Remember in elementary school when all your little friends would come up to you, tickle your knee, and tease you that you were boy crazy? I tried to fight it, but there isn’t any amount of kicking or struggling that will ease my ticklishness. I wasn’t boy crazy. I didn’t have my first crush until fifth grade, and at that point, other kids have stopped tickling your knee. The new approach is much more direct: circle whether or not you like me. Please.
Until you’re ripe. It’s a high school party and we’re gathered around in a circle. Sippin’ on Gin and Juice. There’s a coffee table in the middle where everyone is putting his/her bud lights and cranberry vodkas. I don’t remember what we’re playing, but some sort of card game. I’m sitting next to one of the hottest guys at the party. I have a very specific type and he fits it to a t! He notices me. I have a boyfriend…I don’t tell him that. We start making eye contact. Subtle. We start talking, and then he tickles my knee. “It’s your turn,” he says. Did anyone see that? I have chills running up and down my spine, and I have to pretend like nothing happened. I can still feel the specific area where his hand massaged my knee. I can’t believe my body reacted this way, doesn’t it know that I’m off limits?
I can’t get the incident out of my mind, and so I ask my friend about it on the drive home, “He touched my knee.”
“And?”
“Well, that’s it…maybe you had to be there.”
Maybe. A couple of years later, after my boyfriend and I had broken up, I went to a party at the knee rubber’s house. He didn’t remember me. He pulled the same move – grabbing my knee, and again gave my body the most intense rushes. We ended up sleeping together. Maybe I am boy crazy after all.
