Some of those memories are so painful, I expect that we all tend to bury them for years. Even buried memories come back to visit now and then, like ba... chili.As I walked along in the very front of our little group, I was isolated, not by distance so much as by who I was. It was as simple as that. I wasn't like the others and I really never had been. I was, of course, even less like them at that moment.When I never really liked playing with dolls as a child, I probably should have known then. My wife and the bitch were nowhere to be seen so I went through the kitchen and onto the back patio to see if they were at the pool. There were a few half empty glasses and a red bikini bottom laying on a deck chair, but no half drunk women as I expected. I toed at the red cloth with my wingtip and realized that it was made for a man and not for a woman. My blood started to boil.I stormed back through the house and listened quietly, back on the prowl, hoping to catch her in the act. My mind had. More

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