Sherbet Riley
Registered User
- Joined
- Nov 20, 2022
- Messages
- 19
- Points
- 13
“I just don’t know what to do, Nance…”
Roberta stirred her tea absently. She’d diluted it with neither sugar nor milk, yet she ran her little spoon around the inside of her cup over and over again anyway. She was nervous. It was the first time Roberta had ever tried verbalizing what was going on with her son and she wasn’t quite sure where to start.
Roberta was seated in an uncomfortable looking chair that more resembled a nest than it did a seat. It was a large, wicker thing, round and creaky, that could easily fit three people inside. Roberta couldn’t for the life of her imagine how Nancy was able to get it through her front door. The pillows that filled out the nest weren’t much help, numerous though they were. Thus, Roberta found herself crossing and uncrossing her legs, shifting her back and forth in an attempt to find a comfortable groove, or perhaps some eggs to incubate.
Adding to Roberta’s feeling of unease was how overdressed she felt. When she’d made plans to meet with Nancy, Roberta had assumed that they’d be getting together at a fancy restaurant. Thus, she’d stuffed herself into a smart business suit that she hadn’t worn in years, expecting a ritzy outing. Back when they used to work together downtown, Roberta and Nancy had made a habit of sneaking off for extravagant lunches. But that had been so very long ago. Instead of being seated across from each other at The Dine, Roberta was sitting criss-cross applesauce in a nest on her friend’s back patio. The Nancy that sat in front of her now favored comfort over efficiency, a shift that sadly had not yet impacted her taste in furniture.
Nancy hadn’t so much as touched her tea. She was dressed in a navy blue caftan that left her physicality a mystery, her hands clasped over a crossed knee as her Birkenstock clad foot bounced in the air. Her hair retained a washed out, hay-coloring, despite the proliferation of grays and whites. It looked natural, which is really what Nancy paid for. She now resembled the sort of woman she and Roberta would have made fun of from afar while out to lunch. Her fingers were weighed down by jade rings and jangly bracelets, her hands soft and skin perfumed. Nancy was the picture of ease, a sort of southern California fantasy of a rich person.
Roberta glanced down at her black pumps and once again cursed herself for dressing so formally. She hadn’t expected that Nancy could have changed so much since they’d last gotten together. They’d met as ambitious young business women and instantly hit it off, conquering the city like it had been their birthright. But life, as it so often does, moved on. Nancy had gotten married first and moved out of the city when she got pregnant with her daughter, Sam. After that Roberta and Nancy only saw each other once or twice a year.
But this was a special occasion. Roberta wasn’t sure why, but she’d been surprised when Nancy had agreed to meet with her on such short notice. She’d told her a little about what was going on over the phone, but Nancy insisted that they talk about her “little problem” in person.
The problem was her son, Louis. He’d always been, as Roberta liked to say, “a happy little boy.” Growing up he’d been an exceptionally well-behaved child, polite and eager to please. Roberta would have to make a conscious effort not to smile when other mothers complained about their children being unable to sleep through the night or detailed their nuclear grade tantrums. She never had to apologize to other passengers on the airplane, never needed to raise her voice. She couldn’t relate to the rage and exhaustion that other mothers liked to complain about. Sure, it wasn’t easy, parenting seldom was, but at the very least, Louis had never made the act of parenting any more difficult than it tended to be.
But all that changed as Louis grew older. Roberta couldn’t put her finger on when exactly this had happened but somewhere down the line her sweet little boy had soured. He’d started hanging out with a less than desirable crowd who spent their nights breaking into abandoned buildings and drinking behind the old church in town. Louis didn’t even bother trying to cover up the smell of his illicit cigarette habit anymore. No matter what Roberta said or did, Louis kept finding new ways to undermine her authority. His father was proving little help, always traveling as he was for work. Aside from a few stern talking-to’s over the phone, there was not much he could do to keep their son in line either.
Louis had elected not to go to college, framing his parents’ desire for his good education as a burden he never asked for. He said they were too strict, singling out his mother as the most overbearing and unreasonable. Of course, Roberta didn’t see herself that way. Yes, she had certain expectations for how her son should behave and how the house should be kept, but she was hardly a tyrant. Louis had promised to get a job and start helping around the house, but he never did. Now 20, his bad streak could no longer be written off as “just a phase” and Roberta was becoming worried that her son was doomed to become one of the many burnouts she saw hanging around the gas station. She just wanted the best for her son and couldn’t understand how he could be so cavalier about derailing his future.
But of course, there was more to the story. The reality was that Roberta had been strict and overbearing for much of Louis’ childhood. Her standards had always been high, for herself and for others. It’s what had attracted Roberta to her husband, an ambitious worker bee who was always striving to reach greater heights. Their son had inherited none of his father’s ambition or his mother’s standards.
All that being said, Louis was hardly a “bad kid.” In truth, he was just adrift in the way that many young men his age were. Whatever “attitude” his mother detected was merely his exasperation with his mother’s lack of understanding about the current state of things for young men like him. The world had changed. He could no longer just walk up to the owner of a store and secure his employment with a firm handshake. For whatever reason, his mother couldn’t understand his inability to get a job or his unwillingness to take on the debt a college degree would require.
Naturally this was not how Roberta saw things. Unlike when he was little, there was little Roberta could do to correct what she saw as his delinquent behavior. He was 20 now, after all, and what little influence Roberta had over her son was waning by the day. She remembered that at one time Nancy had mentioned her daughter at one time faced similar “difficulties.” Upon hearing the gist of Roberta’s problems, Nancy had invited her over to offer her two cents.
Roberta was still stirring her tea, in fact she hadn’t stopped moving her spoon since she’d started talking. It all came out in a breathless torrent of worry and anger — anger at herself, at her son, at the expectations placed on them both. Throughout, Nancy gave nothing away. She just sat there and listened, occasionally giving a slight nod or thoughtful, “Hmm.”
By the time Roberta finished unburdening herself she was practically out of breath. Confronted with the silence that followed, Roberta suddenly wanted to keep talking. The silence was where the recriminations and questions would fill in the blanks. It was why she’d been so hesitant to talk about Louis’ problems. Inevitably the blame would fall on her. Why didn’t she and her husband set better boundaries when Louis was growing up? Why wasn’t his father around more? How could Roberta let her son get like this?
Roberta braced herself for such questions but they never came. Instead she was surprised to see Nancy smiling softly at her, tranquilized by some secret knowledge she couldn’t wait to share with her old friend.
“And where is Louis now?” Nancy asked, finally taking a sip of her now room temperature tea.
“Oh, who knows,” Roberta sniffled. “Probably at the arcade or with his shit kicker friends.” Her hand flew to her mouth when she realized she’d cursed. “Oh, I’m sorry. Please excuse my French.”
“Not at all,” Nancy chuckled, amused. “Don’t let all the wicker furniture fool you, I’m not offended by salty language. I like to think I haven’t changed that much…”
“So…what should I do?” Roberta asked. She could already feel her shoulders coming down from her ears. How long had she been this tightly wound? This wasn’t the kind of mother — the kind of person — she wanted to be.
“I just remember,” she continued, “that Elenor had some…difficult periods when she was around Louis’ age. How did you deal with that?”
Eleanor was Nancy’s daughter. As the first of their cohort to have kids, Eleanor was viewed by Roberta and their other friends as something of a canary in the coal mine. Eleanor had been a very well behaved little girl, often stealing the show whenever company came over. She was respectfully quiet during adult discussions around the table and never fussed when the time came for her to head upstairs to bed. In fact, Eleanor was so agreeable and charming that many in their circle of friends cited her as the reason they finally decided to have children. After all, Eleanor had made it seem so appealing, an adorable little homunculus that didn’t seem to disrupt her parents’ otherwise bohemian life in any noticeable way.
That all changed near the end of high school and in her early college years. Like Louis she’d fallen in with some less than savory characters, dabbling in drinking and drugs and all kinds of bad behavior. She’d been arrested for shoplifting the summer after her freshman year of college and after a used condom was found wedged between her mother’s couch cushions, it was decided that something needed to be done.
The details of what exactly transpired were never revealed to Nancy’s friends. Some suspected that they’d sent Eleanor to one of those brutal wilderness programs, others speculated that she’d been put to wok on a farm in Honduras, while a few speculated that she’d actually spent a few months in prison. Whatever they did, it seemed to work. Upon returning from…wherever she’d been, Eleanor reenrolled in school, graduating with an advanced Psych degree and getting a job at some kind of ritzy rehab facility upstate.
Now Roberta hoped that whatever program had helped Eleanor get back on track might similarly help her wayward son.
Nancy hesitated, if only for a moment, before answering Roberta’s question.
“We enlisted Eleanor in a…special program,” Nancy said, evenly. “It’s not for everyone, I’m sorry to say. But something tells me that your little Louis might make for a good fit.”
“And this…’program,’ is it expensive?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Nancy tutted, waving her hand. “I can call in a favor. It just depends on if you have the will to send Louis there. It can be as difficult for the parent as it is for the child.”
“I don’t understand,” Roberta said. “Is it a wilderness thing? Or some kind of juvie?”
“In a sense, I suppose it is.” Nancy replied, thoughtfully. “The latter, to be clear. It’s really more of a behavioral rehab than anything. The people under their care are supervised at all times, each one receiving a personalized treatment according to their specific needs.”
“I’m sorry, under whose care?”
“Oh!” Nancy exclaimed, suddenly embarrassed. “Why am I the one telling you all this when — Eleanor!”
From upstairs called a nasal, exhausted voice.
“Yes, mom?”
“Can you come down and say hi to Roberta? She wants to talk to you about something.”
“Sure, one sec…”
Even this polite exchange was enough to evoke self-pity in Roberta. Had she called out for Louis at home in a similar manner it was unlikely that he’d have responded so quickly or politely. Eleanor bounded down the stairs shortly after, he raven black hair pulled tight into a messy ponytail, her skin flushed and damp from her recently abandoned workout.
“Hey there Mrs. P.” Eleanor said. “How’s it going? I’d give you a hug but…” she petered out, gesturing to her sweaty body.
“Oh, that’s quite alright, dear. It’s so good to see you again!”
Though intellectually Roberta understood that Eleanor had been a grown woman for some time now, it was hard to reconcile the vision in front of her with her memory of the charming little girl that used to sing for guests after the dinnerware had been cleared.
Even in her workout clothes, Eleanor was a vision. Her thighs, encased in tight fitting activewear, looked thick and plump as sausages, while her modest breasts heaved beneath a baby blue tank top as she attempted to catch her breath. Her size six feet were stuffed into blindingly white trainers that Roberta doubted had ever once touched the ground.
But what really stood out to Roberta were the leather cuffs fastened around Eleanor’s wrists. They were thick and wrapped tight around her pale skin. Roberta couldn’t think of a reason she’d have to be wearing them. She could make out, just on the underside of the cuff, a white downy wool or cotton that kept the cuffs from chafing her skin.
“Eleanor, dear, could you tell Roberta here a little bit about the institute?”
It happened to quickly that later Roberta would wonder if it had been her imagination, but something rippled underneath Eleanor’s otherwise calm expression. A quiet disruption, but a disruption nonetheless. It passed quickly, and Eleanor quickly flashed a smile.
“Of course, mom.” She turned to face Roberta now, her face giving nothing away. “What would you like to know?”
“No, you didn’t listen.” Nancy said softly, firmly. “I asked you to tell her about the institute. Just tell the nice lady a little bit about the place.”
Eleanor stood up a little straighter, double blinking as she quickly replied, “N-no, of course. Sorry, mummy.”
Mummy? That was odd. That’s what Eleanor had called Nancy when she was only little. In fact, Roberta remembered being surprised when Eleanor had graduated from such infantile honorifics at quite an early age, ever the precocious child. In that moment, it felt as though that same little girl were standing before her now, eager to please and perform well.
“The Erzsébet Kleen Institute is one of the finest behavioral science clinics in the country, if not the finest. Mrs. Kleen, the founder, originally conceptualized it as a girls school — both in terms of training and reform. But in the last twenty years or so the institute has started to accept male patients as well. Despite this more modern acceptance, the staff is still uniformly female.”
“And you…attended this institute?” Roberta asked.
“Indeed,” Eleanor nodded. “As a patient. I finished my education elsewhere.”
“Didn’t stop her from coming back. Eleanor works at the institute now.” Nancy said proudly.
“Is that right?” Roberta asked.
Eleanor smiled. Forced or not, it was convincing.
“That’s right.”
“It’s like camp in that way,” Nancy said, sipping her drink. “You start out as a camper and come back as a counselor. I dare say it did my little Eleanor here a lot of good, didn’t it, Eleanor?”
“Yes, mummy.”
“I-…sorry, maybe I’m just not following.” Roberta said as she began rubbing the spot between her thumb and forefinger. “What exactly does this institute do to achieve such…results?”
Eleanor looked to her mother, seeking permission to speak, but Nancy waved her off.
“Thank you dear, that’ll be all. Go back upstairs.”
Eleanor nodded and gave a little bow.
“It was good to see you again, Mrs. Pipkin.” She said before obediently going back upstairs.
“She’s so well behaved…” Roberta marveled once Eleanor was out of earshot.
“Wasn’t always that way, believe me.” Nancy said, pleased. “But…to get back to your question…”
“Yes, what does the institute do to achieve…well, that.” Roberta asked.
“Well…” Nancy smiled, “It might be better if I just showed you.”
—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
The Erzsébet Kleen Institute sat at the top of a verdant hill about an hour out of town. It was to ensure that the young women staffed there could work free from distraction and to ensure that their patients have little else to focus on but their own rehabilitation.
