Chapter 2

"You know I can't serve you," chastised the bartender, Mike. "When you turn 18, and can prove it to me, I'll give ya' one for free." (It was 1973, and it was legal to drink alcohol at 18 years of age - Timmy had only just turned 17 a week earlier.) "Until then, you need to go home and get cleaned up, you're looking rough there, Boy."

"Ohhkay, thanks anyway, Mike," sighed Timmy. He felt way too sober now. He looked around, wondering who he could cajole into buying some booze for him. There were always some old geezers down at the end of the bar who sat there hoping. Usually he stayed away from their grasping hands. Tonight he gave one a twisted, tight smile, and while the older fellow watched, moved into the game room in back. Sure enough, Bob silently appeared beside him, and they both watched the foozball fanatics for a while.

Finally, Bob asked, "Can I get you anything?" Timmy hesitated, debating. The drink would not come for free. How much more could Timmy debase himself?

"Yeah, but be careful not to let them see you give it to me," Timmy whispered. "I'd really like a long island iced tea," he requested, wanting the most alcohol he could get in exchange for his implied consent. Everyone, even the old guys at the end of the bar, knew Timmy was under age. When the long islander came, he dispatched it quickly, standing hidden behind the wall with Bob and the foozball players blocking the bartender's view. The shame of the rape began to recede from his mind.