update
Once again, I'd like to thank everyone who tried to help me get through my writing woes. I've made some progress. Things are slowly beginning to move -- now it's just a matter of finding time to work on this because things have become hectic.
Here's what I have thus far, and thanks again for the help.
TRUE YOUTHFUL TICKLING: (M/FF)
PROM
High school was a socially frustrating experience for me. I lived in a conservative small town, and there were few students with whom I shared much in common.
My cousin Kate made considerable efforts to provide me with healthy social interaction. She often invited me to sporting events and dances at her school, which was nestled in the suburbs of a large city forty-five minutes from my home. I quickly formed relationships with some of her closest friends.
Shortly after spring break, every high school in the region began planning their senior prom. My school always used this event to honor aspiring beauty queens, boorish student athletes, and pompous wealthy students, most of whom were sons and daughters of local business owners.
From my perspective, prom was a ridiculous custom, hardly the pinnacle of my social development. I didn’t plan to attend. One phone call from my cousin changed all of that.
Kate insisted on taking me to the prom at her school. She and our mutual friend Kelly had just ended turbulent relationships with their boyfriends. The girls decided to attend the dance without dates, rather than enduring a rugby scrum as dozens of guys rushed to ask them out.
I accepted my cousin’s gracious invitation and prepared for the prom with heartfelt enthusiasm. My first mission was to find a tuxedo. There were local rental places, but everything they stocked was rather generic. Finding something with a little more class would require a trip out of town.
Edmund’s Formal boasted a vast inventory, and area residents routinely consulted them when planning weddings and other formal functions. Their store was an hour away, and I made the trip on Tuesday afternoon, just days before the prom.
I was happily cruising down the interstate and listening to my favorite radio station when everything went wrong. Two cars, less than one hundred yards in front of me, collided while making reckless lane changes. They spun out of control and screeched to a halt, obstructing both lanes.
The road was packed with commuters traveling at highway speeds, and cars began piling up like something out of a demolition derby. There wasn’t adequate time to stop, so I swerved toward the shoulder, narrowly avoiding the pileup. My car went into a violent skid, rolled over, and came to rest in the ditch.
I’ve always been concerned about safety, and my seatbelt was properly fastened at the time of the accident. That probably spared me from serious injury.
Several minutes passed as I regained my bearings and assessed my situation. Aside from being startled and sore, I felt fine. Common sense told me I should remain still until the paramedics arrived, but there was a strong scent of gasoline in the air. Fearing a possible fire or explosion, I abandoned my car.
The magnitude of the accident became apparent as I reached the roadside. Fourteen mangled cars were stacked in the middle of the interstate, and there was broken glass and twisted metal everywhere. It was an eerie sight, and my initial reaction was one of shock.
Paramedics, firefighters, and state troopers raced to the scene and searched the wreckage for anyone in need of medical attention. Additional ambulances were summoned, and several motorists were extracted from their vehicles. From my vantage point, I couldn’t tell if any of them were seriously injured, but it seemed likely.
I was quietly watching this drama unfold when a state trooper approached me. He called for a paramedic, who promptly sent me to the hospital as a precautionary measure.
There were excellent doctors on call at the emergency room. They determined that I had some nasty bruises and badly strained muscles, but no other injuries. The attending physician gave me some medication for pain, and what he described as a mild sedative to help me sleep. I was formally released, and my parents were waiting for me in the hospital lobby.
During the ride home, I was overcome by a profound sense of sympathy for those injured in the crash. If circumstances had been slightly different, it could have been me. That realization sent chills down my spine.
My father sensed that I was anxious, and he tried to distract me with a trivia game we’d used during family trips when I was a child. It helped pass the time, and we reached the city limits without incident. I was eager to go home, but my parents had other plans.
“Your grandmother has high blood pressure, and she’s worried sick about you,” my mother explained. “I don’t think she’ll calm down until she sees that you’re okay. We’re going to her house right now.”
Grandmother was standing on the front porch when we arrived, and she watched with concern as I stumbled out of the car and limped toward the house. I spent a few minutes assuring her that my injuries weren’t serious, and she escorted me to the kitchen where she’d prepared a feast comparable to a large holiday meal.