The Institute itself was a formidable thing — all concrete and limestone. At one time, perhaps, it had been a private residence. Whoever originally constructed the building had put a lot of thought and intention into it.There was a long porch and a verdant garden. On the roof gleamed a stained glass dome that would cast colorful shadows around the interior at different times of day. In the setting sun, the white stone looked pink and girlish, almost seemed to glow.The front lawn and driveway that lead to the top of the hill were immaculately presented, well kept and clean.
The drive up had been uneventful, with Nancy keeping music and conversation to a minimum. It was important for her to keep her attention on the road, she said. As they pulled up the dark, clean driveway, Roberta glanced at a young man — no older than 25 — tending to the bushes that lined the road to the institute. He was wearing headphones and seemed utterly engrossed in his work, a fierce erection pitching a tent in his pink coveralls. His lips were moving, perhaps in response to whatever he was listening to. But he wasn’t singing along. Instead it seemed more like he was chanting a mantra.
Had the engine not been running, perhaps Roberta could have heard him repeating it. A simple phrase. A desperate, pleading refrain.
“I’m a good boy…I’m a good boy…I’m a good boy…”
The doors to the institute were open when they rolled to a stop at the top of the hill. Waiting there to greet them was a tall, severe looking woman who regarded them from over the top of her half-moon glasses. She was dressed in a lab coat, unbuttoned enough to show off a flash of the pink cashmere sweater she wore underneath. Her black slacks stood out against the white stone columns that flanked the main entranceway, accentuating their length and poise.
“Mrs. Sherman, it’s a pleasure to see you again. To what do we owe the visit?” The woman smiled, as though greeting an old friend who also happened to be her boss. She extended her hand for Nancy to shake, while quickly stealing a glance at Roberta.
“Oh, just stopping by.”
“Never could keep away for long, could you?” The woman chuckled. “And who might this be?”
“Oh, this is my friend Roberta. Her son has a problem with…’discipline.’”
“Is that right?” The woman smiled, before extending her hand to Roberta. “Dr. Winderham. Pleasure to meet you.”
Roberta shook Dr. Winderham’s hand and was surprised by its softness. In her experience, doctors often had dry, tough hands, likely from washing them all day. But Dr. Winderham’s hands felt as though they’d been carved out of butter.
“Welcome to the institute,” Dr. Winderham smiled. “I trust Mrs. Sherman has told you all about our little program?”
“Um, no, actually.” Roberta muttered, glancing up at the imposing building. “But it seems you did wonders for her daughter and, well…I’m curious.”
Dr. Winderham smiled and gave a little bow. It may have been her imagination, but Roberta could have sworn that she saw her wink at Nancy.
“Well then, follow me and I’ll give you the tour. Right this way.”
Nancy gave Roberta a little pat on the shoulder as they crossed the threshold of the institute. The lobby was cavernous and austere with high ceilings and marble floors. The clicking of high heels echoed throughout the hall with an almost metronome beat. Dr. Winderham led them through security and scanned her ID at an imposing looking security door. Despite the enormous lobby, Roberta now found herself being shepherded through a series of dark and narrow hallways past rows and rows of locked doors. To Roberta, it reminded her of a college dorm, albeit one in an old bank.
“This is our staff quarters,” Dr. Winderham said as she moved briskly down the corridor. “Often our specialists find themselves exhausted after a full day of pl…um, work, so we give each of our employees a space to rest and relax and change if they need it. A woman’s work is never done…”
At the end of the hall was an elevator. Dr. Winderham scanned her ID once more and the elevator doors opened. Upon stepping inside and pressing a button for the third floor, Dr, Winderham continued her pitch.
“We have many methods for correcting undesirable behaviors in our patients. Some are more…severe than others. But this is by far our most popular. After all, nobody wants to see their child subjected to anything too medieval.”
“Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt but…you still haven’t said what it is you do to ‘correct’ this behavior.” Roberta said.
Dr. Winderham only smiled as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open.
“I’ve learned over the years that actions speak louder than words. If I simply told you what it is that we do here you would have never stepped foot inside the building.”
Dr. Winderham stepped out of the elevator and Roberta glanced at Nancy, who simply flashed a reassuring smile at her.
“Don’t worry. I was thinking the same thing my first visit. Trust me, you haven’t seen anything yet.”
The two women followed Dr. Winderham down the hallway when she stopped in front of a viewing window.
“This is our waiting room,” Dr. Winderham said. “This is the first step of our rehabilitation program. Don’t worry, he cannot see us through this glass.”
At first glance, the waiting room looked fairly standard, not unlike many anonymous ones Roberta had sat in over the years. Upon closer inspection, however, she began to notice that there was something off about the room. She realized that the floor was made up of foam tiles shaped like puzzle pieces. Roberta remembered seeing something similar at her son’s preschool so many years ago. Then she noticed the art on the walls. Unlike the bland and forgettable art that frequently hung on the walls of a usual doctor’s office, the framed pieces here featured smiling clowns and cartoon puppies.
The proportions of the furniture were all wrong, too. Roberta hadn’t seen him at first but there was a single person in the room. A man, early 30s, with chestnut brown hair dressed in a wrinkled white button-down. By her estimation he’d be about six foot, and yet he was positively dwarfed by the brown leather sofa he was standing in front of. The table in the center of the room must have been well over 10 feet tall and the floor tiles themselves at least 2 feet thick. In fact, the room was proportioned in such a way that one might be forgiven for confusing him for a toddler at first glance.
“It’s important to ease our patients into the correct headspace before we begin the treatment itself. Our waiting room helps prime them psychologically for what’s to come.”
“It’s to make them feel small,” Nancy added. “To take away just a little bit of their agency. Remind them of what it’s like to be helpless without having to do a thing.”
Indeed, Roberta watched through the glass as the man tried to climb onto the couch. Despite his running start he was only able to cling on to the cushion for dear life while his feet dangled a foot or so off the ground.
“He’ll be in here a little while. Someone will be by to collect him in about an hour or so to begin his treatment. Think of it as a boy waiting to be picked up for school. It’s good to remind boys, especially as they get older, that sometimes you have to wait for things.” Dr. Winderham chuckled before leading the women further down the hall.
The next viewing window they arrived at looked into a room that resembled an old movie theater. There were around five or six rows of seats, many of which were occupied by smiling cardboard cut outs of various childhood characters, ranging from cartoon rabbits to beloved puppets and ubiquitous cereal mascots — all of them facing the screen.
Only one seat was occupied by a living, breathing person. Seated in a reclining La-Z-Boy facing the screen was a man of indiscernible age with a buzzcut, his bare feet resting in front of him on the extended foot rest, his ankles tied together with soft-looking nylon ropes. His arms were up over his head, bound at the wrists behind the seat’s headrest. From her vantage point, Roberta was unable to see the screen, but it was clear from the man’s expression that the show was clearly having an effect on him.
Standing beside him was a tall woman in an usher’s uniform, her long blonde hair stilted under her period accurate cap. In one hand she held a flashlight, which she’d periodically point at the screen to highlight certain details, while wielding a long, white feather in the other. Though she could not make out any sounds through the thick glass, Roberta could see the woman speaking to the man in the chair, her face calm and reassuring while the man squirmed under her steady gaze. Occasionally, at unpredictable intervals, the woman would dust his exposed armpit with her feather, causing the man to bounce and giggle in his seat.
“We tailor each experience to the specific needs of our clients’…rehabilitation.” Dr. Winderham explained. “For instance, Greg here has a problem with commentary.”
“Commentary?” Roberta asked.
“Mhm. Some boys just can’t keep their opinions to themselves,” Dr. Winderham nodded. “Greg here has the unfortunate habit of voicing his opinions at inopportune times, be it around the dinner table or in public spaces, such as movie theaters and the opera.”
“What’s she saying to him?” Roberta asked, her eyes still glued to the giggling young man in the chair.
“Why don’t you take a listen for yourself?” Dr. Winderham said proudly as she pressed a small, red button near the bottom right corner of the glass partition. Suddenly, a small speaker embedded in the wall just above them crackled to life. The three women were now able to hear everything happening in the room.
“-ihihihihihihihihihihihihihihihihihihihihihihihi cahahahahahahahahahahahahahan’t! Eheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheeeeee!”
The man’s giggles were infectious, cute even. Roberta remembered when her little boy used to giggle like that. How many happy afternoons had she spent tickling her little man silly, delighting in his squeaks and futile attempts to escape her loving arms.
Roberta was shaken from her reverie when the woman towering above the giggling man spoke again. Her tone was soft and patient, like a mother waiting for her child’s tantrum to subside. The usher’s vest she was wearing was practically bursting at the buttons, which had as much to do with her fleshy stomach as it did her watermelon sized breasts. She appeared to be in her late forties or perhaps early fifties. Her blonde hair had a few streaks of white in it, cleverly disguised by her naturally pale strands. She pinched the feather between her thumb and forefinger, as if she were painting a tiny masterpiece upon the exposed armpits of her prisoner.
“Shhhh…shhhhh…you mustn’t disturb the other guests. It’s impolite to make noise when others are trying to enjoy their experience. They paid to see the movie too, you know.”
“Ihihihihihihihihihihi cahahahahahahahan’t hehehehehehehehelp ihihihihihihitttttt! Neeeeehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe…”
“Sounds wike somebody needs a double feature today, hmmm? My little boy wuvs his silly little screenings doesn’t he? I wonder how long the next one will be? Not that it matters to you, right my happy boy? You don’t have anywhere else to be. No responsibilities, no job, no pet to feed. Why, you could spend the rest of your life here, couldn’t you? Wouldn’t that be nice? Just here in our happy house with allllllll your friends.”
“Nohohohohohohohohohohohohohohohohohooooooo! I wahahahahahahanna gohohohohohohohohoho hooooohohohohohohohohohohome!”
“Nuh uh, we’ve talked about this you silly goose. You can’t go home until you can make it a whooooooooole movie without interrupting. It’s a shame you couldn’t last through this one, there’s almost a whole hour left! Maybe the next film will be the one, hm?”
Now the smiling usher brought her fingers into play, her soft fingertips gently tapping and poking the lad’s sensitive underarms, provoking a forceful push of laughter from the already defeated “patient.” His body was shaking violently now, kicking his feet and bouncing on his ass, the laughter escaping from every pore of his body.
“Bwahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! No! Nononononononononononononononoooooooooohohohohohohohohohohoooo!"
“Besides,” the usher continued, calmly, as she drummed her fingers up and down his trembling pits, making sure every finger was giving just the right amount of pressure to maximize their ticklish effectiveness. “If you went home you’d just be sitting alone in your room watching movies. But here you get to do it with meeeeeeeeeee! Coochie coochie cooooo!”
“Plehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehease! I cahahahahahahahahan’t do it! Ihihihihihihihihihihihihihihi’m tooooooohohohohohohohohoho tihihihihihihihickly!”
“That’s right my little wiggle worm. You might be the most ticklish boy I’ve ever had in Mommy’s Little Man Matinee. Someday it’ll be your movies another lucky little man will be watching on the biiiiiiiiig screen. Are you a star? Hm? Are you mommy’s little movie star?”
“Bwahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Ohohohohohohohohohohoho nohohohohohohohoooooooo!”
“Say it, baby. Say the magic words…” the usher sing-songed as she leaned in and delivered a loud, wet sounding raspberry into one of the man’s pits.
“PPPPPPPPBBBBBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTT!”
“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHI’M HAHAHAHA MOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOMMMMY’S LIHIHIHIHIHIHITTLE MOHOHOHOOOOOVIE STAHAHAHAHAHAHAR!”
“Awww, such a good boy. Oh, that reminds me of a song! ‘Tickle tickle little star / No one knows just where you are / Up in mommy’s happy seat / Unable to touch your meat / Tickle tickle little star…”
Dr. Winderham pressed the button again and the audio feed was cut. She turned to Roberta and noted the confused — yet intrigued — expression upon her face.
“He’s been with us for two weeks now. You should’ve seen him when he came in. He’s made some splendid progress but the only way out is through.”
“I don’t understand…tickling?” Roberta inquired. There wasn’t a hint of skepticism in her voice. In fact, she almost sounded disappointed that the thought hadn’t occurred to her first.
“I had the same reaction,” Nancy chuckled.
“You’d be surprised at how psychologically effective tickling can be, especially when paired with the correct context and stimuli.” Dr. Winderham said, crisply. “Though I’d be lying if I said some part of me didn’t enjoy the irony of some select treatments.
Dr. Winderham extended her arm, signaling that it was time to continue down the hallway.
The next viewing window looked into a barn-like set up. The room was smaller, shallower, with loose hay strewn about the floor. A young woman was astride a piece of “furniture” that more closely resembled a decommissioned mechanical bull. Her arms were wrapped around the “neck” of the piece, her hands tied together at the wrists, while her ankles were tied on either side of what might be considered the “hindquarters.” Her bottom swelled against her seat, her cheeks spilling out of the tight daisy dukes she had somehow shimmied her way into, her similarly prodigious bosom struggling against the checkered shirt that left her pale tummy exposed.
The patient was a young asian woman, her face a hysterical shade of pink from what must have been at least a half-day of tickle torture. Stationed by her feet, wielding a bristly looking paint brush, was a woman dressed in a prairie dress. Roberta watched with rapt attention as the woman dipped her paintbrush into a heavy metal pail full of a milky liquid.
“I swear to god,” the young woman panted, blowing a few strands of damp hair away from her mouth, “when my parents find out what you’re doing in here…oh ho ho, you better lawyer up.”
