Ten years ago today, I put my hand on J’s knee when we were sitting at a bar just around the corner from the office. The bar, Krokodil, was a gay bar that served cold beer and good food for the people that could fit in the eight tables it had.
We were there, a group of us, and at some point, late that night, I rested my hand on J’s knee, a gesture that – I have been told later – sent shock waves through her body. At the time, I was unaware of this.








