He looks me in the eyes. I see a sweetness there, a rare glint of vulnerability that shines like a precious stone. “If I tell you this story, you’ll be the first and only person who’s ever heard it.”“John. We’re family now.”“Alright. Just… keep it between us?”I nod and wait for him to start.“I was…fourteen. And I went to one of those private Catholic schools that cost just as much as some colleges. I had a tutor, played polo, tennis, and golf, got top scores on every test I ever took. And I never made a problem for my parents. I don’t remember much about my real parents. I think the thing I remember the best is the sounds my real mother made as she cried. But my adoptive parents? Mr. and Mrs. Duncan? The ones who raised me? I did everything I could to please them. I was damn lucky. And I was grateful.“My first taste, if we are calling it that, happened one day at school. One of the older boys said he wanted to show me something after practice. I wanted to fit in, so I followed him. He turned the corner…and he held me against the wall and he kissed me. It was my first kiss. He kissed me hard and he touched me. And…”