(Michael) ...a redhead who you judge to be in her late 30s
From Create Your Own Story
You look over at the redheaded woman driving the car. She's old enough to be your mother. "Thanks," you say quietly.
"I couldn't let you stay in that awful storm," she replies with a smile. "I'm Tricia," she continues. "Who might you be?"
"Michael," you respond.
"We're almost to my house," Tricia says, looking at your thin, shivering body. "I know just how to help you."
A couple of minutes later, Tricia is giving you the dime tour of her small one-bedroom. She hauls you into the bathroom and yanks off your wet clothes while running a hot bath. "We need to warm you up quickly, before you catch a bad chill," she intones in a matronly fashion. "You get in and let the water fill while I get something to warm your insides."
Five minutes later, you are soaking in a tub full of hot water and sipping a steaming-hot cup of herbal tea. Warmed from inside and out, your body shakes off the chilled-to-the-bone feeling you were getting while caught in the storm. You take your first real look at Tricia's body -- you were too busy trying to avoid hypothermia before -- and see a buxom, rounded, matronly-looking woman with a quiet smile. Her red hair is shoulder-length and wavy.
"Better?" Tricia asks you.
"Much," you say contentedly.
Half an hour later, Tricia has washed your body and dried you with a towel, which she tosses onto your wet clothes. "No point in washing these things now," she says. "I'm not letting you go back outside in this storm. Looks like you'll be spending the night here."
She leads you to the bedroom and strips off all her clothes. "I'm not comfortable sleeping with clothes on," she says. "Never have been. Time to rest, now."
You both climb into bed and Tricia places your head against her upper chest. She begins caressing your face and running her hands through your hair, like a parent would do to settle a child. "Close your eyes, Michael," she whispers.
