Private Relations Read Free Page A

the best damn storytelling I’ve ever read. And as for The Perks of Being a Wallflower… ”
    “It’s one of my favorite books, too,” Bobby added. “Even if I am a little old.”
    Bobby was unlike anyone else I’d ever met. Not only did he encourage my love of reading, but he also encouraged me to write. Over the next few months, he’d dedicated countless hours to reading my short stories and providing feedback along the way. Eventually, we’d stopped meeting at the library and started having sessions at his house on the banks of the Delaware River.
    I didn’t think anything of walking the half-mile from campus to his home not far from Downtown New Hope. He’d ordered a pizza for the two of us, and there was even a six-pack of Yuengling Lager on the kitchen counter.
    “Sorry,” he’d said. “I shouldn’t have alcohol present with a student around.”
    “Like I haven’t had beer before?” I grabbed a bottle, twisted off the cap. “Unless you’re going to call the cops and report me for underage drinking?”
    Bobby had actually blushed.
    He was handsome, almost breathtakingly so. His blue eyes were by complimented by the dark blonde hair that flowed in thick waves. Stubble marked his cheeks and chin, and his lips were slick with the remnants of our beer.
    Looking back, I couldn’t have been more naive. What kind of grown man invites a teenage boy into his home? And on the flimsy pretense of reviewing a short story that could have easily been edited in Microsoft Word and emailed back to the student to review on his own time?
    We sat on the sofa in front of the fireplace, right as a heavy rain began to fall. Bobby had taken one last bite of pepperoni, then picked up the short story I’d emailed him a few days before. It featured a sixteen-year-old boy who’d uncovered a terror plot at his own high school.
    “Please tell me you don’t think New Hope Academy is under siege from al-Qaeda?” he’d teased. “Where did you get the inspiration from?”
    “Well, I was watching CNN in the student lounge last week, and apparently, a majority of ‘terrorists’ in the world are young men. Like, under the age of thirty.”
    “Is that a fact?”
    “That’s what this old guy from the FBI was saying. So I’m wondering, if al-Qaeda really wanted to inflict some damage, what would stop them from trying to recruit the best and brightest right here in America?”
    “That’s a terrifying thought,” he’d said. “But one that made for a great little novella. You do realize you emailed me close to fifty pages, right?”
    “Oops.”
    “No, don’t apologize.” He’d handed me the printout, featuring his thoughts and edits in his trademark blue pen. “You’re the best student I have in class by far.”
    “Really?”
    “Yes, really.”
    It was at that moment I’d felt something change.
    The alcohol had lowered my defenses. Rain pelted the glass windows overlooking the river, and the flickering light of the fire threatened to put me to sleep.
    His hand reached out and brushed my cheek. I’d just opened my mouth to speak when he’d leant in and pressed his lips against my own. He’d kissed me again and again -- even going so far as to reach between my legs and massage my groin.
    “Wait,” I’d said, breaking off the kiss. “No. Stop…”
    He didn’t listen. He’d kissed my forehead, my cheeks, my neck. He’d gripped my shoulders and pressed me down onto the sofa, knocking over the empty beer bottles in the process. His stubble burned my face and I could barely move beneath his iron grip. Despite this, I didn’t put up much of a fight.
    It’d felt too damn good.
    My cock stiffened in my jeans; I’d shuddered when he’d reached up my shirt and brushed a thumb over my nipple. Yes, I’d told him to stop -- but I hadn’t done much else. He’d moved down to my abdomen, where he’d lifted up my shirt and kissed a trail down my stomach. Then, he unbuttoned my jeans, stripped me naked from the