“That’s nice, darlin’,” her minder said in an artificial southern drawl. Roberta had to remind herself that the women who worked at the institute were not necessarily actresses.
“Just you wait bitch. Just you wait and see what happens when — OH FUCK!”
Her minder was now brushing the exposed soles of the young woman’s feet with the brush, taking her time to ensure that every inch and crevice was covered in the glossy, mysterious liquid. The woman was exacting, covering the poor girl’s soles in not one, not two, but three coats of the stuff. All the while, it was clear she was enjoying the application and the ticklish distress it elicited from her victim.
“Yohohohohohohohohohou bihihihihihihihihihitch! Cuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhut ihihihihihihit ohohohohohohohohohout! Ihihihihihihihihi swehehehehehehehehehear tohohohohohohohohohooooooo gohohohohohohohohohod! Ah! Ahahahahahahahaha!”
The young woman attempted to pull her feet away but her bindings held her fast, causing her to rock forward and back a little on her “seat.” Roberta heard Nancy giggle behind her.
“It looks like she’s trying to ride it,” Nancy chuckled.
“Like I said,” Dr. Winderham whispered, “nothing wrong with enjoying these things from time to time. Keeps things light.”
Meanwhile, on the other side of the glass, the clinician had finished coating her patients soles in the mysterious solution. She turned toward the one-way glass patrician through which Roberta and co were watching and gave a polite little nod. It should have disquieted Roberta, but it didn’t. If anything, it was nice to be seen.
The clinician pressed a small button on the wall beside her and a small compartment opened where the wall met the floor, about the size of a ceiling tile. Out of the compartment walked three black cats, meowing softly as the entered the room and got their bearings.
Upon hearing the soft mewling of the recently introduced cats, the young woman began to panic, doing her best to turn around to see what was going on.
“What…what is that? Are those…cats?”
“Mhm!” Her minder chimed merrily. Even this noise had the faintest traces of her put on accent. “I thought you loved cats, darlin’.”
“Well, I mean, I do but — EEE! Ohohohohohohohohohohohoho nohohohohohohohooo!”
The cats were now lapping at her soles, their coarse, pink little tongues flicking around with alarmingly ticklish results.
“Nahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Ohohohohohohohohohoho shihihihihihihit! Gehehehehehehehehehehehehet thehehehehehehehem ohohohohohohout! Ihihihihihihihit’s nohohohohohohohohot fahahahahahahahahair!” The young woman cackled, her teeth showing through her giddy laughter.
“Not fair? Not fair? Why my little sugarplum, what isn’t fair is expecting your parents to take care of your pets for you. After all, you promised to waaaaallllllk them and feeeeed them. But you never did, did you? Instead you spent your time partying with your friends, leaving your poor little animal friends alllllllll cooped up to make messes all over the rug. Isn’t that right?”
“It’s a mixture of salt and heavy cream,” Dr. Winderham whispered, nodding at the pail. “Kitties just can’t get enough of the stuff. We let the girls play with them in the lounge between sessions. It’s a great way to destress and boost morale.”
“Buhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhut ihihihihihihihihihihi’m ihihihihihihihin schohohohohohoool!” The young woman wailed as her feet twitched and fidgeted under the rough tongues of her whiskered tormentors.
“Aw sweetie, that’s no excuse and you know it. See? Even here, while we’re making you better, you still have plenty of time to spend with your happy animal friends. Can’t you feel how much they wuuuuuuv you?”
“Shuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhut thehehehehehehehehehe fuhuhuhuhuhuhuck uhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhup! Eeeeheheheehehehehahahahahahahahahahaaaaa!” The young woman was rocking back and forth upon her “steed” shaking her head back and forth as her black hair whipped around her in desperate frenzy.
“Such profanity…” her minder tutted as she slowly rose from the floor, making sure to give the hungry kitties a gentle pet. “Why that’s just downright unbecoming for such a pretty little girl.”
“Ihihihihihihihi dohohohohohohon’t gihihihihihihihive ahahahahahahaha shihihihihihit! Whehehehehehehehehehen mihihihihihihihiyyyyy pahahahahahahaharents hehehehehear whahahahahahahahat yohohohohohohohohohouuuuu dohohohohohohohooooooo heheheheheheehehehehehere Ihihihihihihihihihihihihihihi swhehehehehehehehehehear tohohohohohohohohohoooooo gohohohohohohod! Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaa!”
“Swear? Swear? Why, you’ve done enough swearing for the both of us, don’t you think sugarplum?” The woman was standing beside the hysterical young lady now, her hands on her hips like a disapproving mother. “Besides, if you think your parents have any problem at all with what’s going on here, why don’t you call out for them, hm? Yes, I think that would be a splendid idea. Why don’t you call out, ‘mommy! Daddy! Pwease save me from the tickle monster!”
“Gehehehehehehehehehehehet fuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhucked! Ahahahahahahahahaha!”
The cats were nowhere near done with her salty soles, their rough little tongues were flicking between her toes now and against her heels. They had no pattern, no method, no movements the poor young woman could anticipate. They just licked…licked…licked…
“Boy those kitties sure are hungry! You’d think nobody’s fed them in days! Imagine if someone had taken better care of them, they might not have any interest in your happy widdle feetsies!
“Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Oh shi-hihihihihihihihihihihihihihihiht!”
“Katie here is one of our more recent arrivals,” Dr. Winderham clarified, turning now to look at Roberta. “We thought she’d be best suited for Belinda the Brat Tamer.”
For the first time since Roberta arrived, Dr. Winderham's demeanor was all business, and she was reminded that despite the theater of it all, she was here to be sold on a service to help with her son’s behavioral issues. Not that anyone had asked her, but if she had been asked, Roberta would have to admit that she was actually enjoying her little tour. So much so, in fact, that she had completely forgotten the reason for her visit until just that moment.
Roberta hadn’t had an easy life, certainly not an easy childhood. As far as she was concerned, she let her son get away with murder. When Roberta was growing up corporal punishment had still been very much in vogue. Had she left her laundry lying around or neglected to let her puppy out she’d have been unable to sit down for days. She’d always promised herself she’d be a more compassionate parent, more patient, but the older she got the more apparent it was to her that the “kids these days” were taking advantage.
She’d seen young men and women just like the “patients” at the institute, watched as they grew from undisciplined children into lazy interns and, finally, under-qualified replacements in the workplace. When Roberta had entered the workforce she had been expected to keep up appearances with crisp, ironed clothes and a formal, if pleasant, demeanor. Nowadays it seemed people were going to work in sweatpants or simply not coming in at all.
Roberta didn’t blame herself, or even her own son for his behavior. Standards had lowered across the board. What chance did anyone have? If anything, Roberta was relieved to know that there was still a place where model citizens could be molded without the need for violence or raised voices. She briefly wondered if, had the institute been around when she was a girl, her parents might have sent her here, and if they had, what form her punishment might take.
She blushed, embarrassed to have been as swept up in the institute as she had been. Nancy must have sensed this as Roberta suddenly felt her hand rest upon her shoulder.
“We all find ourselves getting a little caught up sometimes,” Nancy assured her. “I mean, if we girls can’t have a little fun once in a while then what’s the point, hmm?”
“Too true,” Dr. Winderham chuckled as she turned her attention back to the session on the other side of the glass and sighed contentedly.
The young woman’s minder had taken a more “hands on” approach, her fingers now digging in to either side of the young woman’s exposed and fleshy sides. She smiled the whole time, clearly having a ball breaking this young lady down.
“Go on sweet one, call out for mommy and daddy! Make sure they can realllllly hear you so they can swoop in and save you from the tickle tickle tickle monster! A coochie coochie cooooooooo! Mommy and daddy can’t heeeeeeeeear yoooooou!”
“Yohohohohohohohohohohohohohohohohohou bihihihihihihihihihihihihihitch! Yohohohohohohohohohohohohohou fuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhucking bihihihihihihitch! Ihihihihihihihihihi’m gohohohohohohonna gehehehehehehehet yohohohohohohohohou!”
Katie, the young woman, was going wild now, throwing her body from side to side in an attempt to get away from her minder’s menacing, tickling fingers, or perhaps hoping that she may knock her seat over and receive a temporary respite. Alas, nothing she could do. No matter how much she wriggled and rocked, there was nothing to do but take her tickles.
“Nuh uh uhhhhhhh! Swearing isn’t gonna get you away from your tickles, darlin’. You know what you have’ta dooooo!”
“Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Gehehehehehehehehet ohohohohohohohohooooffffffa meheheheheheheheheheheeeeee! Stahahahahahahahahap ihihihihihihihit!”
“I’m not gonna stawp until my giggly little girl says the magic wooooooords!” Her fingers crept into Katie’s armpits now, eliciting fresh howls from her red faced victim. Already tears were forming in the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over and run down her ruddy cheeks. “Here, let me help. ‘Mooooommmmmmyyyyyy….”
“Mohohohohohohohohohom! Dahahahahahahahahahad! Sahahahahahahahave meeeeehehehehehehehehehe!”
“Nooooooo…” Belinda said as her fingers slowly curled against Katie’s sweaty armpits, “it’s not ‘mom,’ it’s moooooooommmmmmmy. Can you say ‘mommy?’”
“Fuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuck yohohohohohohohohohou! Juhuhuhuhuhuhuhst stahahahahahap!”
Belinda seemed genuinely disappointed and just shook her head resignedly.
“Awww, don’t worry darlin’, we’ll get there eventually. I’m not one to give up on the good girl buried deep deep down inside.” Suddenly Belinda took a look behind her and gave a little cluck. “Oh my, looks like those happy little kitties have licked you widdle footsies clean! Time for a new coat. I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere…”
Belinda withdrew her hands from Katie’s armpits and rounded back to her naked soles. The cats were indeed still getting their licks in, but their pace had slowed. Belinda was humming a merry little tune as she bent down to grab the brush once more.
“Wait! Stop!” Katie shouted, no longer bothering to blow the damp strands of hair from her sweaty face. “Wait! Please, let’s talk about this! Just let me go and I promise I’ll - AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! YOHOHOHOHOHOHOU FUHUHUHUHUHUCKING BIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHITCH! YOHOHOHOHOHOU’LL BEHEHEHE SOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHORRRRRRYYYYYYYYEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!”
But Belinda had already begun coating Katie’s trembling soles once more, making sure to take her sweet time as the bristles brushed coat after coat after coat of that sweet and salty cream.
“No you’re not sweetness, you’re just saying that because I’m holding the brushy brush! No, you’re not sowwy yettttt. But you will be. You will be…now laugh and giggle for mommy sweetheart.”
“FUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUCK YOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO —“
At this, Dr. Winderham pressed the little red button and in an instant the scene was rendered mute. Katie continued to scream and curse and laugh, her face turning a shade of cherry red, from laughter as much as rage. Her pleas muted, she looked even more desperate, more feral. It sent a shiver down Roberta’s spine.
“Like I said, she’s new.” Dr. Winderham said as she continued down the hallway. “But she’ll be calling for mommy and daddy in no time. It’s up to little Katie how long that takes. And once they finally do come to pick her up, she’ll do anything that’s asked of her, so long as they never send her back here.”
“You’re torturing them…” Roberta said under her breath in an almost awed tone.
“Not at all,” Dr. Winderham replied, “in fact, I know a few veterans who might take umbrage at such a suggestion. Do you know much about history?”
Roberta heard Nancy push a little air out through her nose behind her. Clearly this was an argument Dr. Winderham was fond of making.
“Some.” Roberta replied, curious to see where this was going.
“Have you ever heard the term, ‘Chinese Tickle Torture,’ as problematic as it may be. Perhaps in an old comic strip or cartoon show?”
“I think so? Rings a bell.”
“Well, as antiquated as the expression may be, it didn’t come from nowhere. There’s evidence that tickle torture was used as a punishment for nobility in Japan — not China. They called it ‘shikei’ - or ‘private punishment.’ It was a way of keeping the nobility in line without marking their skin or humiliating them in front of commoners. As I’m sure you know, the most privileged among us do not do well with pain.”
This did get a little chuckle out of Roberta.
“Don’t I ever.”
Nancy smiled. It was clear Roberta was enjoying her tour. She’d had an inkling that this was just the sort of place that might appeal to her old friend.
“But it wasn’t just Japan. There’s documentation that suggests such tickle torture was used in ancient Rome and parts of Britain. They’d soak the troublemaker’s legs in a saltwater solution and then bring in goats to lick their feet clean. Naturally, for our clients we offer a less…crude implementation, but effective all the same.”
Dr. Winderham was smiling as she led Roberta and Nancy to the next viewing window.
“We like to think that that institute is in conversation with this history. It is not only an honor, but a privilege, to help mold the nobility of the modern era.”
“Does she give this speech to everyone?” Roberta whispered to Nancy.
“Yes. It’s also on their website.” Nancy chuckled.
“They have a website?” Roberta asked.
“Ladies…” Dr. Winderham said, her voice firm with authority and warning.
Without even thinking, Nancy and Roberta straightened their posture and ceased their whispered conversation, like kids caught passing notes in class. Dr. Winderham was, if nothing else, a professional.
“Now,” she smiled as they reached the next viewing window, “this next patient is due to be discharged any day now. The other patients you’ve seen today were at earlier stages of rehabilitation, but what I’m going to show you here is a boy that has been thoroughly corrected. In fact, at present he’s considered our model patient. My girls have been positively lining up to have a crack at him.”
“Oh, is this…?” Nancy asked, grasping for the name unsuccessfully.
“Little Benny? Oh yes.” Dr. Winderham chuckled. “I’m assuming Eleanor has told you all about him by now?”
