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I step forward and puff out my chest. "Pleased to meet you, ma’am. The name’s Bryce."
BJ’s mother fans herself. "Oh, my. You’re sure one big guy, aren’t you, Bryce?"
I smile as I rub BJ’s back. "Without a doubt."
BJ cackles out a laugh. "Every part of him is big, Mom. You wouldn’t be able to believe your eyes."
BJ’s mother waggles her eyebrows. "I believe it, all right. Okay, you two. Come in and sit down. I’ve been preparing a delicious home cooked meal, and I want you to enjoy it. BJ, no turning on loud music and having a wiggle dance party in the living room like you love to do. Please pretend that we’re a respectable, mature family that doesn’t treat you like a five-year-old."
"Four." BJ sticks out his tongue and blows a raspberry in the air. Btttthpt. "That’s my Little age."
"Little age, shmittle age," his mother grumbles, heading toward the kitchen. "All these new terms are so difficult to keep up with."
BJ and I settle into the living room sofa for a bit and read a Town and Country magazine that’s on the coffee table. BJ tells me all about his life here growing up, about his old puppy Rover who passed away last year, and about his neighborhood friends.
I melt as I listen to him speak. To be frank, it’s rare that I run into a Little who doesn’t have a traumatic upbringing. Most have abusive parents, Dads who rage and scream, or mothers who infantilize them and treat them as babies well past the age they’ve become adults.
BJ is a breath of fresh air. I look around at the suburban setting, then grin. BJ’s big emotional trauma is that some working guys on a job site rejected him when he was sixteen. He’s enrolled in college right now, so he doesn’t need me to help him study. He mostly needs help with learning how to be independent, paying his bills, and understanding the financial world. Investing. How to make money.
I lean in and peck his cheek. "You are so cute."
"Daddy." BJ buries himself in my arms. "Don't let my mother see us kissing. She’ll put arsenic in our apple pie."
BJ crushes his lips to mine. I have to get used to the fact that my hug bug loves initiating kisses.
I cup the back of his head, then sweep my tongue across his teeth. I feather it between his cheeks, wiggling it back and forth, craving his taste.
My breath hitches as I pull back. "If your mother’s dinner tastes half as good as you, I’m in for a treat."
BJ blushes as he places his palm on my belly. "I can tell you’re hungry."
We lift up my shirt, and BJ laughs as he plays the bongo drums on my belly.
He plunges downward and blows a raspberry under my folds.
Btttthpt.
I chuckle, pulling him back. "That’s enough, boy."
BJ’s cheeks are bright pink. "I never thought I’d have a Daddy to love and blow raspberries on in my boring living room. Oh, Daddy—you and I are really together. Look around, Daddy. This is where I grew up. I read on this couch, tossed my baseball mitt on this very table, and ate cupcakes right on that chair across from us on my birthdays. This is a happy place and now it’s even happier because you’re here. This is wonderful."
I squeeze BJ tight. "Damn right, boy. Damn right."
BJ’s mother enters the living room and puts her hands on her hips. "I know I didn’t just hear a curse come out of your lips, BJ. You have such a goddamn potty mouth."
BJ shrieks as he slams his hands over my mouth. "It was my Daddy, Mommy! I promise!"
I laugh as I hug BJ tight. "Yes, it was me. I said the D-word."
BJ’s mother palms her forehead. "You’d better not be talking about the D’s that you two boys have."
I shake my head. "No, ma’am. I was agreeing with BJ about something. I said damn right."
BJ’s mother smiles. "Well, my D-word—dinner—is ready to eat. Let’s head to the damn kitchen!"
In no time, we’re digging into lamb chops, roasted potatoes, sautéed vegetables, and helping ourselves to generous portions of stuffing. I always associate stuffing with Thanksgiving, but BJ’s family proves that you can eat it anytime you like. The sparkling wine BJ’s mother serves me is to-die-for, and it complements every facet of the meal.
BJ’s father issues his son a curt nod. "Put some meat on those bones, boy."
