ass

From all appearances, he looked like a perfectly respectable business man: gray flannel suit, computer bag, Wall Street Journal, raincoat, etc. Except for the fact that he grabbed my ass. This morning. At Penn Station. A violation in full public view.

It isn't that I have a particularly nice ass. I'm easy prey. And he knew he could get away with menacing upon my intimate space.

I'm beginning to think that this is really how most of them regard me--DH, MP, SPK, WLF--with their deference and easy sugar-coated everythings. It is easy to see how starved I am for attention, that it would take little more than a bit of flattery to perpetrate that fraud. The fraud that I have any other purpose for them other than just a quick piece ass every now and again.