Mike looked over and stared down my shirt.“Are you not wearing a bra?” Mike asked with his eyes squinting in a questioning manner.I just laughed i...stead of returning an answer. The round continued on. I served the men beers from their bags, poured shots of bourbon down their throats, and complimented their golf shots. I had taken shots as well and by the eleventh hole, we were all fairly buzzed.Mike was definitely drunk and had become boisterous and handsy. He put his arm around my shoulder. Suddenly my therapy sessions were both thrilling and very frightening,as I lived in an apartment building in a town 45 minutes away from heroffice. I was certain that I would either be found out by a neighbor orpulled over while driving. Karen was helping me to accept myself as aperson, and not a monster. Unfortunately, I still didn't feel I deservedto be happy...so one day I quit going to therapy. I figured that if Isimply concentrated on the people in my life that I cared for, I couldquit. "Maybe," was all he said back, stepping towards the centre of the pool and pulling on her leg to yank her along, sliding her ass off the bench so that she disappeared under water for a second. When she resurfaced he giggled at her. "Been way too long. I missed you," he said, stepping in close to wrap his arms around her and tug her body against his."I'm with someone," was her first response, genuinely trying to push him back away having resigned herself to tell Alex that this was neither the. Invading personal space wasn’t an issue for her, I guess. “Don’t leave,“ she said. “It’s early, and you shouldn’t give up so easily. Come talk to me. I saw you staring at me with that hang-dog look and I want to see if I can make you feel better.“ She put a finger under my chin and lifted my head up. “Come now,“ she said. She took my hand and led me to a love seat in the corner of the living room where we could have a little privacy. “What’s your name?“ she asked. “Call me Ishmael,“ I said,.