Great Grandpa Lade's Basement

When I was little, we used to go to my Great Grandpa's house for Christmas. All the adults would be upstairs and all the Grandchildren and Great Grandchildren that were still little, were chased into the basement, where we could run around to our hearts content. You see we weren't allowed in the furnace room but we had full run of one whole side of the basement. It was the full length of the front of the house except for a walk in closet on the south side of the room The room was basically empty but it did have a long bench along one wall. The best feature of that room was the shiny white and black checkered floor. Oh man, with just your socks on, you could skate around that floor, it was nice and slick. We used to stand in the closet, then take a nice running leap and try to slide all the way across the floor to the far wall. You had to help yourself along by grabbing the closet door frame and sling shot your body out. We used to mark how far we got by the number of tiles that we slid. When that got boring we would spin around on our rear ends or arch our legs and arms so we could spin on our stomachs. The basement was always nice and cool but man, oh man, did we sweat up a storm. Hours felt like minutes in that basement. Once and a while, when we were to loud, one of the adults would come down and tell us to calm down a little bit. Yeah right!
When it was time to eat, we were summoned upstairs and once we were done eating, we were sent back down. Oh, of course we made our escape when we could. We would come upstairs and hang on our Parents or Grandparents then try to pick on an Aunt or Uncle. Eventually we would become a pain in the neck and we would be sent back down to the checkered floor.
I once got in big trouble...and I knew it, but I was just defending myself. Our Great Aunt and Uncle had a foster child that they eventually adopted. He was a handful but I never had a problem with him until he found out I was ticklish. He tortured me. I spent so much time trying to stay away from his tickling fingers that I was friggin tired. I snuck upstairs while he was picking on someone else and crawled behind the sofa for a nice rest. I was fine until he come looking for me and one of my big-mouth Uncles ratted me out after a few minutes. I managed to get back downstairs before he cornered me again. I was really getting sick of yelling at him and I had told on him several times but as soon as everyone's backs were turned, he was at it again. Let's face it, there is only so long that you can protect yourself by remaining locked in the bathroom at a large family gathering. Anyway, I had received a lovely new twirling baton for Christmas from Santa. Out of desperation I grabbed my baton and anytime he came near me I took swing at him. He was no dummy, he knew it would hurt and I was able to keep him at a distance with that baton. Ofcourse, my Mother caught me on the stairs, taking a swing at Mitchell and that was the end of my baton. She took it from me and gave me a lecture. OMG...I was one pissed off kid. She took my only form of defense, besides clawing him with my finger nails but even I knew what kind of trouble that would get me into. Leave no proof... that was my moto. A bump on the arm or head could be blamed on an accident...."I didn't see him" or "he fell" but a set of perfectly imprinted half moon nail marks were a little harder to explain. Let me tell you, that was one loooooong family get together after that baton was taken away. I was never so happy to go home in my entire life. Ahhhh, I could relax and let my guard down. I didn't have to worry about being tickled so long that I lost my breath and about tinkled in my panties.