“Oh yes, lots.” Nancy said, nodding. “Wait til you get a load of this, Roberta.”
The trio stopped in front of the viewing window and Roberta’s breath caught in her throat.
This room’s theme was “The Merry Meadow.” There was grass on the ground that looked almost real, green and soft to the touch. The walls were a light shade of blue with happy little bees and ladybugs placed here and there, all of them smiling. Fluffy clouds had been painted on the ceiling and a bright yellow sun was visible in the corner of the room, which is also where the security camera happened to be.
In the center of the room, tied to a wooden X-frame was a young man who looked remarkably like Louis. He had mousy brown hair, if a little longer than her son’s, with eyes to match. He was a lean boy, looking to be about 20, with wispy hair on his chest and under his arms. He’d been stripped completely, save for a pair of tight, black underwear.
Standing by his side was a pleasantly plump redhead, dressed in a white tank top and blue jeans, barefoot in the grass. She was a slight thing, perhaps even under five feet tall, her red hair tied into pigtails. Roberta couldn’t help but think she looked a little like Pippi Longstocking.
“You’re lucky,” Dr. Winderham said, “Little Noah here just started his session.”
Dr. Winderham pushed the little red button and the women were able to listen in on Noah’s tickle session.
“—very special day, isn’t it, Nono?”
Noah nodded enthusiastically, his body trembling slightly from the soft tickles “Pippi” was applying to his chest and sides. She was standing behind him now, her arms wrapped around him in a ticklish embrace. Her fingertips were ever so gently poking and rubbing his sensitive belly, taking her time in the way all of the other ticklers had.
“Yes, Mrs. TeeHee!” Noah chirped. Unlike the other two victims Roberta had just seen, Noah answered readily, happily even. He wasn’t jerking away from Mrs. TeeHee’s touch, at least, not as violently as the others. His ticklish movements weren’t voluntary by any means, but he didn’t seem to be trying especially hard to get away from her fingers either. If anything, his smile seemed…genuine?
“Can you tell me what day it is?”
“I-ihihihit’s mihihihihiy bihihihihirthday!” Noah giggled.
“That’s right!” Mrs. TeeHee smiled. “And how old are you today, Nono?”
“Ummm…” For the first time since Roberta started watching him, Noah’s smile faltered. His eyes moved from one corner of his eyes to another, trying to recall that specific number. He squinted his eyes, it was on the tip of his tongue.
“Uh ohhhhh, did someone forget how to count? Huh? Did my little Nono lose track?” At this, she began to probe her fingers deeper into his belly, sending little shockwaves through what little belly fat he had.
“Noooooohohohohohohohohohohohoho! I cahahahahahahahan cohohohohohount!”
“Then how old are you, Nono? C’mon, tell Mrs. TeeHee like a good boy.”
“Ihihihihihihihihihihihihiiiiiii dohohohohohohohon’t knohohohohohohohow!”
“Sure you do, sweetie,” Mrs. TeeHee cooed, “today is your 21st birthday! Isn’t that exciting!”
“Yehehehehehehehehehesssssss!”
“I bet you want to go out with your friends tonight and drink until the sun comes up, don’t you?”
“Nohohohohohohohohohoho Iihihihihihihihihihihi dohohohohohohon’t!”
“You don’t? You don’t?” Mrs. TeeHee asked with mock surprise, making an exaggerated face the way one might upon seeing a child perform a magic trick. “Why, I thought you liked drinking Nono. I thought it was your faaaaaaaaavorite. You should go out drinking with your friends…”
Mrs. TeeHee was slowly circling his bellybutton with one hand while teasing just above the waistband of his underwear with the other, just gently plucking at him with her soft fingertips.
“Ihihihihihihihihihihihihihihi dohohohohohohohohon’t wahahahahahahahahahnna! Ihihihihihihihihihihi dohohohohohohohohohon’t! Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!”
She rested her head on his shoulder, her lips inches from his ear as she spoke to him.
“No? My, what a mature young man you are. So what do you wanna do instead, hmm? Tell me. Tell Mrs. TeeHee.”
“Ihihihihihihihihihihihihi wahahahahahahahahahanna stahahahahahay hehehehehehere wihihihihihihith yohhohohohohohohohohohou Mrs. Teeeehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe!”
At that, Mrs. TeeHee looked at the glass, directly at Roberta. Or at least, that’s certainly what it seemed like. How did Mrs. TeeHee know she was there, watching?
“Noah here had a drinking problem, if you couldn’t guess,” Dr. Winderham interjected. “His mother got him a job in her office, a respectable position for a man his age, a decent salary, room to grow.” She shook her head. “So it was unfortunate when he fell short of her expectations. He’d show up to work drunk or hungover, harass a few of his fellow employees. Especially the women in the office.”
“And now he’s learned to keep his hands to himself, hasn’t he?” Nancy smiled. She’d said it in a similarly patronizing sing-song as Mrs. TeeHee and suddenly Roberta wondered how it was Nancy first heard of the institute. Had she worked here at one point?
“You said he was special?”
“Did I?”
“Well, Nancy here sure seemed to make a fuss.”
“I did, didn’t I?” Nancy blushed a little.
Dr. Winderham simply smiled.
“Keep watching.”
On the other side of the glass, Mrs. TeeHee was still talking in Noah’s ear, having turned her attention away from the glass and to her happy, smiling victim.
“Such a gooooooood boy! Who’s my happy little boy, hmm?”
“Meeeeeheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheeeeeeee!”
“You know age is just a number, right? No matter how old you are, no matter how grown up you might act, deep down you’ll always be a ticklish little boy, won’t you?”
“Yehehehehehehehehehehehehessssss! Ohohohohohohohohohhoooooo gohohohohohohohohohod yehehehehehehehes!”
“Yes, whaaaaaat?”
“Yehehehehehehehess mihihihihihihihihissus TeeeeeHeeeheheheheheheheheheeeeee!”
“Here. Watch.” Dr. Winderham whispered, leaning in toward the glass.
“Awwww, such a good boy! And a good boy is a…?”
“Hahahahahahahahahahahaaaappy bohohohohohohohohohohoy! Ahahahahahaha gohohohohohohohooood bohohohohohohohoy ihihihihihihis ahahahahahaha hahahahahahappppyyyyyyeeeee bohohohohohohoy! Ihihihihihihi’m a gohohohoood boy! Ihihihihihihihihihihihi’m ahahahahahahaha gohohohohohoooood bohohohohoy!” Noah laughed.
“That’s right! Now, I think my good boy deserves a little pwezzie! Doesn’t that sound nice?” She didn’t even wait for Noah to respond. “Of course it does!”
With that, Mrs. TeeHee pressed an unseen button somewhere behind the X-frame, causing it to recline. Within seconds, Noah went from being upright to flat on his back, his bare feet pointing toward the viewing glass.
“Does my good boy want to know what his present is?”
Noah nodded vigorously, barely able to contain his excitement.
“Yes! Oh yes, Mrs. TeeHee. Please! Please!”
“Okay, Nono. Because you’ve been such a good boy for me…”
A door slid open behind Mrs. TeeHee. Roberta hadn’t even noticed it was there it had blended into the wall so seamlessly. Standing in the doorway was a dark-skinned woman sporting a purple pixie cut, clad in a cow print bikini that could scarcely contain the swell of her. She was taller than Mrs. TeeHee, more conventionally beautiful, or at least she might be considered so beyond the walls of the institute. On her hands she wore cartoonishly large and fuzzy pink gloves.
“…I invited an old friend over.”
Noah craned his neck to see who had entered the room. When he finally laid eyes on her, his face softened into an expression of joy and apprehension.
“The tickle monster…” he breathed, his voice suddenly so small and far away.
It was then that Roberta noticed Noah’s erection.
There was a good chance that it had been building this whole time. She simply hadn’t seen his growing erection until now, when it twitched at the sight of “The Tickle Monster.” If the session had just started, as Dr. Winderham suggested, then what they had seen so far was just to warm him up. She could tell that the real session was about to get under way.
“Awwww, he remembers you!” Mrs. TeeHee trilled.
“Of course he does,” The Tickle Monster smiled. “I was little Nono’s first. I was the one who discovered his ticklish little secret.”
“It happens on occasion…” Dr. Winderham said to Roberta, never once taking her eyes off the scene playing out before them. “Sometimes we find out that our patients actually like their treatments. Some more than others. In fact, it makes them far easier to rehabilitate if it turns out they get off on it. It’s ideal, really. Honey and vinegar. The carrot and the stick.”
As Roberta stared at the aroused young man in the next room, his erection steadily rising further as the Tickle Monster knelt by his bared soles and began dragging her sharp fingernails down his trembling soles, each finger curling slowly, the nail drawing faint white lines along the soft and tender skin.
“Eheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheeeeee! Nohohohohohohoooooo! Nohohohohoho tihihihihihihihickle mohohohohohohohonster!”
“No? No??” Mrs. TeeHee said with mock concern as she began goosing her fingers down his sides, causing him to rock gently from side to side. “But I thought you looooooooooved the tickle monster!”
“Ihihihihihihihihihihihihi cahahahahahahahahahan’t tahahahahahahahake ihihihihihit!”
“But it’s your birthday sweet one,” the Tickle Monster cooed. “Don’t you want your present?” At this, she wrapped her fingers around his big toe, pulling his foot back to make his sole taut. Forming her hand into a claw, she slowly, slowly raked it down his foot.
Noah went ballistic.
“IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHI DOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHON’T WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHANT IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIIIIIIIT! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NO! NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOOO!”
“That’s right!” Mrs. TeeHee quipped, “that’s your name! Nono the tickle toy! And what’s a tickle toy without his tickles? Don’t you like your present? Hmm? Being tickled and pampered by your favorite coochie queens? What could be better than that?”
“Besides…” The Tickle Monster cooed, raking her hand down his taut sole once more, “it’s rude for a little boy to turn down a prezzie! Why, only naughty boys do that.”
“And you know what we do to naughty boys, don’t you baby boy?” Mrs. TeeHee was typing on his tummy now, her fingers poking and wiggling along the jiggling expanse of flesh as the poor boy laughed his head off.
“NOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOOO! IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHI’M NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAT NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAUGHTY! AHAHAHAHA!”
“Then what are you then? Come on, speak up little Nono. Tell us what you are…” The Tickle Monster coaxed as she began nibbling on Noah’s heels, causing his butt to lift off the X-frame.
“IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHI’M AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA GOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOOOD BOHOHOHOHOHOYYYYY! IHIHIHIHIHI’LL BEHEHEHEHEEEEE GOHOHOOOOD! IHIHIHIHIHIHIHI’LL BEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEE GOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOOOD! PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!”
Roberta watched intently as the tickle monster expertly bring Noah to the brink by expertly playing with his soles. She knew them as well as she likely knew her own. Every touch seemed to shoot through his body like an electric shock. While Mrs. TeeHee had made the poor boy giggle, it was the tickle monster that knew how to make him howl.
And despite it all, through all the laughter and the pleading, Noah’s erection strained against the dark fabric of his underwear. If anything, he was even more aroused now than he was before. Even if his tormentors withdrew their hands this instant, what were the chances that not long after he’d be begging them to start again.
It was at this moment that she knew this was the perfect place for her son. It wasn’t just the uncanny resemblance that Noah bore to Louis. It was his laugh, one tinged with joy and desperation. She also knew of her son’s more personal…tastes, ones that she first discovered on the family computer around the time Louis hit puberty. He’d be one of their favorites, she was sure of it.
Meanwhile, Noah was still laughing his head off.
“IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIIIIIII PROHOHOHOHOHOHOMISE! IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIH’M AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA GOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOOD BOHOHOHOHOHOHOY! IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHI’M AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA GOOOHOHOHOHOOOOOD BOHOHOHOHOHOYYYYYY! PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!”
At this, the Tickle Monster and Mrs. TeeHee exchanged a look and nodded at each other. The Tickle Monster did not cease her ticklish ministrations, but stood up and slowed them. With one foot under each of her skillful hands, Noah kept giggling and wriggling as Mrs. TeeHee rounded the table and took a position leaning over his impressive erection.
“Yeah? You’re a very good boy, aren’t you?” Mrs. TeeHee cooed, softly as she gently rolled down his underwear. “And good boys get rewards, especially on their special day.”
With The Tickle Monster now standing up, Roberta’s view of what happened next was obstructed. But there was no mistaking what was about to transpire. She could see Mrs. TeeHee’s hand moving and hear the soft moans that now escaped through the little gasps of laughter that the Tickle Monster coaxed from his soft feet.
Roberta watched the Tickle Monster’s finger’s closely. They were moving slowly now, deliberately. Each movement of her fingers against his soles caused a new hiccup in his moans, timed perfectly to the movements of Mrs. TeeHee’s soft hands. It was as if they were playing the exhausted boy like an instrument.
“Say it again, Nono. Be a good boy and make your little mess in my hand. Come on sweet boy, say the magic words.”
“I…Ihihihihihi’m-mmmmmmmmm…a-hahaha-a…gooooo - oh fuck! Ihihihi’m a good bohohohoy…I’m a good boy…Ihihihih’m a gohohood boy…I’m your goohohood bohohoy…” Noah whined, like a shy schoolboy caught stealing chalk.
“Good boy. Such a good boy for the tickle monster. That’s right, get all that naughty cum out, just make your mess in mommy’s hand. That’s right…”
The more the Tickle Monster teased his soles the closer it seemed to bring Noah to climax. And the slower her fingers teased, the slower Mrs. TeeHee’s hand seemed to move. They were in perfect sync. It was horrifying and inspiring in equal measure.
