I would make jokes about the “Irish” in my coffee in the morning although it was just black coffee and lots of sugar to take away the bitter taste...of the dark stuff.I kept my secrets to myself keeping up the charade of playing the role of an “on the edge” booze hound that never waited for five o’clock to start a daily intake of spirits and cared little about what others thought about my infinite weakness when it came to booze. Only my Uncle knew my little secret and I used it to my advantage in. All she said was thatit was time for me to move on to the next stage of my journey.Soon after we were on the road, Mistress blindfolded me and slippedearmuffs over my ears. I quickly became disoriented and had no ideawhere we were going. It could have been less than twenty miles fromMistress? house, or a hundred. We drove for over two or three hours ? atleast it seemed that long ? until I felt the car turning and slowlyclimbing a small incline. I remembered something about where I had beenwith. More

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