced. As he packed up his briefcase, he could sense Adamu coming toward him.

“Hello, friend,” he said. “Glad to see you back again. What is this, your third class with me?”

“Fourth, actually,” Adamu said with a smile. “I mean, I’m an English minor, so it’s kind of unavoidable.”

“I guess so,” he said. “But certainly you must get tired of my lectures sometimes.”

“Never,” Adamu replied. His professor smiled and slung his bag over his shoulders, moving his dreadlocks out of the way.

“Is there anything you wanted to talk to me about?” Raphael asked.

“Yeah,” Adamu said nervously. “Um…I was wondering…”

“Yes?” Raphael said.

“Are we…tutoring at the same school this year?”

“Indeed,” he replied. “We’re back at Bunker Hill again. The school will have vans for us.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Well, I have to head back to my office now…see you next time, Adamu.” he left the classroom and Adamu stood there.

“Stupid!” he hissed at himself. “He’s my fucking professor. What am I thinking?”

*****

Raphael entered his office, closed the door, popped in a CD, and reclined in his chair. His dreadlocks spilled over the back of the chair and dangled about six inches off the floor.

“Ten years ago, Adamu. Maybe you would have had a chance,” he said to himself. Ten years ago, Raphael Stevens had everything going for him, nothing to lose, and a heart that was still open to love. He closed his eyes and listened to John Legend croon as he thought of those days.

*****
Ten Years Ago…

“Hello, I’m Raphael Stevens. I have a 3:30 interview.”

“Have a seat, Mr. Stevens, I’ll let Makeda know you’re here.”

He was, quite honestly, the most attractive man that had ever graced the doors of After School Enrichment. The lady at the front desk thought so. The office volunteers thought so. Even Makeda, the hiring officer, thought so.

His dark dreadlocks, which fell neatly against his jaw line, were a stark contrast against his fair skin. He wore his fraternity pin – Beta Chi Phi – on the lapel of his black, single breasted suit. His burgundy and gold patterned tie leaped out against his white shirt. He was classy, but stylin’ in his own simple way.

So this is what job hunting is like, he thought to himself as his eyes scanned the small waiting room. Pictures of black and latino students covered the walls, to remind waiting candidates who they would be potentially serving.

Site Coordinator, Raphael thought to himself. A Master’s in English to be a Site Coordinator when I grow up.

You need the money, he responded to himself. Self-publishing books of poetry is not gonna make you rich. Just cuz you got fans don’t make you famous…yet.

But…but…

“Hi Raphael! It’s so good to see you again!” A very pregnant Makeda Walker turned the corner and greeted Raphael.

“Makeda! Same here, you look great! How’s the baby?”

“Not coming fast enough! Come on back to my office, this shouldn’t take long.”

The pair turned back around the corner and Raphael bumped into something.

“Oof,” he said, portfolio falling out of his hand.

“Oh…my bad,” the gentleman he bumped into said. “Let me get that for you.”

“I got it,” Raphael said, bending down to get it. Their heads bumped.

Hard.

Next thing he knew, Raphael was sprawled on the ground.

“Asa, what did I tell you about attacking the candidates?” Makeda joked.

“Oh my God, are you okay, man? What’s his name?” Asa asked.

“Raphael,” he replied, being helped up by Asa and Makeda. “I’m so sorry.”

“Raffi? It’s totally my fault,” Asa said. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“It’s Raphael, actually.”

Then their eyes met.

He’s built, Raphael thought.

He’s tall, Asa thought.

His eyes.

Damn.

“My name is Asa. Pleased to meet you.” They shook hands.

“Raphael. Well, I guess I said that already. Anyways, nice meeting you too.”

“Well, I guess we’re all okay,” Makeda said. “Asa, we’ll be sending you the medical bills.”

As Raphael entered the conference room one last time, he stole another glance at Asa, who was staring right back at him.

Asa smiled and jogged back to the front desk.

“He’s mine,” he said to the receptionist. “That right there…is Asa Liston’s.”

*****
Ten Years Later...

Raphael’s phone rang, waking him from his impromptu nap.

“Yo,” he answered.

“Shannon will pick you up tonight.”

“No doubt,” he replied, clicking the phone off.

Dinner alone, he thought to himself. Desert with the mayor. Again.

It wasn’t that bad a life.

*****

Asa poured the turkey sauce over the plates of spaghetti he made for himself and his son. No beef or pork in this family.

“A special dinner for my special boy on his special day,” he announced to Tyler.

