The Boyfriend Diaries: A Romance Box Set Collection

by S. E. Law

  The words are caveman-like, but it’s true. In the month that Aria and I have been secretly seeing one another, life has been amazing. She sneaks into my office at odd hours, and we always manage to steal a passionate kiss, if not a full-on make-out session. Plus, Aria comes over to my cottage most nights, and we tear up the sheets doing everything and anything that titillates the senses. Like me, my little girl’s mind is always in the gutter, and I’ve tasted every single one of her holes, enjoying them to my heart’s content.

  But to be honest, Aria loves it too. She comes long and hard, multiple times each night. I don’t know what she tells her roommate because she hasn’t slept in her dorm room for weeks now, but maybe that’s the norm for college girls who have boyfriends. Maybe they just disappear, without any explanation as to what’s going on.

  But still, I’d like to know.

  “So how are you explaining your absence to your roommate? What was her name again? Alyssa?”

  Aria smiles and pops a bite of pancake into her mouth. She’s pulled the vee of her robe shut so that I’m not distracted, and then pours a generous serving of maple syrup over her stack.

  “Elisa,” she corrects me. “I told her I have a boyfriend now. It happens all the time, you know. Once a girl finds a guy, she often spends a lot of time with him. There’s a girl down the hall from us who has never slept in her own bed, if you know what I mean. She’s always with her boyfriend, and I think her mattress doesn’t even have sheets on it.”

  I gawk a little.

  “Are you serious? Do her parents now?”

  Aria shrugs while taking another gooey bite of pancake.

  “I have no idea. I’d guess no because why would she tell them? No one really wants to know that their daughter is sleeping in a strange boy’s bed every night.”

  I nod thoughtfully before taking another sip of my coffee.

  “But you’ve been with me almost every night, honey. That’s not setting off any alarms in your camp?”

  Aria shakes her head while reaching for the butter.

  “I don’t think so. I mean, I haven’t told my parents, if that’s what you’re asking. Besides, college students are considered adults, so there aren’t any alarms to set off, period. It’s not like I’m flunking my classes. In fact, I’m going to get an A in your American Literature course, right, Professor Moore? You promised me,” she says with a sassy pout.

  I chuckle, although therein lies the problem. I shouldn’t be in a relationship with Aria because I have direct control over her grades. This is something we should keep under wraps, given that university faculty would most certainly freak out if they discovered I was in a relationship with a nubile undergrad. And yet, I can’t give up this relationship either. Aria is so giving, sweet, and exactly what I need. I wouldn’t be able to ignore her, the same way I wouldn’t be able to cut off my own right hand.

  I fix her with a mock-stern look.

  “I think you should get an A but it’s because you deserve it,” I say casually. “Your last paper on the Machado book was incredible, sweetheart.”

  “I’m glad you liked it!” she says, perking up and smiling. “I wasn’t sure what you were going to think because my paper was pretty sexual, and I delved into the queer perspective of many characters. But I’m glad it stood out to you.”

  I nod approvingly.

  “Aria, you’re really talented,” I rumble. “And I would say that even if you weren’t my lover. You really have a good head when it comes to analyzing literature, and I was impressed with your close textual analysis as well as the incorporation of third-party sources. How did you find those resources, anyways?” I ask, squinting a bit. “Machado’s book just came out, so I’m surprised there was any literary criticism, period.”

  Aria grins.

  “I read all the on-line journals, as well as a bunch of popular culture blogs. I know what you’re thinking: that stuff is drivel and this is the garbage that clutters the internet. But I swear, if you dig deep enough, you can actually find some good stuff out there. Maybe it’s not the New York Review of Books, but there are a lot of talented critics who need a platform, and we can’t all work for the New York Review.”

