I groaned and sat up, my head was throbbing and it hurt along the right side. They all moved over to the couch. Jasmine went to her knees and held her hand to my head. ‘How are you feeling?’ ‘My head feels like somebody stomped on it, other than that, okay.’ Jasmine smiled. The older guy stepped forward and put out his hand. ‘Hi, I’m Marcus Candiotti, the owner and manager here.’ I shook his hand. ‘What happened? I don’t remember much after some guy tried to take my head off.’ Everybody looked at Marcus. ‘Yeah, we need to discuss that with you, too. Some guy took a swing at you with a small iron bar that he must have had hidden when he came in. You ducked enough to keep from getting it too bad and then George took the guy down. I didn’t know the guy and he only seemed angry with you, so obviously there’s some history there. We have him locked in one of the VIP rooms until we can talk about it with you.’ ‘I didn’t see the guy, so I have no idea who we are talking about.’ Marcus looked. A little aftermidnight on warm, moon-lit summer nights, Chauncey took to walking up anddown his drive in his finery. At first he was extremely anxious and everyunusual night sound nearly led to panic with a hurried return to thehouse. But eventually over several days he accustomed himself to the nightand gradually calmed himself. He never felt completely safe andcomfortable in his costumes and always had some fear of detection from theroad. However, his rational mind assured him he had nothing to fear---Chauncey's estate was at the road's end and the road even during the day,not to mention at night, was never well-traveled by cars and even less soby pedestrians.Nevertheless, as we have indicated, the risk of detection, however remote,did provide our sissy's pathetic little nighttime soirees from the housewith a frisson that was immensely stimulating and erotic. He loved thenight heat that produced tiny beads of perspiration on his carefully madeup face, and the light night breeze.
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