Tyler smiled, eagerly awaiting his favorite meal. No worries on this night. Just a family celebrating the end of the first day of school in a new city.

--
Mrs. Wentworth, Jasmine, and Jahi finished their lobster bisque as Eyewitness News signed off. No parents on this night. Just two kids and a post-modern Mary Poppins to get them through.

--
Adamu ate among a small crowd of his friends in the dining hall at Georgetown. It was ten minutes to eight. No studying on this night. Just hanging out with friends.

--
Mayor Beckley stuffed a Quizno’s sandwich into his mouth during a late meeting with his advisors. No wife on this night. Just meetings…meetings with personal friends and political foes.

*****

Raphael slowly sipped a Coke through a straw as he waited outside for the Mayor’s security guard to pick him up.

Right on time, Shannon pulled up to the curb. Before she had the chance to get out and open the door, Raphael was already in the front passenger seat.

“I really wish you’d let me do my job, Dr. Stevens,” Shannon whined.

“Shannon…as long as we’ve known each other, you oughta know I’ve never gotten used to the idea of a woman opening doors for a man. And besides, you’re his head of security, not his maid.”

Shannon smirked.

“Same place as usual?” Raphael asked.

“Grove 19,” she said.

Raphael stretched his legs a bit and turned the radio on. He closed his eyes.

*****

Shannon didn’t like the mayor driving his own vehicle, especially after those terror attacks during the first year of his administration, but sometimes he had to. It’s bad enough the queens in DuPont Circle talk so much about his relationship with Raphael. He read The Blade and Metro Weekly – Raphael couldn’t be spotted anywhere without being referred to as “friend of the mayor.” He knew the phrase was loaded, that the gay community wanted there to be more, so they assumed there was.

And…well…they were right.

But Washington, DC, wasn’t ready for a mayor who slept with men. Especially not one who also had a wife and two kids. Who he loved.

So let the queens talk, John thought to himself. Nobody really knows what’s going on here. And Raffi would never tell.

He was leaning against his Mercedes as Shannon drove the truck down to the grove. It was nearly pitch black, save for the headlights on the Benz and the truck.

The routine was the same. Shannon parked, turned her lights out, and turned on her iPod. Raphael left the truck and walked across the small parking lot toward the mayor.

As Raphael neared the car, the mayor’s smile widened. Both men couldn’t help but be transformed into 15 year old boys: awkward, bashful, and horny.

“How’s my baby?” the mayor asked.

“I ain’t your baby,” Raphael responded playfully. He reached out his arms and allowed the mayor to draw him into a tight embrace. Each man rubbed the other’s back, and in that moment, there was no city politics, no classes, no wives, no children, no responsibilities.

Just two men who were on fire for each other.

The mayor stepped in front of the car, headlights ablaze, and grabbed Raphael by the hands.

He kissed him. Their lips lingered for lifetimes.

And from across the grove, behind the darkest set of trees, behind a telephoto lens with night vision, a private investigator declared “Gotcha!”

(c) 2007 by Rashid Darden
May not be reproduced or distributed in part or in whole without express permission of the author.

Update: I apologize that the comments section on my blog is no longer working. Unfortunately, I am currently maintaining the site by myself and I don't know how to fix it. If you would like to send in your comments on the blog, feel free to email me at rashid @ oldgoldsoul.com.

I will still beat your ass.

That is all.

I'm not "this individual" -- I'm your frat. Otherwise, thanks for the free publicity!

Thanks Wise and Young for hooking me up with this -- sho nuff gave me some things to think about!!!!

He was Pretty Hot And Tempting, yo!

You should reconsider where you choose to shine the light of
Alpha.

--- From an Alpha in New Orleans.

What's with the book about gay frat brothers? Ummm...what? Is that what we're promoting now?

This bama REPLIED ALL.....so brothers from across the nation have read it. So already I'm like this mufuckin BULLY.....

So I replied all.....

You are late.

If you have any further questions regarding my novel, you are free to contact me directly. I would rather not spam these groups with the unnecessary promotion of my novel, but I would love to encourage discussion on how we may further support and guide Alphas who are involved in the arts, even you.

But then I got EXTRA gully, and sent him a personal message with the subject line: "That was my nice message:"

Now hear my serious message:

I don’t suffer fools gladly. If I were you, I would move along and have a nice life.

Y'all know I don't take kindly to that sort of bullshit and I strive to make an example out of every unbrotherly homophobe I encounter.

But hey, the new year wouldn't start out right without an O-Ren Ishii moment!

Bless y'all who support!