My school story is a tangled web of half and whole grades spent in home-schooling
programs and some spent attending private schools. During third grade at one particular
Christian school, a World War II veteran was invited to come and regale us with his tales
of bravery during the conflict.
He had brought some of his memorabilia along with him, and following the presentation, we
were allowed to look at some of the items. This was in the third grade classroom, and it was
pretty cramped, with a good three dozen students all scattered about sitting in the floor, packed
in like sardines in a can. I was handling an M1 carbine when a female voice sounded behind me,
'Oooh, can I see?'
I turned to see a hand outstretched patiently beneath warm black eyes and shoulder length
black hair. 'No!' I said, feigning indignation at the request (I suppose even then my humour was a little
too dry for my age). The next thing I remember is the most heavenly sensation pulsing up my left side
just beneath my ribcage. Once again I was completely paralyzed even as I felt the gun lifted out of my hands.
I suddenly didn't care about the gun. Once again the moment only lasted seconds.
But this time it stuck in my head a little longer than before.
Already I very strongly sensed that my reaction to the tickling differed greatly from that of others.
It excited me in ways I couldn't explain. A couple of years later, I would remember all too clearly,
this particular ticklish encounter...
programs and some spent attending private schools. During third grade at one particular
Christian school, a World War II veteran was invited to come and regale us with his tales
of bravery during the conflict.
He had brought some of his memorabilia along with him, and following the presentation, we
were allowed to look at some of the items. This was in the third grade classroom, and it was
pretty cramped, with a good three dozen students all scattered about sitting in the floor, packed
in like sardines in a can. I was handling an M1 carbine when a female voice sounded behind me,
'Oooh, can I see?'
I turned to see a hand outstretched patiently beneath warm black eyes and shoulder length
black hair. 'No!' I said, feigning indignation at the request (I suppose even then my humour was a little
too dry for my age). The next thing I remember is the most heavenly sensation pulsing up my left side
just beneath my ribcage. Once again I was completely paralyzed even as I felt the gun lifted out of my hands.
I suddenly didn't care about the gun. Once again the moment only lasted seconds.
But this time it stuck in my head a little longer than before.
Already I very strongly sensed that my reaction to the tickling differed greatly from that of others.
It excited me in ways I couldn't explain. A couple of years later, I would remember all too clearly,
this particular ticklish encounter...
