So I went to sit on his lap as I had many times in the past. He hadn’t shaved in weeks; his beard was thick and stained yellow with beer.“Hey ther..., come to catch a game with your old man?” He stroked my long dark-brown hair and smiled. “Who’s winning?” I asked and then leaned against his chest. He hadn’t been wearing a shirt, his hairy chest tickled my cheek a little. His hand moved from my hair to my hip, he rubbed it a little; pushing my already too-short nightie up over my pink cotton. This one's shirt's too loud, red flag. This one wears his hair the way my dead brother used to, red flag. It was exciting enough for me just to watch my wife move through the room and draw men's attention her way, but she soon grew frustrated with me. I knew I'd have to be less judgmental."This is Cory." My wife stood arm-in-arm with a black man who was three inches taller than me and ten years younger. He didn't look quite so tall when I'd waved my green flag a moment earlier. "He's into it,". More

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