We had been dating for a few weeks, and I had begun to get frustrated.

I had not had a lot of experience with men, and all that I'd had had been very, very unfortunate. However, I seemed more like Madonna compared to Erik. He was 25, and had never so much as kissed a girl before we started dating, never mind had sex. His naiveté appealed to me in a way - I had always been the one to get taken advantage of. In this relationship I knew more than he did, and the feeling was a bit exhilarating.

Erik and I both knew about each other's backgrounds - we had been friends for a few years before hand. He was a tall, sweet man, who always seemed a bit vulnerable to me, despite his surface gruffness. He made me laugh when I needed to laugh most - and I had been in love with him since shortly after we met. I had never said anything to him - I was always afraid I'd scare him away, the same way the other women who went for him always did. He'd date them for a few days, or a week to be polite, and wait for them to get frustrated with his backwardness and leave. He would never make the first move, and eventually the fact that he hadn't even tried to take their hands by the end of the week irritated them completely. Each time it happened I knew it hurt him, although he did seem to be trying to drive them away.

I was determined not to make the same mistake. I am not a patient person by nature, but I knew that to have any hope with him, I'd have to sit back and wait. Being friends with him was almost impossible at times. He liked to flirt and tease, and he had no idea how much that hurt me - to flirt with him, and smile, and know he had no idea the fires he stoked up inside me every time. To know he didn't really even know I existed, on a sexual plane at any rate. I would often go home after seeing him, alone, and masturbate to one orgasm after another while fantasizing about Erik - Erik smiling at me, Erik wrapping his big hands around my breasts, Erik, fucking me until I begged him to stop.

Eventually my waiting paid off. There was one winter Erik and I spent a lot of time together - I saw him almost every day in fact. He had been laid off from his job, and my school schedule allowed me odd hours, when no one else I knew was available. So I saw him. We had lunch. We watched movies. We talked philosophy huddled up under a blanket in his basement, with me shoving my frozen toe-sicles under his butt for warmth. We had a lot in common, and a lot of areas where we squabbled endlessly about the same silly subjects over and over. He would tease me, and I'd wiggle my frozen toes, turning his butt to ice as well.

By accident, the way so many good things happen, something changed. It happened one particularly cold day when he was teasing me more mercilessly than was normal. Usually when he went too far, I'd pull away and pout. Just a little bit, just to let him know he'd pushed too much. He'd apologize and hug me, and we'd move on. This time when Erik went too far, I had realized it was far too cold to risk pulling away, out from underneath the blanket. I changed my tactics - instead of pulling away, I attacked.

I had known for years that Erik was extremely ticklish under the arms. What he had not figured out, however, was that I was (and still am) almost completely impervious to tickling. I have to be half-dead with exhaustion to squirm even the slightest when tickled, and that day I wasn't tired. So when I pounced with fingernails ready, he was caught completely by surprise. I managed to get him curled up in a ball, trying vainly to protect himself by tickling me back, and all the while I was telling him exactly how much trouble he was in. He laughed, he begged for mercy... and then the tables turned. He suddenly remembered he was almost twice my size, and had the strength to go along with it.

Before I knew what was happening, he had his hands locked around both of my wrists, supporting me with my stomach compressed over his knees and his arms out straight to keep my fingers as far from his armpits he could possibly get them. That would have been the end of it, until he realized that laying across his knees as I was, I couldn't breathe. He did not want to release my hands to renew the attack, so instead he dropped his legs. It's a good thing his arms really are strong, and that I'm really quite flexible in the shoulders, because as I crashed down following his retreating kneecaps, I lost my balance, pitched forward, and held only by my arms, sagged. Which had the added effect of mashing my face against his. Without his strength I believe we probably would have both been left toothless, and without my flexibility I'd have had a dislocated shoulder or two to go along with it.