The food smelled heavenly, but my thoughts were racing, and I simply had no appetite. Grandmother was convinced that a good meal would soothe my nerves. She was encouraging me to eat when a car pulled into the driveway. Kate burst through the front door moments later, followed closely thereafter by her parents.
My beautiful cousin, who typically dressed like a cover girl, was uncharacteristically disheveled. Her hair was matted with sweat, there was dirt on her knees, and she was wearing a grass-stained track uniform. She also seemed rather distraught.
Kate explained that she learned of my accident during a track and field competition at her school. She rushed to see me without first taking time to shower or change. I was touched by her concern, and her arrival had an immediate impact on my morale.
I’d always found Kate to be a calming presence, especially during times of illness or injury. Her love and steadfast friendship guided me through many difficult experiences over the years. I was hoping she could ease my fears on this occasion too, as images of the crash and my harrowing slide through the ditch continued to replay in my thoughts.
Kate rushed around the table to hug me, and I assumed a defensive posture. My muscles were extremely sore, and the mere idea of a hug sounded painful. She promised to be mindful of my injuries and gently wrapped her arms around me.
Grandmother quickly prepared additional plates for Kate and her parents. She also informed my cousin that I’d shown no interest in food, and the medications prescribed for me by the emergency room physician could not be taken on an empty stomach.
Kate immediately shifted into caregiver mode. She filled my plate with Herculean quantities of homemade spaghetti, and poured what I would describe as an aquarium-sized glass of milk, which she expected me to drink. I truly wasn’t hungry, but she began to exert her considerable charms in an attempt to stimulate my appetite. That was all it took, and I began to eat.
Throughout the meal, Kate doted on me to the point of excess. She poured beverages for me, refilled my plate, and even wiped spaghetti sauce from my chin. Her concern for me was genuine, but she was being far too overprotective, and I got the impression something was bothering her. I chose not to pry, however.
The meal lasted more than two hours and featured multiple courses, including a massive selection of desserts. Things culminated when grandmother unveiled a pan of her trademark piecrust, glazed with melted butter, sugar and cinnamon. When none of us could eat another bite, we collectively agreed the meal was over.
It was nearly ten o’clock, and grandmother suggested that we relax and watch television in the living room for a while. Her favorite local station usually ran an abbreviated newscast followed by reruns of M*A*S*H and WKRP – two of my favorite programs.
My muscles were extremely stiff, and I hobbled away from the kitchen table with the gait of an arthritic old man. I was out of breath by the time I reached the living room. Kate joined me on the couch just moments before the news began.
The freeway pileup was the lead story, and the report was laden with ghastly images of the crash. My badly damaged car was clearly visible in an aerial shot filmed by the station’s news helicopter, and Kate watched the footage with a shocked expression.
“I can’t believe you walked away from that,” she said while reaching out to take my hand.
“To be honest with you, neither can I,” I replied with a hint of anxiety in my voice. “I only missed the pileup by a few feet. It was really close.”
I was hoping the anchorman would mention if there were serious injuries or fatalities in the accident, but that information wasn’t available yet. I would have to wait until morning to learn the fate of the other motorists.
My mother and Kate’s parents, awestruck by the graphic news footage, began peppering me with questions about the crash. They weren’t trying to be ghoulish or insensitive, but their queries were making me uncomfortable. Grandmother and Kate diplomatically encouraged them to change the subject, and we shared a pleasant conversation for the better part of an hour.
Fatigue was getting the best of me, and I decided it was time for bed. Kate, however, had other ideas. She asked me to remain in the living room while she showered and changed. I promised to comply, and she dashed to the bathroom.
Kate’s mother sat beside me on the couch, put her arm around my shoulder, and chuckled.
“You poor guy,” she said. “Kate usually spends an hour in the bathtub. You probably won’t be going to bed before midnight.”
“That’s okay,” I replied. “After the day I’ve had, I’m not sure I’d sleep anyway.”
My aunt spent a few minutes chatting with me about movies, sports and the weather – basically anything that didn’t involve the freeway pileup. I was enjoying our conversation when her demeanor abruptly changed.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“It’s Kate,” she sighed. “She was deeply affected by all of this… far more than you realize.”
Kate’s mother explained that the initial reports of my accident were somewhat sketchy. The entire family spent much of the afternoon on pins and needles, waiting for information. This process was especially difficult for Kate.
