let me tell you the story about the man, his hand, and the woman with blue shorts.

It was a warm evening, though a little humid, but still nice. Maria and I were casually drinking our beers at The Mill, a local suburban pub, sitting together, stroking one another as we do on any other day in our friendship (well, more like me demanding to be stroked), when I look over to the bar and notice a middle-aged couple, a man and his woman sitting next to one another. The woman had on stretchy light blue shorts the color of the ocean on a sunny day, the exact shade of which I will never forget I think. She was a voluptuous woman with one of those body types where the waist is impossibly small compared to her booty which seemed to belong to someone at least 100 lbs over her weight. The man, with his suit and fedora... had his arm and hand shoved down the back of those shorts so far, it looked like it was buried wrist-deep in her ass crack.He was digging around in there with absolutely zero reaction from the woman herself as she sipped her appletini (do they even sell those there?). But no... no please. Let me tell you what was even more disturbing. The man was staring our direction very very intently.

Very slowly, I moved to Maria's ear to tell her what had just happened since she was turned toward me and not facing him to see this like I was. She chuckled, looked over there but he had already turned away and taken his hand back out. He kept eyeing us though, quick glances, and then sometimes he would look at us and slap her ass, grab it, and shake it around in his hand. "THIS IS MINE!!!" was what his eyes and gestures were saying.

Anyway, I went to the bathroom at this point to tinkle, leaving Maria alone for a minute. Upon returning, I noticed a look of pure horror in her eyes as she tucked herself further and further into the dark corner we were sitting in, blushing madly. She jumped up when she saw me and demanded that we sit on the other side of the large pillar so that we would no longer be in the man's line of sight, because apparently after I left, they caught eachother's eyes and he has shoved his hand into the woman's ass again and begun digging around, not breaking eye contact with Maria.

I was extremely amused at how disturbed she was but also it was completely understandable. We sat at the bar on the other side of the pillar... but did this stop the man?

Well. Now, he was being blatantly clear that he meant to stare at us as he bent backward, around the pillar and looked at us, slapping his woman's ass over and over, squeezing, penetrating, shaking, grabbing. And conveniently, the woman's ass was the only thing that was protruding naturally from behind the pillar so it was even more ridiculous when all we saw was a hand slapping it around and jiggling it, yet his head trying very hard to peak behind the pillar to see our reactions. Maria's virgin eyes were so wide and sparkling, I could see both of our lives the lives of our children and memories just flashing and cascading into black holes of oblivion as all of the innocence that was once there was vanishing by the millisecond. She was a changed woman.

She was never the same again. And me? Well... I am here, though hardened by the events of that night, I am here. I am here to remind her of that night so that her brain cannot repress the image of the man, his hand, and the woman with the blue shorts.