The man beside me placed his hand on my leg. In fact, he began to move his hand up my leg, towards my pride. I was in terror. I did not know what to do or think! This was wrong... it just couldn't be happening!

I jumped up from my seat quickly and moved to another, considerably ahead of where he was sitting. Again I felt safe-shook up-but safe.

The dark of the night hit me in the face as I walked out from the theater afterwards. Neon lights flashed everywhere, magnifying the excitement of the night crowd. The lighted marquees glamorized this commercial city.

The drinking age in New York is 18, and I figured that I ought to try and fake it. I sauntered into a bar on Broadway as if I owned it, and placed myself beside two lovely ladies. Now, this was something I could handle and understand, I thought to myself-women.

A rather tall, heavy-set man stood across the bar from me staring. I could see that he was about 35 and very strongly built. His handsome features showed that he must be a real knock-out with women.

"How old are you, son?" he asked in a deep voice.

"Eighteen," I said, and carrying out my bluff, I reached for my wallet. He winked, smiled, and with a quick gesture, wiped the bar in front of me with the towel he had in his hand.

"What will you have?" he questioned, in an extremely pleasant tone. "A draft, please," I replied, wondering if he knew.

The girl beside me looked as if she were from Hollywood, a real curvy damsel.

"May I buy you a drink?" I asked.

She turned and looked at me. Her eyes cut right through me, but her face remained expressionless.

"Well, I didn't mean to offend you by that," I said. "I'm a nice guy, I assure you."

The girl sitting beside her laughed at that, which really disturbed me. "I'm not talking to you, so why don't you mind yourself, or are you jealous?" I said angrily.

"Say!" she said, jumping up from her seat and walking over to me. "First you bother my girlfriend, then you insult me. Damn right, I'm jealous, but not the way you think!"

Before I could realize what was happening, I was sitting on my dignity, in the middle of the floor. I never dreamed a woman could hit so hard. "Hey, son! Come down here," the bartender said. '

His sympathetic voice caught my attention and I looked up. He was down at the end of the bar motioning to me. I stood up, and, with my tail between my legs, I walked over to him.

"It looks as though you're a small-town boy lost in a big city. Well, I guess it's about as good a time and place for you to get educated. There's

a girl right over there all alone. She can become extremely friendly if you offer to buy her a drink, so go to it."

I turned my head and looked at her. She looked quite drunk already and acted like a woman trying to prove she was a woman. I got off the stool at the bar and walked over to her.

"Excuse me," I said. "May I buy you a drink?”

"Oh! You certainly may," she said. "I'm drinking martinis."

I ordered two drinks from the bar and then sat down beside her at her table. She really was quite friendly, because she put her arm around me almost immediately. I ran my hand across her back and snapped her bra strap. "It's a good thing you're cute, honey, or I'd slap you for that," she said, in a real seductive voice.

"Is there anything I could do that would make you slap me?" I questioned.

She shook her head no and sipped her drink, looking catlike at me out of the corner of her eye.

After a couple of more drinks, I felt rather brave. I placed my hand on her knee and she immediately kissed me on the cheek. This strengthened my inward feelings and I turned slightly to face her better. My hand went under the edge of her dress and I could feel the end of the stockings she wore. At this point for some unknown reason I remembered the man in the theater. I quickly shook this thought from my head.

I suddenly found out what the bartender had meant by education. When I brought my hand to the point where her legs met-this was no woman, that's for damn sure! It was now someone elses turn to sit on the floor, and that is where I put him/her-or her/him, whichever it was.

I returned to the bar again. To the protection of the bartender. Apparent-

ly he was the only one that was understanding.

“Now, let me buy you a drink,” the bartender demanded. "Thanks, I think I need one. A draft if you don't mind."

"Where are you staying in town?" he asked.

"Nowhere just yet. I imagine I'll get a room when the bars close. I don't know for sure. I may go to Chicago tonight."

"Chicago," he exclaimed. "Why on earth would anyone want to go to Chicago? Look, why don't you come up and stay at my place tonight?",

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