Oh yes, Louis would do well here. This was exactly what he needed.
Roberta saw the orgasm before she heard it. There was a sudden silence as Noah became momentarily incapable of thought or articulation. His toes curled, wrinkling the soles that the Tickle Monster was still teasing as he tipped over the edge of pleasure and tumbled into bliss. Mrs. TeeHee smiled, her hand still moving as Noah’s body bucked, trembled, then finally settled still.
“Oh god…oh my god.” Noah whispered, dazed. “Oh…”
Dr. Winderham pressed the little red button again, muting the scene as she turned expectantly toward Roberta.
“Do you need to see more? Or have you come to a decision?”
Roberta gave her answer. Dr. Winderham nodded. Nancy smiled.
Through the glass, Noah’s body began to shake violently as the ticklers started up again. Noah’s session was not over yet.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Roberta returned home a few hours later, having discussed Louis’ treatment plan with Dr. Winderham over dinner and a few glasses of wine. The wheels were already in motion, all that was left was for her to deliver her son to the institute in the next 48 hours.
When she returned home, she slipped a little pill into Louis’ post-exercise gatorade, something Dr. Winderham had given Roberta when they parted ways. She watched her shows and noted all the little messes left around the house that Louis had neglected to tend to: little piles of coffee grounds, water on the counter, dirty dishes in the sink.
After Louis did eventually slump to bed, Roberta waited a few minutes before sneaking upstairs after him.
There he was, her son, her baby boy, asleep face down with his feet hanging off the bed. He was snoring. Roberta had never known her son to snore. Perhaps it was due to the sedative, but Louis had neglected to remove his shoes before passing out, and Roberta took it upon herself to remove them.
As she shimmied his sneakers off his feet, Roberta smiled as she thought back to her time at the institute. The things she’d seen, the laughter she’d heard, and the treatment plan she and Dr. Winderham had cooked up gave her hope for the future generation. Perhaps her son wasn’t doomed after all.
Peeling off his socks, Roberta couldn’t help herself. She pressed her thumb into her son’s warm sole and just gently let the nail glide down toward his toes. Even in his deepest slumber, Louis giggled through his snores. Whether he liked it or not, Louis would be the well-mannered, obedient boy his mother always wanted.
It was only a matter of time.
Roberta stirred her tea absently. She’d diluted it with neither sugar nor milk, yet she ran her little spoon around the inside of her cup over and over again anyway. She was nervous. It was the first time Roberta had ever tried verbalizing what was going on with her son and she wasn’t quite sure where to start.
Roberta was seated in an uncomfortable looking chair that more resembled a nest than it did a seat. It was a large, wicker thing, round and creaky, that could easily fit three people inside. Roberta couldn’t for the life of her imagine how Nancy was able to get it through her front door. The pillows that filled out the nest weren’t much help, numerous though they were. Thus, Roberta found herself crossing and uncrossing her legs, shifting her back and forth in an attempt to find a comfortable groove, or perhaps some eggs to incubate.
Adding to Roberta’s feeling of unease was how overdressed she felt. When she’d made plans to meet with Nancy, Roberta had assumed that they’d be getting together at a fancy restaurant. Thus, she’d stuffed herself into a smart business suit that she hadn’t worn in years, expecting a ritzy outing. Back when they used to work together downtown, Roberta and Nancy had made a habit of sneaking off for extravagant lunches. But that had been so very long ago. Instead of being seated across from each other at The Dine, Roberta was sitting criss-cross applesauce in a nest on her friend’s back patio. The Nancy that sat in front of her now favored comfort over efficiency, a shift that sadly had not yet impacted her taste in furniture.
Nancy hadn’t so much as touched her tea. She was dressed in a navy blue caftan that left her physicality a mystery, her hands clasped over a crossed knee as her Birkenstock clad foot bounced in the air. Her hair retained a washed out, hay-coloring, despite the proliferation of grays and whites. It looked natural, which is really what Nancy paid for. She now resembled the sort of woman she and Roberta would have made fun of from afar while out to lunch. Her fingers were weighed down by jade rings and jangly bracelets, her hands soft and skin perfumed. Nancy was the picture of ease, a sort of southern California fantasy of a rich person.
Roberta glanced down at her black pumps and once again cursed herself for dressing so formally. She hadn’t expected that Nancy could have changed so much since they’d last gotten together. They’d met as ambitious young business women and instantly hit it off, conquering the city like it had been their birthright. But life, as it so often does, moved on. Nancy had gotten married first and moved out of the city when she got pregnant with her daughter, Sam. After that Roberta and Nancy only saw each other once or twice a year.
But this was a special occasion. Roberta wasn’t sure why, but she’d been surprised when Nancy had agreed to meet with her on such short notice. She’d told her a little about what was going on over the phone, but Nancy insisted that they talk about her “little problem” in person.
The problem was her son, Louis. He’d always been, as Roberta liked to say, “a happy little boy.” Growing up he’d been an exceptionally well-behaved child, polite and eager to please. Roberta would have to make a conscious effort not to smile when other mothers complained about their children being unable to sleep through the night or detailed their nuclear grade tantrums. She never had to apologize to other passengers on the airplane, never needed to raise her voice. She couldn’t relate to the rage and exhaustion that other mothers liked to complain about. Sure, it wasn’t easy, parenting seldom was, but at the very least, Louis had never made the act of parenting any more difficult than it tended to be.
But all that changed as Louis grew older. Roberta couldn’t put her finger on when exactly this had happened but somewhere down the line her sweet little boy had soured. He’d started hanging out with a less than desirable crowd who spent their nights breaking into abandoned buildings and drinking behind the old church in town. Louis didn’t even bother trying to cover up the smell of his illicit cigarette habit anymore. No matter what Roberta said or did, Louis kept finding new ways to undermine her authority. His father was proving little help, always traveling as he was for work. Aside from a few stern talking-to’s over the phone, there was not much he could do to keep their son in line either.
Louis had elected not to go to college, framing his parents’ desire for his good education as a burden he never asked for. He said they were too strict, singling out his mother as the most overbearing and unreasonable. Of course, Roberta didn’t see herself that way. Yes, she had certain expectations for how her son should behave and how the house should be kept, but she was hardly a tyrant. Louis had promised to get a job and start helping around the house, but he never did. Now 20, his bad streak could no longer be written off as “just a phase” and Roberta was becoming worried that her son was doomed to become one of the many burnouts she saw hanging around the gas station. She just wanted the best for her son and couldn’t understand how he could be so cavalier about derailing his future.
But of course, there was more to the story. The reality was that Roberta had been strict and overbearing for much of Louis’ childhood. Her standards had always been high, for herself and for others. It’s what had attracted Roberta to her husband, an ambitious worker bee who was always striving to reach greater heights. Their son had inherited none of his father’s ambition or his mother’s standards.
All that being said, Louis was hardly a “bad kid.” In truth, he was just adrift in the way that many young men his age were. Whatever “attitude” his mother detected was merely his exasperation with his mother’s lack of understanding about the current state of things for young men like him. The world had changed. He could no longer just walk up to the owner of a store and secure his employment with a firm handshake. For whatever reason, his mother couldn’t understand his inability to get a job or his unwillingness to take on the debt a college degree would require.
Naturally this was not how Roberta saw things. Unlike when he was little, there was little Roberta could do to correct what she saw as his delinquent behavior. He was 20 now, after all, and what little influence Roberta had over her son was waning by the day. She remembered that at one time Nancy had mentioned her daughter at one time faced similar “difficulties.” Upon hearing the gist of Roberta’s problems, Nancy had invited her over to offer her two cents.
Roberta was still stirring her tea, in fact she hadn’t stopped moving her spoon since she’d started talking. It all came out in a breathless torrent of worry and anger — anger at herself, at her son, at the expectations placed on them both. Throughout, Nancy gave nothing away. She just sat there and listened, occasionally giving a slight nod or thoughtful, “Hmm.”
By the time Roberta finished unburdening herself she was practically out of breath. Confronted with the silence that followed, Roberta suddenly wanted to keep talking. The silence was where the recriminations and questions would fill in the blanks. It was why she’d been so hesitant to talk about Louis’ problems. Inevitably the blame would fall on her. Why didn’t she and her husband set better boundaries when Louis was growing up? Why wasn’t his father around more? How could Roberta let her son get like this?
Roberta braced herself for such questions but they never came. Instead she was surprised to see Nancy smiling softly at her, tranquilized by some secret knowledge she couldn’t wait to share with her old friend.
“And where is Louis now?” Nancy asked, finally taking a sip of her now room temperature tea.
“Oh, who knows,” Roberta sniffled. “Probably at the arcade or with his shit kicker friends.” Her hand flew to her mouth when she realized she’d cursed. “Oh, I’m sorry. Please excuse my French.”
“Not at all,” Nancy chuckled, amused. “Don’t let all the wicker furniture fool you, I’m not offended by salty language. I like to think I haven’t changed that much…”
“So…what should I do?” Roberta asked. She could already feel her shoulders coming down from her ears. How long had she been this tightly wound? This wasn’t the kind of mother — the kind of person — she wanted to be.
“I just remember,” she continued, “that Elenor had some…difficult periods when she was around Louis’ age. How did you deal with that?”
Eleanor was Nancy’s daughter. As the first of their cohort to have kids, Eleanor was viewed by Roberta and their other friends as something of a canary in the coal mine. Eleanor had been a very well behaved little girl, often stealing the show whenever company came over. She was respectfully quiet during adult discussions around the table and never fussed when the time came for her to head upstairs to bed. In fact, Eleanor was so agreeable and charming that many in their circle of friends cited her as the reason they finally decided to have children. After all, Eleanor had made it seem so appealing, an adorable little homunculus that didn’t seem to disrupt her parents’ otherwise bohemian life in any noticeable way.
That all changed near the end of high school and in her early college years. Like Louis she’d fallen in with some less than savory characters, dabbling in drinking and drugs and all kinds of bad behavior. She’d been arrested for shoplifting the summer after her freshman year of college and after a used condom was found wedged between her mother’s couch cushions, it was decided that something needed to be done.
The details of what exactly transpired were never revealed to Nancy’s friends. Some suspected that they’d sent Eleanor to one of those brutal wilderness programs, others speculated that she’d been put to wok on a farm in Honduras, while a few speculated that she’d actually spent a few months in prison. Whatever they did, it seemed to work. Upon returning from…wherever she’d been, Eleanor reenrolled in school, graduating with an advanced Psych degree and getting a job at some kind of ritzy rehab facility upstate.
Now Roberta hoped that whatever program had helped Eleanor get back on track might similarly help her wayward son.
Nancy hesitated, if only for a moment, before answering Roberta’s question.
“We enlisted Eleanor in a…special program,” Nancy said, evenly. “It’s not for everyone, I’m sorry to say. But something tells me that your little Louis might make for a good fit.”
“And this…’program,’ is it expensive?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Nancy tutted, waving her hand. “I can call in a favor. It just depends on if you have the will to send Louis there. It can be as difficult for the parent as it is for the child.”
“I don’t understand,” Roberta said. “Is it a wilderness thing? Or some kind of juvie?”
“In a sense, I suppose it is.” Nancy replied, thoughtfully. “The latter, to be clear. It’s really more of a behavioral rehab than anything. The people under their care are supervised at all times, each one receiving a personalized treatment according to their specific needs.”
“I’m sorry, under whose care?”
“Oh!” Nancy exclaimed, suddenly embarrassed. “Why am I the one telling you all this when — Eleanor!”
From upstairs called a nasal, exhausted voice.
“Yes, mom?”
“Can you come down and say hi to Roberta? She wants to talk to you about something.”
“Sure, one sec…”
Even this polite exchange was enough to evoke self-pity in Roberta. Had she called out for Louis at home in a similar manner it was unlikely that he’d have responded so quickly or politely. Eleanor bounded down the stairs shortly after, he raven black hair pulled tight into a messy ponytail, her skin flushed and damp from her recently abandoned workout.
“Hey there Mrs. P.” Eleanor said. “How’s it going? I’d give you a hug but…” she petered out, gesturing to her sweaty body.
“Oh, that’s quite alright, dear. It’s so good to see you again!”
Though intellectually Roberta understood that Eleanor had been a grown woman for some time now, it was hard to reconcile the vision in front of her with her memory of the charming little girl that used to sing for guests after the dinnerware had been cleared.
Even in her workout clothes, Eleanor was a vision. Her thighs, encased in tight fitting activewear, looked thick and plump as sausages, while her modest breasts heaved beneath a baby blue tank top as she attempted to catch her breath. Her size six feet were stuffed into blindingly white trainers that Roberta doubted had ever once touched the ground.
But what really stood out to Roberta were the leather cuffs fastened around Eleanor’s wrists. They were thick and wrapped tight around her pale skin. Roberta couldn’t think of a reason she’d have to be wearing them. She could make out, just on the underside of the cuff, a white downy wool or cotton that kept the cuffs from chafing her skin.
“Eleanor, dear, could you tell Roberta here a little bit about the institute?”
It happened to quickly that later Roberta would wonder if it had been her imagination, but something rippled underneath Eleanor’s otherwise calm expression. A quiet disruption, but a disruption nonetheless. It passed quickly, and Eleanor quickly flashed a smile.
“Of course, mom.” She turned to face Roberta now, her face giving nothing away. “What would you like to know?”
“No, you didn’t listen.” Nancy said softly, firmly. “I asked you to tell her about the institute. Just tell the nice lady a little bit about the place.”