  I nod. Aria’s right because there are so many hungry, aggressive authors out there, and critics as well. Before the internet, there was no way for them to get published. The gatekeepers were the editors at storied publications like the New York Review of Books, but these industry editors have seen their influence wane in the digital age. Instead, numerous literary blogs have cropped up as of late, and although I don’t follow them religiously, I do read them on occasion and had reason to be surprised because they’re good. Maybe they’re not rigorous in the same way as the old guard, but they have their own points of view and cater to a different population with different ideologies and identities.

  “You know, I think you’re right,” I say slowly while sipping my coffee again. “After all, Machado’s work is genre-defying. It’s literature, certainly, but it’s also gothic horror, queer romance, and short format reimaginings all rolled into one. Why would a publication as staid as the New York Review take Machado? They’re looking for the next Tennyson or Jonathan Safran Foer. They wouldn’t know what to do with a Carmen Machado.”

  “Exactly,” says Aria with satisfaction while popping another bite of pancake into her mouth. “They don’t know what to do with someone like her, and so they ignore her. But you know what? The literary establishment is taking note because they’ve seen their influence wane. They know that they’re not kingmakers anymore, and it’s clear that Machado has done just fine without them. Didn’t she win a prize recently?”

  “She did,” I nod. “She was a National Book Award finalist.”

  “See?” Aria says triumphantly. “There’s a new squad coming to town, and the old guard better be scared. Because they are going to be irrelevant sooner or later.”

  I throw my head back and laugh because Aria is so bold and sassy that it’s breathtaking. On the one hand, I’m impressed. My lover is young but she’s keenly intelligent and not afraid to make big claims. I adore the fact that she just puts it out there with a double middle finger.

  Plus, her words are enticing because she’s not afraid to spar with me. She’s not intimidated in the least, and when she refers to the “old guard,” she’s referring to fuddy-duddies like myself who hold academic positions at universities. Yes, we reside in the ivory tower, but I’m not offended. If anything, Aria’s sassy critiques get me going in all the right ways and every cell in my body stands on alert as I gaze at that laughing, generous form.

  Shit. What I want right now is to tear that robe from her curvy body, and to throw her onto the linoleum floor and have my way with her all over again. I want to sample the sweetness between her thighs, and maybe pour some maple syrup onto her folds before licking it up drop by drop. My eyes gleam, and I’m just about to reach for her giggling curves when suddenly there’s a metal clanking sound by the front door.

  I sigh and roll my eyes.

  “It’s just the mail,” I say. “USPS still delivers on Saturdays around here.”

  Aria giggles.

  “That’s good. I thought they were going bankrupt and were cutting Saturday deliveries.”

  “Maybe,” I say wryly. “But it hasn’t hit rural Rhode Island yet. Let me see if I got anything.”

  I get up from my chair, the furniture scraping a bit, and stroll over to the front door. Damnit. I have a mail slot cut into the wooden slab, and the carrier pushed my mail in so that it’s spilled in a messy heap on the floor. Sighing, I lean over and pick up the various pieces of junk and what not.

  “Yep, just more flyers,” I say while strolling back to the warmth of the kitchen. “A lot of wasted paper here.”

  But then I stop because there’s a very official looking envelope in the pile. The sender says it’s from the university, which isn’t odd in and of itself. But usually, when the university wants to communicate with me
, they do it by email. Only formal communications are reserved for snail mail.

  “Anything good?” Aria asks from her seat in the kitchen. “Mmm, these pancakes are so yummy. Thank you for making them Roland.”

  But I don’t answer. Instead, I rip open the envelope, my forehead creasing. There’s a letter inside printed on university letterhead, and my eyes go wide as I read it. Oh shit.

  “What the fuck?” I sputter, placing the letter down on the breakfast table with anger. “Who the fuck do they think they are?”

  Aria looks confused and picks up the letter herself, reading it quickly.

  “What?” she asks, her voice trailing off with surprise. “They think that you plagiarized someone in your work? How is that possible?”

  I stalk around the small kitchen, raging.