“Your mother called me this afternoon and said you were involved in the crash, but she didn’t know anything about your condition at that point,” she said. “Your uncle and I picked up Kate at school, and she insisted on coming here right away.”
Cell phones were in their infancy at the time of this incident – not many people owned them. Kate and her parents had no way to communicate with anyone while they were driving to grandmother’s house. They made the trip, not knowing if I was alive or dead.
To make matters worse, every radio station on the dial was providing live coverage of the crash, and reporters were speculating about the possibility of fatalities. These news bulletins only served to frighten my cousin.
“Kate finally became so hysterical that we pulled into a gas station about twenty miles from here,” my aunt explained. “I jumped out of the car, used the payphone, and called your grandmother. She said that you were banged up, and your parents had gone to meet you at the emergency room.”
Kate’s emotional reaction to my accident suddenly made sense. We’d been inseparable since childhood, and she spent a substantial part of the afternoon wondering if I was dead. I was glad that her mother chose to confide in me.
“What can I do for Kate?” I asked.
“Just try to be patient with her,” my aunt replied. “I know she’s smothering you, but you kids have always been so close, and this whole thing has left her really shaken up. She needs to spend time with you right now.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ve never minded spending time with your daughter. It’s not a problem.”
Kate’s mother smiled, hugged me, and offered to watch television with me until her daughter finished bathing. Kate was in the shower for quite a while, and her mother and I shared an entire episode of WKRP and a few minutes of Cheers while we waited for her to return.
The aroma of tea tree shampoo and floral bath soap began to waft through the house, and I’m sure that grandmother’s hot water heater was completely drained. After what seemed like an eternity, the bathroom door swung open. I could hear the sound of footsteps in the hallway, and Kate strode into the living room with the grace and beauty of a runway model.
My cousin’s aerobically sculpted form was accentuated by the silky pink pajamas she was wearing, and her hair was flawlessly styled. Perhaps for my benefit, she'd decided against wearing socks, opting instead for a pair of open bedroom slippers. Her toenails were painted an elegant shade of candy apple-red, a color I’d previously encouraged her to wear.
I had NO desire to pursue a romantic relationship with Kate, but her physical beauty wasn’t lost on me. My heart was pounding, and I’m fairly certain I was staring at her. She approached me and smiled.
“You’re sweet,” she laughed while kissing my cheek.
Grandmother and our parents made their way to the kitchen, where they began to clear the dinner table and wash dishes. Kate remained in the living room, helped me to my feet, and guided me down the hallway to the guest bedroom. I was growing increasingly tired, and it was a struggle to stay awake.
The bedroom was a welcome sight, and I was eager to lie down. Kate, however, was determined to “prepare” the room before I went to bed. This was a seemingly unnecessary gesture, but I didn’t argue.
While Kate was putting the finishing touches on my sleeping quarters, I ducked into the closet, which was only slightly smaller than grandmother’s bathroom. Many articles of my clothing were stored there for occasions when I stayed overnight. Comfort was my priority, and I donned an oversized football jersey, sweatpants, and white cotton socks.
I stepped out of the closet to find that Kate had given the room a makeover. She made the bed with freshly laundered sheets, placed a serving tray of snacks and beverages on the dresser, and tuned the radio to my favorite soft jazz station. I couldn’t have asked for a more relaxing environment in which to sleep.
Kate was still thoroughly spooked by my brush with death, and she continued to fuss over me. She escorted me to the bed, turned down the covers, and tucked me in. She also attempted to engage me in conversation, but I quickly lapsed into a deep, almost comatose sleep.
My dreams were laden with haunting images of the crash, and I awoke an hour later with my heart pounding, feeling like I’d just run a series of sprints. Kate hadn’t fallen asleep yet, and she was kneeling atop the covers, watching over me.
“Are you okay?” she asked while affectionately stroking my hair.
“I can’t seem to get the accident out of my mind,” I replied.
Kate leaned forward, kissed my cheek, and climbed out of bed. She crossed the room, poured a glass of water, and retrieved the bottle of sedative pills that were sitting on the dresser.
“You need to get some rest, and the doctor said this medication would help you sleep,” she said.
I’ve always been exceedingly sensitive to medications. There was no way to predict how this particular drug would affect me. I nonetheless decided to give it a try, hoping it would help me to relax.