Eleanor stood up a little straighter, double blinking as she quickly replied, “N-no, of course. Sorry, mummy.”
Mummy? That was odd. That’s what Eleanor had called Nancy when she was only little. In fact, Roberta remembered being surprised when Eleanor had graduated from such infantile honorifics at quite an early age, ever the precocious child. In that moment, it felt as though that same little girl were standing before her now, eager to please and perform well.
“The Erzsébet Kleen Institute is one of the finest behavioral science clinics in the country, if not the finest. Mrs. Kleen, the founder, originally conceptualized it as a girls school — both in terms of training and reform. But in the last twenty years or so the institute has started to accept male patients as well. Despite this more modern acceptance, the staff is still uniformly female.”
“And you…attended this institute?” Roberta asked.
“Indeed,” Eleanor nodded. “As a patient. I finished my education elsewhere.”
“Didn’t stop her from coming back. Eleanor works at the institute now.” Nancy said proudly.
“Is that right?” Roberta asked.
Eleanor smiled. Forced or not, it was convincing.
“That’s right.”
“It’s like camp in that way,” Nancy said, sipping her drink. “You start out as a camper and come back as a counselor. I dare say it did my little Eleanor here a lot of good, didn’t it, Eleanor?”
“Yes, mummy.”
“I-…sorry, maybe I’m just not following.” Roberta said as she began rubbing the spot between her thumb and forefinger. “What exactly does this institute do to achieve such…results?”
Eleanor looked to her mother, seeking permission to speak, but Nancy waved her off.
“Thank you dear, that’ll be all. Go back upstairs.”
Eleanor nodded and gave a little bow.
“It was good to see you again, Mrs. Pipkin.” She said before obediently going back upstairs.
“She’s so well behaved…” Roberta marveled once Eleanor was out of earshot.
“Wasn’t always that way, believe me.” Nancy said, pleased. “But…to get back to your question…”
“Yes, what does the institute do to achieve…well, that.” Roberta asked.
“Well…” Nancy smiled, “It might be better if I just showed you.”
—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
The Erzsébet Kleen Institute sat at the top of a verdant hill about an hour out of town. It was to ensure that the young women staffed there could work free from distraction and to ensure that their patients have little else to focus on but their own rehabilitation.
The Institute itself was a formidable thing — all concrete and limestone. At one time, perhaps, it had been a private residence. Whoever originally constructed the building had put a lot of thought and intention into it.There was a long porch and a verdant garden. On the roof gleamed a stained glass dome that would cast colorful shadows around the interior at different times of day. In the setting sun, the white stone looked pink and girlish, almost seemed to glow.The front lawn and driveway that lead to the top of the hill were immaculately presented, well kept and clean.
The drive up had been uneventful, with Nancy keeping music and conversation to a minimum. It was important for her to keep her attention on the road, she said. As they pulled up the dark, clean driveway, Roberta glanced at a young man — no older than 25 — tending to the bushes that lined the road to the institute. He was wearing headphones and seemed utterly engrossed in his work, a fierce erection pitching a tent in his pink coveralls. His lips were moving, perhaps in response to whatever he was listening to. But he wasn’t singing along. Instead it seemed more like he was chanting a mantra.
Had the engine not been running, perhaps Roberta could have heard him repeating it. A simple phrase. A desperate, pleading refrain.
“I’m a good boy…I’m a good boy…I’m a good boy…”
The doors to the institute were open when they rolled to a stop at the top of the hill. Waiting there to greet them was a tall, severe looking woman who regarded them from over the top of her half-moon glasses. She was dressed in a lab coat, unbuttoned enough to show off a flash of the pink cashmere sweater she wore underneath. Her black slacks stood out against the white stone columns that flanked the main entranceway, accentuating their length and poise.
“Mrs. Sherman, it’s a pleasure to see you again. To what do we owe the visit?” The woman smiled, as though greeting an old friend who also happened to be her boss. She extended her hand for Nancy to shake, while quickly stealing a glance at Roberta.
“Oh, just stopping by.”
“Never could keep away for long, could you?” The woman chuckled. “And who might this be?”
“Oh, this is my friend Roberta. Her son has a problem with…’discipline.’”
“Is that right?” The woman smiled, before extending her hand to Roberta. “Dr. Winderham. Pleasure to meet you.”
Roberta shook Dr. Winderham’s hand and was surprised by its softness. In her experience, doctors often had dry, tough hands, likely from washing them all day. But Dr. Winderham’s hands felt as though they’d been carved out of butter.
“Welcome to the institute,” Dr. Winderham smiled. “I trust Mrs. Sherman has told you all about our little program?”
“Um, no, actually.” Roberta muttered, glancing up at the imposing building. “But it seems you did wonders for her daughter and, well…I’m curious.”
Dr. Winderham smiled and gave a little bow. It may have been her imagination, but Roberta could have sworn that she saw her wink at Nancy.
“Well then, follow me and I’ll give you the tour. Right this way.”
Nancy gave Roberta a little pat on the shoulder as they crossed the threshold of the institute. The lobby was cavernous and austere with high ceilings and marble floors. The clicking of high heels echoed throughout the hall with an almost metronome beat. Dr. Winderham led them through security and scanned her ID at an imposing looking security door. Despite the enormous lobby, Roberta now found herself being shepherded through a series of dark and narrow hallways past rows and rows of locked doors. To Roberta, it reminded her of a college dorm, albeit one in an old bank.
“This is our staff quarters,” Dr. Winderham said as she moved briskly down the corridor. “Often our specialists find themselves exhausted after a full day of pl…um, work, so we give each of our employees a space to rest and relax and change if they need it. A woman’s work is never done…”
At the end of the hall was an elevator. Dr. Winderham scanned her ID once more and the elevator doors opened. Upon stepping inside and pressing a button for the third floor, Dr, Winderham continued her pitch.
“We have many methods for correcting undesirable behaviors in our patients. Some are more…severe than others. But this is by far our most popular. After all, nobody wants to see their child subjected to anything too medieval.”
“Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt but…you still haven’t said what it is you do to ‘correct’ this behavior.” Roberta said.
Dr. Winderham only smiled as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open.
“I’ve learned over the years that actions speak louder than words. If I simply told you what it is that we do here you would have never stepped foot inside the building.”
Dr. Winderham stepped out of the elevator and Roberta glanced at Nancy, who simply flashed a reassuring smile at her.
“Don’t worry. I was thinking the same thing my first visit. Trust me, you haven’t seen anything yet.”
The two women followed Dr. Winderham down the hallway when she stopped in front of a viewing window.
“This is our waiting room,” Dr. Winderham said. “This is the first step of our rehabilitation program. Don’t worry, he cannot see us through this glass.”
At first glance, the waiting room looked fairly standard, not unlike many anonymous ones Roberta had sat in over the years. Upon closer inspection, however, she began to notice that there was something off about the room. She realized that the floor was made up of foam tiles shaped like puzzle pieces. Roberta remembered seeing something similar at her son’s preschool so many years ago. Then she noticed the art on the walls. Unlike the bland and forgettable art that frequently hung on the walls of a usual doctor’s office, the framed pieces here featured smiling clowns and cartoon puppies.
The proportions of the furniture were all wrong, too. Roberta hadn’t seen him at first but there was a single person in the room. A man, early 30s, with chestnut brown hair dressed in a wrinkled white button-down. By her estimation he’d be about six foot, and yet he was positively dwarfed by the brown leather sofa he was standing in front of. The table in the center of the room must have been well over 10 feet tall and the floor tiles themselves at least 2 feet thick. In fact, the room was proportioned in such a way that one might be forgiven for confusing him for a toddler at first glance.
“It’s important to ease our patients into the correct headspace before we begin the treatment itself. Our waiting room helps prime them psychologically for what’s to come.”
“It’s to make them feel small,” Nancy added. “To take away just a little bit of their agency. Remind them of what it’s like to be helpless without having to do a thing.”
Indeed, Roberta watched through the glass as the man tried to climb onto the couch. Despite his running start he was only able to cling on to the cushion for dear life while his feet dangled a foot or so off the ground.
“He’ll be in here a little while. Someone will be by to collect him in about an hour or so to begin his treatment. Think of it as a boy waiting to be picked up for school. It’s good to remind boys, especially as they get older, that sometimes you have to wait for things.” Dr. Winderham chuckled before leading the women further down the hall.
The next viewing window they arrived at looked into a room that resembled an old movie theater. There were around five or six rows of seats, many of which were occupied by smiling cardboard cut outs of various childhood characters, ranging from cartoon rabbits to beloved puppets and ubiquitous cereal mascots — all of them facing the screen.
Only one seat was occupied by a living, breathing person. Seated in a reclining La-Z-Boy facing the screen was a man of indiscernible age with a buzzcut, his bare feet resting in front of him on the extended foot rest, his ankles tied together with soft-looking nylon ropes. His arms were up over his head, bound at the wrists behind the seat’s headrest. From her vantage point, Roberta was unable to see the screen, but it was clear from the man’s expression that the show was clearly having an effect on him.
Standing beside him was a tall woman in an usher’s uniform, her long blonde hair stilted under her period accurate cap. In one hand she held a flashlight, which she’d periodically point at the screen to highlight certain details, while wielding a long, white feather in the other. Though she could not make out any sounds through the thick glass, Roberta could see the woman speaking to the man in the chair, her face calm and reassuring while the man squirmed under her steady gaze. Occasionally, at unpredictable intervals, the woman would dust his exposed armpit with her feather, causing the man to bounce and giggle in his seat.
“We tailor each experience to the specific needs of our clients’…rehabilitation.” Dr. Winderham explained. “For instance, Greg here has a problem with commentary.”
“Commentary?” Roberta asked.
“Mhm. Some boys just can’t keep their opinions to themselves,” Dr. Winderham nodded. “Greg here has the unfortunate habit of voicing his opinions at inopportune times, be it around the dinner table or in public spaces, such as movie theaters and the opera.”
“What’s she saying to him?” Roberta asked, her eyes still glued to the giggling young man in the chair.
“Why don’t you take a listen for yourself?” Dr. Winderham said proudly as she pressed a small, red button near the bottom right corner of the glass partition. Suddenly, a small speaker embedded in the wall just above them crackled to life. The three women were now able to hear everything happening in the room.
“-ihihihihihihihihihihihihihihihihihihihihihihihi cahahahahahahahahahahahahahan’t! Eheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheeeeee!”
The man’s giggles were infectious, cute even. Roberta remembered when her little boy used to giggle like that. How many happy afternoons had she spent tickling her little man silly, delighting in his squeaks and futile attempts to escape her loving arms.
Roberta was shaken from her reverie when the woman towering above the giggling man spoke again. Her tone was soft and patient, like a mother waiting for her child’s tantrum to subside. The usher’s vest she was wearing was practically bursting at the buttons, which had as much to do with her fleshy stomach as it did her watermelon sized breasts. She appeared to be in her late forties or perhaps early fifties. Her blonde hair had a few streaks of white in it, cleverly disguised by her naturally pale strands. She pinched the feather between her thumb and forefinger, as if she were painting a tiny masterpiece upon the exposed armpits of her prisoner.
“Shhhh…shhhhh…you mustn’t disturb the other guests. It’s impolite to make noise when others are trying to enjoy their experience. They paid to see the movie too, you know.”
“Ihihihihihihihihihihi cahahahahahahahan’t hehehehehehehehelp ihihihihihihitttttt! Neeeeehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe…”
“Sounds wike somebody needs a double feature today, hmmm? My little boy wuvs his silly little screenings doesn’t he? I wonder how long the next one will be? Not that it matters to you, right my happy boy? You don’t have anywhere else to be. No responsibilities, no job, no pet to feed. Why, you could spend the rest of your life here, couldn’t you? Wouldn’t that be nice? Just here in our happy house with allllllll your friends.”
“Nohohohohohohohohohohohohohohohohohooooooo! I wahahahahahahanna gohohohohohohohohoho hooooohohohohohohohohohohome!”
“Nuh uh, we’ve talked about this you silly goose. You can’t go home until you can make it a whooooooooole movie without interrupting. It’s a shame you couldn’t last through this one, there’s almost a whole hour left! Maybe the next film will be the one, hm?”
Now the smiling usher brought her fingers into play, her soft fingertips gently tapping and poking the lad’s sensitive underarms, provoking a forceful push of laughter from the already defeated “patient.” His body was shaking violently now, kicking his feet and bouncing on his ass, the laughter escaping from every pore of his body.
“Bwahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! No! Nononononononononononononononoooooooooohohohohohohohohohohoooo!"
“Besides,” the usher continued, calmly, as she drummed her fingers up and down his trembling pits, making sure every finger was giving just the right amount of pressure to maximize their ticklish effectiveness. “If you went home you’d just be sitting alone in your room watching movies. But here you get to do it with meeeeeeeeeee! Coochie coochie cooooo!”
“Plehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehease! I cahahahahahahahahan’t do it! Ihihihihihihihihihihihihihihi’m tooooooohohohohohohohohoho tihihihihihihihickly!”
“That’s right my little wiggle worm. You might be the most ticklish boy I’ve ever had in Mommy’s Little Man Matinee. Someday it’ll be your movies another lucky little man will be watching on the biiiiiiiiig screen. Are you a star? Hm? Are you mommy’s little movie star?”
“Bwahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Ohohohohohohohohohohoho nohohohohohohohoooooooo!”
“Say it, baby. Say the magic words…” the usher sing-songed as she leaned in and delivered a loud, wet sounding raspberry into one of the man’s pits.
“PPPPPPPPBBBBBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTT!”
