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He shelled out the twenty dollar copay for the 30-day supply of hormone replacement therapy. He thought back to claiming Aric as his domestic partner for insurance purposes. He had to sign an affidavit verifying that they were exclusive, both at least 18 years of age, shared the same permanent residence with the intent of doing so indefinitely, and jointly responsible for the costs of basic living expenses, among other things. He met Aric Swain about 17 months ago at one of the downtown gay bars. It was amateur drag night. The show was being hosted by his friend, Madame Boudoir - a local, chunky, Caucasian drag queen he had fucked a few times, including that night before the club. after meeting initially online. Mitch did not want to be in a relationship with him, but did enjoy hanging out on occasion. The short, slender Aric was on the docket for the evening. He lip synced Dolly Parton’s “Jolene” while dressed in a white sequin evening gown and a long, firecracker red wig. Mitch. “So you guys really believed me, huh?” she chuckled. “Scar story? I just made it up, guys. I had a friend make me that scar. Looks pretty real, huh? But look,” she said, running her index over the edge of the scar, leaving a trace of immaculate skin underneath it, “it's just make-up.”The audience ad mixed feelings. Some where pissed for having been messed around with, others were amazed by her sheer talent to make up such a story and tell it so convincingly. Some were simply perplexed, but all of them eventually left. The audience thinned out gradually. In the end, there were only two people left: the old barista and the narrator. Once he had washed, dried, and put away all the glasses, he leaned over the bar to the young lady who was still dreamily looking into her empty glass and asked her, “ May I touch the scar, Bethany?” She didn't look at him; just slowly shook her head no. “Just as I thought,” he stated, “the scar as well as your story both were real. Do I get it right that.
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