My shirt had beenchanged from a men's T-shirt to some sort of blouse. Looking furtherdown, I was wearing girl's jean shorts. No wonder why I felt w...ird onthe pile of clothes, my shorts lost about a foot of fabric and my nowexposed legs were touching everything.I ran my hands along my body. What I was feeling was feeling very real. And even if it was imagined, I doubt I could have imagined the sensationof my fingers touching my breasts through my top. Because it wasn'tlike anything I felt. Again. Single. Back to square fucking one. You know, when you make a clumsy, abortive pass at your best friend when you’re twenty, it’s charming, at twenty-five, amusing. At thirty-eight, it’s absurd. This brings us to New Years’ Eve, when I found myself being kissed and caressed on a soon-to-become twenty-minute trek to take out the trash. Fortunately, none of my other friends had the wherewithal to clean up, our absence went slightly, drunkenly noticed. After some animated snogging and. More

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