“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHI’M HAHAHAHA MOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOMMMMY’S LIHIHIHIHIHIHITTLE MOHOHOHOOOOOVIE STAHAHAHAHAHAHAR!”
“Awww, such a good boy. Oh, that reminds me of a song! ‘Tickle tickle little star / No one knows just where you are / Up in mommy’s happy seat / Unable to touch your meat / Tickle tickle little star…”
Dr. Winderham pressed the button again and the audio feed was cut. She turned to Roberta and noted the confused — yet intrigued — expression upon her face.
“He’s been with us for two weeks now. You should’ve seen him when he came in. He’s made some splendid progress but the only way out is through.”
“I don’t understand…tickling?” Roberta inquired. There wasn’t a hint of skepticism in her voice. In fact, she almost sounded disappointed that the thought hadn’t occurred to her first.
“I had the same reaction,” Nancy chuckled.
“You’d be surprised at how psychologically effective tickling can be, especially when paired with the correct context and stimuli.” Dr. Winderham said, crisply. “Though I’d be lying if I said some part of me didn’t enjoy the irony of some select treatments.
Dr. Winderham extended her arm, signaling that it was time to continue down the hallway.
The next viewing window looked into a barn-like set up. The room was smaller, shallower, with loose hay strewn about the floor. A young woman was astride a piece of “furniture” that more closely resembled a decommissioned mechanical bull. Her arms were wrapped around the “neck” of the piece, her hands tied together at the wrists, while her ankles were tied on either side of what might be considered the “hindquarters.” Her bottom swelled against her seat, her cheeks spilling out of the tight daisy dukes she had somehow shimmied her way into, her similarly prodigious bosom struggling against the checkered shirt that left her pale tummy exposed.
The patient was a young asian woman, her face a hysterical shade of pink from what must have been at least a half-day of tickle torture. Stationed by her feet, wielding a bristly looking paint brush, was a woman dressed in a prairie dress. Roberta watched with rapt attention as the woman dipped her paintbrush into a heavy metal pail full of a milky liquid.
“I swear to god,” the young woman panted, blowing a few strands of damp hair away from her mouth, “when my parents find out what you’re doing in here…oh ho ho, you better lawyer up.”
“That’s nice, darlin’,” her minder said in an artificial southern drawl. Roberta had to remind herself that the women who worked at the institute were not necessarily actresses.
“Just you wait bitch. Just you wait and see what happens when — OH FUCK!”
Her minder was now brushing the exposed soles of the young woman’s feet with the brush, taking her time to ensure that every inch and crevice was covered in the glossy, mysterious liquid. The woman was exacting, covering the poor girl’s soles in not one, not two, but three coats of the stuff. All the while, it was clear she was enjoying the application and the ticklish distress it elicited from her victim.
“Yohohohohohohohohohou bihihihihihihihihihitch! Cuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhut ihihihihihihit ohohohohohohohohohout! Ihihihihihihihihi swehehehehehehehehehear tohohohohohohohohohooooooo gohohohohohohohohohod! Ah! Ahahahahahahahaha!”
The young woman attempted to pull her feet away but her bindings held her fast, causing her to rock forward and back a little on her “seat.” Roberta heard Nancy giggle behind her.
“It looks like she’s trying to ride it,” Nancy chuckled.
“Like I said,” Dr. Winderham whispered, “nothing wrong with enjoying these things from time to time. Keeps things light.”
Meanwhile, on the other side of the glass, the clinician had finished coating her patients soles in the mysterious solution. She turned toward the one-way glass patrician through which Roberta and co were watching and gave a polite little nod. It should have disquieted Roberta, but it didn’t. If anything, it was nice to be seen.
The clinician pressed a small button on the wall beside her and a small compartment opened where the wall met the floor, about the size of a ceiling tile. Out of the compartment walked three black cats, meowing softly as the entered the room and got their bearings.
Upon hearing the soft mewling of the recently introduced cats, the young woman began to panic, doing her best to turn around to see what was going on.
“What…what is that? Are those…cats?”
“Mhm!” Her minder chimed merrily. Even this noise had the faintest traces of her put on accent. “I thought you loved cats, darlin’.”
“Well, I mean, I do but — EEE! Ohohohohohohohohohohohoho nohohohohohohohooo!”
The cats were now lapping at her soles, their coarse, pink little tongues flicking around with alarmingly ticklish results.
“Nahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Ohohohohohohohohohoho shihihihihihihit! Gehehehehehehehehehehehehet thehehehehehehehem ohohohohohohout! Ihihihihihihihit’s nohohohohohohohohot fahahahahahahahahair!” The young woman cackled, her teeth showing through her giddy laughter.
“Not fair? Not fair? Why my little sugarplum, what isn’t fair is expecting your parents to take care of your pets for you. After all, you promised to waaaaallllllk them and feeeeed them. But you never did, did you? Instead you spent your time partying with your friends, leaving your poor little animal friends alllllllll cooped up to make messes all over the rug. Isn’t that right?”
“It’s a mixture of salt and heavy cream,” Dr. Winderham whispered, nodding at the pail. “Kitties just can’t get enough of the stuff. We let the girls play with them in the lounge between sessions. It’s a great way to destress and boost morale.”
“Buhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhut ihihihihihihihihihihi’m ihihihihihihihin schohohohohohoool!” The young woman wailed as her feet twitched and fidgeted under the rough tongues of her whiskered tormentors.
“Aw sweetie, that’s no excuse and you know it. See? Even here, while we’re making you better, you still have plenty of time to spend with your happy animal friends. Can’t you feel how much they wuuuuuuv you?”
“Shuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhut thehehehehehehehehehe fuhuhuhuhuhuhuck uhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhup! Eeeeheheheehehehehahahahahahahahahahaaaaa!” The young woman was rocking back and forth upon her “steed” shaking her head back and forth as her black hair whipped around her in desperate frenzy.
“Such profanity…” her minder tutted as she slowly rose from the floor, making sure to give the hungry kitties a gentle pet. “Why that’s just downright unbecoming for such a pretty little girl.”
“Ihihihihihihihi dohohohohohohon’t gihihihihihihihive ahahahahahahaha shihihihihihit! Whehehehehehehehehehen mihihihihihihihiyyyyy pahahahahahahaharents hehehehehear whahahahahahahahat yohohohohohohohohohouuuuu dohohohohohohohooooooo heheheheheheehehehehehere Ihihihihihihihihihihihihihihi swhehehehehehehehehehear tohohohohohohohohohoooooo gohohohohohohod! Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaa!”
“Swear? Swear? Why, you’ve done enough swearing for the both of us, don’t you think sugarplum?” The woman was standing beside the hysterical young lady now, her hands on her hips like a disapproving mother. “Besides, if you think your parents have any problem at all with what’s going on here, why don’t you call out for them, hm? Yes, I think that would be a splendid idea. Why don’t you call out, ‘mommy! Daddy! Pwease save me from the tickle monster!”
“Gehehehehehehehehehehehet fuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhucked! Ahahahahahahahahaha!”
The cats were nowhere near done with her salty soles, their rough little tongues were flicking between her toes now and against her heels. They had no pattern, no method, no movements the poor young woman could anticipate. They just licked…licked…licked…
“Boy those kitties sure are hungry! You’d think nobody’s fed them in days! Imagine if someone had taken better care of them, they might not have any interest in your happy widdle feetsies!
“Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Oh shi-hihihihihihihihihihihihihihihiht!”
“Katie here is one of our more recent arrivals,” Dr. Winderham clarified, turning now to look at Roberta. “We thought she’d be best suited for Belinda the Brat Tamer.”
For the first time since Roberta arrived, Dr. Winderham's demeanor was all business, and she was reminded that despite the theater of it all, she was here to be sold on a service to help with her son’s behavioral issues. Not that anyone had asked her, but if she had been asked, Roberta would have to admit that she was actually enjoying her little tour. So much so, in fact, that she had completely forgotten the reason for her visit until just that moment.
Roberta hadn’t had an easy life, certainly not an easy childhood. As far as she was concerned, she let her son get away with murder. When Roberta was growing up corporal punishment had still been very much in vogue. Had she left her laundry lying around or neglected to let her puppy out she’d have been unable to sit down for days. She’d always promised herself she’d be a more compassionate parent, more patient, but the older she got the more apparent it was to her that the “kids these days” were taking advantage.
She’d seen young men and women just like the “patients” at the institute, watched as they grew from undisciplined children into lazy interns and, finally, under-qualified replacements in the workplace. When Roberta had entered the workforce she had been expected to keep up appearances with crisp, ironed clothes and a formal, if pleasant, demeanor. Nowadays it seemed people were going to work in sweatpants or simply not coming in at all.
Roberta didn’t blame herself, or even her own son for his behavior. Standards had lowered across the board. What chance did anyone have? If anything, Roberta was relieved to know that there was still a place where model citizens could be molded without the need for violence or raised voices. She briefly wondered if, had the institute been around when she was a girl, her parents might have sent her here, and if they had, what form her punishment might take.
She blushed, embarrassed to have been as swept up in the institute as she had been. Nancy must have sensed this as Roberta suddenly felt her hand rest upon her shoulder.
“We all find ourselves getting a little caught up sometimes,” Nancy assured her. “I mean, if we girls can’t have a little fun once in a while then what’s the point, hmm?”
“Too true,” Dr. Winderham chuckled as she turned her attention back to the session on the other side of the glass and sighed contentedly.
The young woman’s minder had taken a more “hands on” approach, her fingers now digging in to either side of the young woman’s exposed and fleshy sides. She smiled the whole time, clearly having a ball breaking this young lady down.
“Go on sweet one, call out for mommy and daddy! Make sure they can realllllly hear you so they can swoop in and save you from the tickle tickle tickle monster! A coochie coochie cooooooooo! Mommy and daddy can’t heeeeeeeeear yoooooou!”
“Yohohohohohohohohohohohohohohohohohou bihihihihihihihihihihihihihitch! Yohohohohohohohohohohohohohou fuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhucking bihihihihihihitch! Ihihihihihihihihihi’m gohohohohohohonna gehehehehehehehet yohohohohohohohohou!”
Katie, the young woman, was going wild now, throwing her body from side to side in an attempt to get away from her minder’s menacing, tickling fingers, or perhaps hoping that she may knock her seat over and receive a temporary respite. Alas, nothing she could do. No matter how much she wriggled and rocked, there was nothing to do but take her tickles.
“Nuh uh uhhhhhhh! Swearing isn’t gonna get you away from your tickles, darlin’. You know what you have’ta dooooo!”
“Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Gehehehehehehehehet ohohohohohohohohooooffffffa meheheheheheheheheheheeeeee! Stahahahahahahahahap ihihihihihihihit!”
“I’m not gonna stawp until my giggly little girl says the magic wooooooords!” Her fingers crept into Katie’s armpits now, eliciting fresh howls from her red faced victim. Already tears were forming in the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over and run down her ruddy cheeks. “Here, let me help. ‘Mooooommmmmmyyyyyy….”
“Mohohohohohohohohohom! Dahahahahahahahahahad! Sahahahahahahahave meeeeehehehehehehehehehe!”
“Nooooooo…” Belinda said as her fingers slowly curled against Katie’s sweaty armpits, “it’s not ‘mom,’ it’s moooooooommmmmmmy. Can you say ‘mommy?’”
“Fuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuck yohohohohohohohohohou! Juhuhuhuhuhuhuhst stahahahahahap!”
Belinda seemed genuinely disappointed and just shook her head resignedly.
“Awww, don’t worry darlin’, we’ll get there eventually. I’m not one to give up on the good girl buried deep deep down inside.” Suddenly Belinda took a look behind her and gave a little cluck. “Oh my, looks like those happy little kitties have licked you widdle footsies clean! Time for a new coat. I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere…”
Belinda withdrew her hands from Katie’s armpits and rounded back to her naked soles. The cats were indeed still getting their licks in, but their pace had slowed. Belinda was humming a merry little tune as she bent down to grab the brush once more.
“Wait! Stop!” Katie shouted, no longer bothering to blow the damp strands of hair from her sweaty face. “Wait! Please, let’s talk about this! Just let me go and I promise I’ll - AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! YOHOHOHOHOHOHOU FUHUHUHUHUHUCKING BIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHITCH! YOHOHOHOHOHOU’LL BEHEHEHE SOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHORRRRRRYYYYYYYYEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!”
But Belinda had already begun coating Katie’s trembling soles once more, making sure to take her sweet time as the bristles brushed coat after coat after coat of that sweet and salty cream.
“No you’re not sweetness, you’re just saying that because I’m holding the brushy brush! No, you’re not sowwy yettttt. But you will be. You will be…now laugh and giggle for mommy sweetheart.”
“FUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUCK YOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO —“
At this, Dr. Winderham pressed the little red button and in an instant the scene was rendered mute. Katie continued to scream and curse and laugh, her face turning a shade of cherry red, from laughter as much as rage. Her pleas muted, she looked even more desperate, more feral. It sent a shiver down Roberta’s spine.
“Like I said, she’s new.” Dr. Winderham said as she continued down the hallway. “But she’ll be calling for mommy and daddy in no time. It’s up to little Katie how long that takes. And once they finally do come to pick her up, she’ll do anything that’s asked of her, so long as they never send her back here.”
“You’re torturing them…” Roberta said under her breath in an almost awed tone.
“Not at all,” Dr. Winderham replied, “in fact, I know a few veterans who might take umbrage at such a suggestion. Do you know much about history?”
Roberta heard Nancy push a little air out through her nose behind her. Clearly this was an argument Dr. Winderham was fond of making.
