The holidays suck man; they suck big time. Everything bad that has ever happened to me has happened during the period that stretches from Thanksgiving to New Years.

It started when I was fourteen. The family was going to Hawaii the week after Thanksgiving for a two-week stay. God, but was I ever up for it. Two weeks on sunny beaches that would be wall to wall with gorgeous babes in bikinis. A true masturbator's paradise, except that I didn't go. Two days before we were scheduled to leave I slipped on a patch of ice, fell down two flights of stairs and ended up with my right leg broken in two places. The hotel and the airline tickets were prepaid and non-refundable so I was parked with my Aunt Louise and Uncle George while the rest of the family went off to have fun.

When I was fifteen my appendix burst three days before Christmas and I spent a week in the hospital. When I was sixteen I spent Christmas in the hospital again. That time it was because my tonsils had become inflamed and they had to be removed. The year I was seventeen I got to make another trip to the hospital where I was by now on a first name basis with the admitting clerk. My older sister who had recently married had the family over for Thanksgiving dinner. They said it was the turkey, but whatever it was it had the entire family in the emergency room having their stomach's pumped.

That brings me to this year. I'm eighteen and Christmas is in five days and I am again in the hospital, this time with both legs broken and in traction. I was walking home from the library when a lady driving down the street hit a deep pothole, lost control of her car which veered up over the curb and onto the sidewalk and nailed me. God, but I do so fucking hate the god damned holiday season.

I was resting when she came into the room and it was several minutes before I even realized she was there. She stood there nervously clutching her purse and looking at me and it was obvious to me that she wanted to say something but was having trouble getting it out. She glanced over at the guy in the bed next to me and then back at me and then she moved forward three or four steps and then just stood there, eyes flickering back and forth between my roommate and me. I was starting to think that she was in the wrong room when she steeled herself, stepped to my bedside, gave me a nervous smile and said:

"Bobby, I'm Laura, Laura Ronny." She hesitantly stuck out her hand as she said, "I'm... I'm the one who hit you."

I was just a bit groggy from medication, but I managed to take her hand and shake it.

"I'm so sorry. It happened so fast; one second I was driving along and then suddenly the car lurched to the right and jumped the curb. I had my foot on the brake and I was pushing down on it as hard as I could, but the car wouldn't stop, I'm just so sorry."

I didn't know what I was supposed to say so I just lay there and looked at her. She stood there shifting back and forth on her feet, either waiting for me to say something or trying to think of something else to say and then she handed me a piece of paper:

"It's my phone number. If you need anything, anything at all, just give me a call, please? I have to go now, my husband is waiting for me downstairs, but I'll be back. I'm sorry Bobby, I didn't mean to hurt you."

As she turned to leave I saw a tear roll down her cheek and as she walked to the door I couldn't help but notice that she had a marvelous ass. Brad, the guy in the next bed gave out a low whistle and said:

"Play your cards right kid and I'll bet you could get yourself a taste of that."

Yeah, right, I thought as I nodded off to sleep.

Over the next several days Laura came by everyday during visiting hours. She brought me candy; magazines to read and she even gave me an IPOD loaded with hip-hop music. I didn't have the heart to tell her I hated that shit so I just smiled and thanked her. She asked me if I was tired of hospital food and when I said yes she started bringing me take out from Burger King, McDonald's and Pizza Hut. She did everything she could think of to try and show me how sorry she was that she had put me in the hospital.

Every time she left Brad would say something like, "She feels guilty as hell kid, best you take advantage of it. A couple of moves on your part and she'll give it up. She'll feel that she owes you."

I didn't pay much attention to him, not that I wouldn't have loved to be able to do what he said, but she was a thirty-eight year old mother of three with a husband and I was an eighteen year old boy. But I did think of her a lot. She was one hot looking woman and I loved watching the way her ass moved every time she walked out of the room.