  “It’s not possible, that’s the point. But this fucking ivory tower, I want to fucking blow it up! You know how these things work?”

  The pretty blonde still looks confused, shaking her head.

  “No, how?”

  I rage more, spittle practically flying from my mouth.

  “There are no rules! Some fucking prick writes in to your department claiming that you’ve plagiarized a piece. Then your department chair has to open an investigation, and your career pretty much hits a standstill. Because what journal is going to publish my work while I’m being investigated? How am I going to “publish or die”? I’m just going to die. What the fuck? Who did this?”

  Aria looks completely surprised, her face draining of all color.

  “But surely, there has to be some proof right? They can’t just open up an investigation based on nothing. Did you copy something, even inadvertently?”

  “NO!” I rage. “All of my work is my own, and I’ve never stolen from another writer. What the fuck? How could you think that, Aria?”

  She becomes even more pale, her hands dropping limply into her lap.

  “No, I didn’t mean to imply that Roland. Of course you’ve never plagiarized anyone. I’m just trying to understand how this mysterious accuser could even come up with the allegation. I mean, he can’t just pull it out of thin air, can he?”

  I shake my head miserably, while continuing to stalk around the small space.

  “Yes, he can, Aria,” I say in a low monotone. “Or she, whoever this fucker is. Basically, the internet has made the impossible possible. You can literally create a literary journal out of nothing. You can find some critiques, slap them onto a site, and then call yourself the New Review of Books. Keep this up for a few months, put up a fake masthead, and soon you have a journal of sorts. Then, you publish something based on my work, but instead of crediting me, you say that I plagiarized this mysterious author.”

  “But that’s all fake,” Aria says with utter confusion in her voice. “These fake literary journals are totally transparent. Anyone can see that they’re just pulling wool over our eyes.”

  I shake my head with despair.

  “Yeah, you’d think that, right? But the truth is that when an allegation like this surfaces, the university has to investigate, and more often than not, those investigations take months, if not years. My career is probably over, Aria. I’m not going to get tenure. I’m fucked.”

  Immediately, my girl stands and throws her small arms around me.

  “That’s not true,” she says, her voice muffled by my shoulder. “This isn’t the end. We’ll prove that this is all a hoax, and that you’ve been targeted by some vindictive assholes.”

  I pull her close, the sorrow making my voice choke.

  “I hope you’re right, but sweetheart, the investigation is going to be relentless. They’re going to look under every rock. They’re going to sic the university’s lawyers on me. Hell, I’ll probably need to get a lawyer myself, seeing that my life is about to be placed under the microscope. I’m fucked,” I say again, my big form shaking a bit. It’s been a long time since I’ve cried, but suddenly, I discover that my cheeks are wet. What the hell? Who is this anonymous terrorist hell bent on taking down my career? Who the fuck does this asshole think he is?

  But at least I have Aria because she pulls me close, murmuring sweet nothings while stroking my back.

  “We’ll get through it together,” she says in a soothing voice. “I promise you, Roland. Everything is going to be okay.”

  I inhale on a shuddering breath and pull that curvy form close while burying my head in her golden hair. The pain that we’re about to go through is going to be intense because the university is bound to discover our relationship. Yet, I can’t go through this without my love. She’s everything to me: my backbone, my identity, and my calm in the center of the storm. Only with Aria by my side, will I survive.

  53

  Aria

  A year later.

  “Haley, I’m leaving,” I call over my shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

  My babysitter appears with little Tommy in her arms.

  “Everything’s going to be fine, Aria. Tommy and I will be happy and good while you’re gone, won’t we Tommy? Say bye-bye to Mommy.”

  But I can’t resist and rush to my baby one last time, pressing kisses to his brown curls. He looks up at me with big blue eyes, innocent and round while waving a small fist in my direction.

  “Gah,” he says. “Goo-gah.”

  I laugh at the little tyrant.

