I dragged myself into the main bar with my money total for the night from the service bar in the adjoining restaurant, attending to my last duty; to pass on the money info to the bartender who would then give the final total to the owner who sat at a table with her friends, holding court, directly under an old wooden cross.
I was exhausted. I just finished a twelve-hour shift as the inside service bartender. I was in no mood to have to talk to the owner or be bothered by anything other than handing over my totals.
Sure enough, I was called over to the table and asked to join the group. This occasion didn’t happen very often. And, there was a handsome younger man sitting next to Rosalea, the owner. I inched my way around the large, round table. Rosalea’s friends (the regulars) never spoke to me anyway so that was nothing new, a little uncomfortable perhaps, but not any different. But she introduced me to the handsome younger guy!
When I heard his name, I remembered the things I’d heard about him through the years. He was very intriguing, besides looking like Robert Redford, and tall, about 6’2” or taller. He was a gambler, loved casinos, traveled all over the world and was originally from Texas. He almost had a schoolboy quality about him. Nice.
I admiringly stared at him as he spoke to the people on the other side of the table. He looked pretty damn good in profile, too. I sipped my wine unnoticed, transfixed by the conversations, but dreading my long drive home, 23 miles southeast of town.
After what seemed like forever, someone got up from the table and it was the perfect out for me, pleading exhaustion. I said goodnight to everyone and clearly needed to go home!
Rosalea insisted the young man walk me to my car! He stood right up and like a gentleman, smiled, did a little bow and took my arm. I was relieved because my car was parked on a dark narrow street and it was best to be safe. Once you rounded that corner, you couldn‘t really be seen or heard that easily. I was used to it because I parked there nightly. But hey, I was walking next to this handsome, fabulous man. I wasn’t complaining.
When we approached my car, we walked slower. I leaned against the car, a little seductively, too. I looked up at that handsome face and he leaned forward and I thought "Oh goody, he is going to kiss me". I leaned upward, away from the car. As I did, with his one hand he cupped my pubic area and with the other hand he cupped my buttox and clasped his fingers in the middle (thank God I was wearing pants) and lifted me up, rendering me helpless with my arms perpendicular to his chest! He PICKED ME UP! INTO THE AIR! A veritable crotch-lift!!!!
I was taken completely by surprise and the glass of wine slowed me a bit because at first I couldn’t even imagine what just happened. Yet his cupped hands in my nether region gave proof that this was just plain weird! He was lifting me high enough that my feet were off the ground, my legs were dangling and I was sideways!!!
“Stop it!”, I screamed, hysterically.
“Put me DOWN!”
“Put me DOWN!”
“Put me dowwwwwwwwn!”
And he did, suddenly. He stood still, right there in front of me, and watched as I became one very pissed off woman!
I went into some kind of a karate mode, bent over at the waist, arms out wide, flailing, hysterical. My eyes narrowed and I was a hissy, snarlling mess.
I couldn’t speak! I was so angry and so shocked that I could not form a sentence.
And, he straightened his shirt, turned a half circle, farted and went back to the restaurant just as if nothing had happened.
I was still posed in karate stance, shaking. How would I ever tell Rosalea what her friend just did to me? It’d be just my luck that she would love it. No, no, I had just been molested, sort of.
The next day I summoned up the courage and told her of the horrific incident after a sleepless night of worrying what she might do/say. After all, I had been molested! I was VERY upset! I had tears in my eyes for extra effect, as I related the whole sordid story to her.
She laughed and laughed.