It was inadvertent, and unavoidable contact as my hand grazed one of her breasts, reaching over to try and wrestle out the other arm, she even giggled...when I did that, making it more difficult as though fighting me rather than helping me."Tag, you're it," she said in a very slurred sounding speech, her eyes closed, and suddenly appearing to have passed out after having said that. I just stood there looking down at her totally nude form, the words a reminder of so long ago now.As a child we had. And comforting.I'm still not sure how it happened, but later that evening I was riding home with her in a cab. Toward her home. There just happened to be an extra bedroom in her place, she said.It was a magnificent restored brownstone on West End Avenue, not far from Central Park. The furnishings reeked of wealth... dark hardwood paneling throughout, crystal chandeliers, winding staircases, massive Victorian furniture. The butler greeted us at the door.Bookshelves lined one wall of the bedroom.. More

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