  “Mommy will be back soon, I promise Tommy. Mommy loves you,” I say before giving him one last kiss and disappearing through the door.

  After all, I can’t put off life forever. Strange things happen, but you have to roll with the punches and do the best you can no matter what.

  A year ago, I never would have guessed that I would be in this position. Back then, I was a college junior engaged in the hottest relationship I’d ever been in. Okay, it was the only relationship I’d ever been in, but it was with a gorgeous, handsome, charming man who swept me off my feet. Roland Moore was my English professor, but he was more than that. He was witty, kind, and made me feel so good inside and out. I felt safe in his arms, as if all my problems were over.

  But that was only the beginning because after a month of dating, I fell pregnant. I didn’t even know it at first. I missed my period, but it was no big deal because I’ve never been regular. Then I forgot to look out for my second missed period, and by the time my third missed period came into view, he’d gotten that terrible letter from the university. Roland was being investigated for lifting someone else’s work, and he was going to be grilled by a panel of lawyers, professors, staff, and university management. It was bound to be awful.

  I didn’t want to add to my lover’s misery, and the truth is that it wouldn’t have been right. After all, what we were doing was absolutely taboo. He’s an older professor, and I’m a student in his class. He has direct control over my grades, and not only that, but he’d given me As on my last two papers. I deserved the good grades because of my hard work and in-depth research, but I knew it wouldn’t appear that way to the investigators. They would uncover our secrets, and allege that our relationship was just another breach of the university’s Code of Conduct.

  So I disappeared from Roland’s life. I withdrew from school and sent him a two line email saying goodbye without explaining anything. Then I shut off my phone and moved home to have my baby. My parents weren’t thrilled at this turn of events, but what could they do? They’re daughter was pregnant and there was no turning back the clock.

  But they supported my decision to keep the baby, and after Tommy was born, they were over the moon with joy. My little boy is a cutie, with blue eyes and brown hair just like his dad. He has the same dimple in his left cheek, and the same way of putting a tiny fist to his chin when he’s thinking.

  It breaks my heart that Roland doesn’t know that he has a son, but what choice did I have? I couldn’t reveal my pregnancy to him, not when he was facing down the Inquisition. If the school discovered our affair, then he’d most certainly be fired. So I disappeare
d, giving birth in secret in my small rural hometown.

  But now, it’s time to get my life started again. After all, I couldn’t stay hidden forever, and it’s not like unmarried mothers are publicly shamed these days. In fact, out of wedlock birth is quite common in Rhode Island, and I was merely joining the ranks of single moms trying to juggle a load of different responsibilities.

  “Bye Tommy,” I wave as the curtain opens and Haley and my baby look out at me. “Mommy loves you!”

  I’ve been lucky to find Haley. She’s a local girl who lives close to the University of Rhode Island. She has a flexible schedule between working as a tutor to elementary-aged children, and helping her elderly mom at home. So Haley’s able to babysit for me on a regular basis, and she’s been a lifesaver so far.

  Still, it pains me to leave my child because he’s only a few months old. But I have to because I have to move on with life, and my parents made me deal: so long as I got my college degree, they would support me and the baby financially. So here I am, re-enrolled at the University of Rhode Island for my senior year.

  I wave one last time at Tommy and get into my beat-up hatchback with the fake pleather seats. Tommy’s carseat is in the back and I tear up a bit as I catch a glimpse of it in the rearview mirror. But such is life. I have to move on, and with one more wave, I pull the car away from the curb and start driving to school.

  When I pull into the campus parking lot, who’s waiting for me but Elisa.

  “Hey girl!” she waves, putting out a cigarette with the heel of one tall, black boot. “Took you long enough!”

  “I know, I know,” I say, getting out of my car. “Sorry, but Tommy didn’t want to eat his cereal, and it took all my energy just to get him to take two bites. Good thing his babysitter arrived just in time.”

  Elisa shoots me an empathetic look.