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But slowly, for a variety of reasons, mostly due to my indifference to nurturing them because they reminded me too much of the man I'd lost, those social connections began to wither. Donny and I were made for each other. We'd become acquainted in grade school, began spending time together just before high school, became sweethearts in high school, and got married after Donny's first year of college. As long as he lived he was the only man I ever knew intimately, or wanted to know.We were comfortable together. It wasn't great passion that held us together; I don't think either of us would have described what we felt for each other as passion. It was, rather, a profound wordless knowing that we shared a wound we couldn't talk about but which we somehow knew we could trust the other not to tear open.When Donny died it was like having the skin torn off my body. An essential part of my life was gone. The sense of safety I'd had for so long slipped away. For awhile I went through the. Alone.Well, I thought alone. As the barkeep pushed the glass towards me andsaid $5, the man in the suit and hat slipped in just in time to make anoffer no lady refuses. “May I,” was all he said, with a smile and thesimple passing of a $10 to the bartender. The man with the mop browstarted to make change, but the hat man simply smiled and waved him off.“Do you mind if I join you, lady?” he asked. A nod and he took the stooladjacent to mine. Now, the dress I had on wasn't meant for clubbing, notexactly at any rate. There was a slit up each leg that stopped aboutfive or six inches below my hip bone. Had I worn anything other thanhigh-cut bikini panties, they would have shown. As it was, I had an inchof wiggle room and midnight blue would be peeping out around the edges.We talked for a few moments and the sixth race kicked off on the screenover the bar. I was swallowing a sip of alcohol when I felt the man'shand on my bare thigh. He had not the least hesitation as he rolled hisfinger.
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