"You must be Mr Edmonds!” a buxom old biddy in a flour-dusted apron barked as she appeared from the kitchens. “Sign here please. Supper is at six ...harp. And, look you, no alcohol is permitted.” I signed her book as instructed. “She took a key from rack behind her. “Room 2B. Ground floor You’re in the beach annexe. Will you be wanting a daily paper?” I declined the offer and took my key. ‘What a good job I’ve brought my own booze’, I reflected.If the cook-manageress’ welcome was less than. My biggest fear was being stopped by a cop, I was so afraid I would get pulled over in drag. After a drink or two I began to get frustrated because no one seemed to be paying attention to me. An older gentleman, on the large side, probably late 40s, early 50s, bald, came up to me and placed his hand right on my ass. He started some small talk with me then bought me a drink. He then moved his hand from my ass to rubbing the inside of my thigh as I was sitting there on the barstool. He told me he. More

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