June 2, 2016:

I felt up pretty Donna on the bayshore grass one afternoon while middle-aged men walked by and gawked. It wasn't a real feel, a serious or sustained or erotic one. It was just a fast grope while she giggled and squirmed, and did not protest.

That year and the year before she was fucking one of the more egregious douchetards, a colorless and essentially mindless troll named Greg. He was big, mature for his age, utterly fearless, and entirely confident in his personal entitlement. To Donna, and to anything else he chose to take. He had one joke. He'd say, "Beeeee-verrrrr," in a high-pitched retard voice. I expect he believed it was a double entendre.

I liked her. She was kind-hearted and well-meaning, and she was patient with me and my profound lack of skills and experience and confidence. I should have taken her away from him and kept her safe and appreciated. At that time I didn't yet know that such things were possible.