“Some.” Roberta replied, curious to see where this was going.
“Have you ever heard the term, ‘Chinese Tickle Torture,’ as problematic as it may be. Perhaps in an old comic strip or cartoon show?”
“I think so? Rings a bell.”
“Well, as antiquated as the expression may be, it didn’t come from nowhere. There’s evidence that tickle torture was used as a punishment for nobility in Japan — not China. They called it ‘shikei’ - or ‘private punishment.’ It was a way of keeping the nobility in line without marking their skin or humiliating them in front of commoners. As I’m sure you know, the most privileged among us do not do well with pain.”
This did get a little chuckle out of Roberta.
“Don’t I ever.”
Nancy smiled. It was clear Roberta was enjoying her tour. She’d had an inkling that this was just the sort of place that might appeal to her old friend.
“But it wasn’t just Japan. There’s documentation that suggests such tickle torture was used in ancient Rome and parts of Britain. They’d soak the troublemaker’s legs in a saltwater solution and then bring in goats to lick their feet clean. Naturally, for our clients we offer a less…crude implementation, but effective all the same.”
Dr. Winderham was smiling as she led Roberta and Nancy to the next viewing window.
“We like to think that that institute is in conversation with this history. It is not only an honor, but a privilege, to help mold the nobility of the modern era.”
“Does she give this speech to everyone?” Roberta whispered to Nancy.
“Yes. It’s also on their website.” Nancy chuckled.
“They have a website?” Roberta asked.
“Ladies…” Dr. Winderham said, her voice firm with authority and warning.
Without even thinking, Nancy and Roberta straightened their posture and ceased their whispered conversation, like kids caught passing notes in class. Dr. Winderham was, if nothing else, a professional.
“Now,” she smiled as they reached the next viewing window, “this next patient is due to be discharged any day now. The other patients you’ve seen today were at earlier stages of rehabilitation, but what I’m going to show you here is a boy that has been thoroughly corrected. In fact, at present he’s considered our model patient. My girls have been positively lining up to have a crack at him.”
“Oh, is this…?” Nancy asked, grasping for the name unsuccessfully.
“Little Benny? Oh yes.” Dr. Winderham chuckled. “I’m assuming Eleanor has told you all about him by now?”
“Oh yes, lots.” Nancy said, nodding. “Wait til you get a load of this, Roberta.”
The trio stopped in front of the viewing window and Roberta’s breath caught in her throat.
This room’s theme was “The Merry Meadow.” There was grass on the ground that looked almost real, green and soft to the touch. The walls were a light shade of blue with happy little bees and ladybugs placed here and there, all of them smiling. Fluffy clouds had been painted on the ceiling and a bright yellow sun was visible in the corner of the room, which is also where the security camera happened to be.
In the center of the room, tied to a wooden X-frame was a young man who looked remarkably like Louis. He had mousy brown hair, if a little longer than her son’s, with eyes to match. He was a lean boy, looking to be about 20, with wispy hair on his chest and under his arms. He’d been stripped completely, save for a pair of tight, black underwear.
Standing by his side was a pleasantly plump redhead, dressed in a white tank top and blue jeans, barefoot in the grass. She was a slight thing, perhaps even under five feet tall, her red hair tied into pigtails. Roberta couldn’t help but think she looked a little like Pippi Longstocking.
“You’re lucky,” Dr. Winderham said, “Little Noah here just started his session.”
Dr. Winderham pushed the little red button and the women were able to listen in on Noah’s tickle session.
“—very special day, isn’t it, Nono?”
Noah nodded enthusiastically, his body trembling slightly from the soft tickles “Pippi” was applying to his chest and sides. She was standing behind him now, her arms wrapped around him in a ticklish embrace. Her fingertips were ever so gently poking and rubbing his sensitive belly, taking her time in the way all of the other ticklers had.
“Yes, Mrs. TeeHee!” Noah chirped. Unlike the other two victims Roberta had just seen, Noah answered readily, happily even. He wasn’t jerking away from Mrs. TeeHee’s touch, at least, not as violently as the others. His ticklish movements weren’t voluntary by any means, but he didn’t seem to be trying especially hard to get away from her fingers either. If anything, his smile seemed…genuine?
“Can you tell me what day it is?”
“I-ihihihit’s mihihihihiy bihihihihirthday!” Noah giggled.
“That’s right!” Mrs. TeeHee smiled. “And how old are you today, Nono?”
“Ummm…” For the first time since Roberta started watching him, Noah’s smile faltered. His eyes moved from one corner of his eyes to another, trying to recall that specific number. He squinted his eyes, it was on the tip of his tongue.
“Uh ohhhhh, did someone forget how to count? Huh? Did my little Nono lose track?” At this, she began to probe her fingers deeper into his belly, sending little shockwaves through what little belly fat he had.
“Noooooohohohohohohohohohohohoho! I cahahahahahahahan cohohohohohount!”
“Then how old are you, Nono? C’mon, tell Mrs. TeeHee like a good boy.”
“Ihihihihihihihihihihihihiiiiiii dohohohohohohohon’t knohohohohohohohow!”
“Sure you do, sweetie,” Mrs. TeeHee cooed, “today is your 21st birthday! Isn’t that exciting!”
“Yehehehehehehehehehesssssss!”
“I bet you want to go out with your friends tonight and drink until the sun comes up, don’t you?”
“Nohohohohohohohohohoho Iihihihihihihihihihihi dohohohohohohon’t!”
“You don’t? You don’t?” Mrs. TeeHee asked with mock surprise, making an exaggerated face the way one might upon seeing a child perform a magic trick. “Why, I thought you liked drinking Nono. I thought it was your faaaaaaaaavorite. You should go out drinking with your friends…”
Mrs. TeeHee was slowly circling his bellybutton with one hand while teasing just above the waistband of his underwear with the other, just gently plucking at him with her soft fingertips.
“Ihihihihihihihihihihihihihihi dohohohohohohohohon’t wahahahahahahahahahnna! Ihihihihihihihihihihi dohohohohohohohohohon’t! Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!”
She rested her head on his shoulder, her lips inches from his ear as she spoke to him.
“No? My, what a mature young man you are. So what do you wanna do instead, hmm? Tell me. Tell Mrs. TeeHee.”
“Ihihihihihihihihihihihihi wahahahahahahahahahanna stahahahahahay hehehehehehere wihihihihihihith yohhohohohohohohohohohou Mrs. Teeeehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe!”
At that, Mrs. TeeHee looked at the glass, directly at Roberta. Or at least, that’s certainly what it seemed like. How did Mrs. TeeHee know she was there, watching?
“Noah here had a drinking problem, if you couldn’t guess,” Dr. Winderham interjected. “His mother got him a job in her office, a respectable position for a man his age, a decent salary, room to grow.” She shook her head. “So it was unfortunate when he fell short of her expectations. He’d show up to work drunk or hungover, harass a few of his fellow employees. Especially the women in the office.”
“And now he’s learned to keep his hands to himself, hasn’t he?” Nancy smiled. She’d said it in a similarly patronizing sing-song as Mrs. TeeHee and suddenly Roberta wondered how it was Nancy first heard of the institute. Had she worked here at one point?
“You said he was special?”
“Did I?”
“Well, Nancy here sure seemed to make a fuss.”
“I did, didn’t I?” Nancy blushed a little.
Dr. Winderham simply smiled.
“Keep watching.”
On the other side of the glass, Mrs. TeeHee was still talking in Noah’s ear, having turned her attention away from the glass and to her happy, smiling victim.
“Such a gooooooood boy! Who’s my happy little boy, hmm?”
“Meeeeeheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheeeeeeee!”
“You know age is just a number, right? No matter how old you are, no matter how grown up you might act, deep down you’ll always be a ticklish little boy, won’t you?”
“Yehehehehehehehehehehehehessssss! Ohohohohohohohohohhoooooo gohohohohohohohohohod yehehehehehehehes!”
“Yes, whaaaaaat?”
“Yehehehehehehehess mihihihihihihihihissus TeeeeeHeeeheheheheheheheheheeeeee!”
“Here. Watch.” Dr. Winderham whispered, leaning in toward the glass.
“Awwww, such a good boy! And a good boy is a…?”
“Hahahahahahahahahahahaaaappy bohohohohohohohohohohoy! Ahahahahahaha gohohohohohohohooood bohohohohohohohoy ihihihihihihis ahahahahahaha hahahahahahappppyyyyyyeeeee bohohohohohohoy! Ihihihihihihi’m a gohohohoood boy! Ihihihihihihihihihihihi’m ahahahahahahaha gohohohohohoooood bohohohohoy!” Noah laughed.
“That’s right! Now, I think my good boy deserves a little pwezzie! Doesn’t that sound nice?” She didn’t even wait for Noah to respond. “Of course it does!”
With that, Mrs. TeeHee pressed an unseen button somewhere behind the X-frame, causing it to recline. Within seconds, Noah went from being upright to flat on his back, his bare feet pointing toward the viewing glass.
“Does my good boy want to know what his present is?”
Noah nodded vigorously, barely able to contain his excitement.
“Yes! Oh yes, Mrs. TeeHee. Please! Please!”
“Okay, Nono. Because you’ve been such a good boy for me…”
A door slid open behind Mrs. TeeHee. Roberta hadn’t even noticed it was there it had blended into the wall so seamlessly. Standing in the doorway was a dark-skinned woman sporting a purple pixie cut, clad in a cow print bikini that could scarcely contain the swell of her. She was taller than Mrs. TeeHee, more conventionally beautiful, or at least she might be considered so beyond the walls of the institute. On her hands she wore cartoonishly large and fuzzy pink gloves.
“…I invited an old friend over.”
Noah craned his neck to see who had entered the room. When he finally laid eyes on her, his face softened into an expression of joy and apprehension.
“The tickle monster…” he breathed, his voice suddenly so small and far away.
It was then that Roberta noticed Noah’s erection.
There was a good chance that it had been building this whole time. She simply hadn’t seen his growing erection until now, when it twitched at the sight of “The Tickle Monster.” If the session had just started, as Dr. Winderham suggested, then what they had seen so far was just to warm him up. She could tell that the real session was about to get under way.
“Awwww, he remembers you!” Mrs. TeeHee trilled.
“Of course he does,” The Tickle Monster smiled. “I was little Nono’s first. I was the one who discovered his ticklish little secret.”
“It happens on occasion…” Dr. Winderham said to Roberta, never once taking her eyes off the scene playing out before them. “Sometimes we find out that our patients actually like their treatments. Some more than others. In fact, it makes them far easier to rehabilitate if it turns out they get off on it. It’s ideal, really. Honey and vinegar. The carrot and the stick.”
As Roberta stared at the aroused young man in the next room, his erection steadily rising further as the Tickle Monster knelt by his bared soles and began dragging her sharp fingernails down his trembling soles, each finger curling slowly, the nail drawing faint white lines along the soft and tender skin.
“Eheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheeeeee! Nohohohohohohoooooo! Nohohohohoho tihihihihihihihickle mohohohohohohohonster!”
“No? No??” Mrs. TeeHee said with mock concern as she began goosing her fingers down his sides, causing him to rock gently from side to side. “But I thought you looooooooooved the tickle monster!”
“Ihihihihihihihihihihihihi cahahahahahahahahahan’t tahahahahahahahake ihihihihihit!”
“But it’s your birthday sweet one,” the Tickle Monster cooed. “Don’t you want your present?” At this, she wrapped her fingers around his big toe, pulling his foot back to make his sole taut. Forming her hand into a claw, she slowly, slowly raked it down his foot.
Noah went ballistic.
“IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHI DOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHON’T WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHANT IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIIIIIIIT! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NO! NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOOO!”
“That’s right!” Mrs. TeeHee quipped, “that’s your name! Nono the tickle toy! And what’s a tickle toy without his tickles? Don’t you like your present? Hmm? Being tickled and pampered by your favorite coochie queens? What could be better than that?”
“Besides…” The Tickle Monster cooed, raking her hand down his taut sole once more, “it’s rude for a little boy to turn down a prezzie! Why, only naughty boys do that.”
“And you know what we do to naughty boys, don’t you baby boy?” Mrs. TeeHee was typing on his tummy now, her fingers poking and wiggling along the jiggling expanse of flesh as the poor boy laughed his head off.
“NOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOOO! IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHI’M NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAT NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAUGHTY! AHAHAHAHA!”
“Then what are you then? Come on, speak up little Nono. Tell us what you are…” The Tickle Monster coaxed as she began nibbling on Noah’s heels, causing his butt to lift off the X-frame.
“IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHI’M AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA GOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOOOD BOHOHOHOHOHOYYYYY! IHIHIHIHIHI’LL BEHEHEHEHEEEEE GOHOHOOOOD! IHIHIHIHIHIHIHI’LL BEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEE GOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOOOD! PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!”
Roberta watched intently as the tickle monster expertly bring Noah to the brink by expertly playing with his soles. She knew them as well as she likely knew her own. Every touch seemed to shoot through his body like an electric shock. While Mrs. TeeHee had made the poor boy giggle, it was the tickle monster that knew how to make him howl.
And despite it all, through all the laughter and the pleading, Noah’s erection strained against the dark fabric of his underwear. If anything, he was even more aroused now than he was before. Even if his tormentors withdrew their hands this instant, what were the chances that not long after he’d be begging them to start again.
It was at this moment that she knew this was the perfect place for her son. It wasn’t just the uncanny resemblance that Noah bore to Louis. It was his laugh, one tinged with joy and desperation. She also knew of her son’s more personal…tastes, ones that she first discovered on the family computer around the time Louis hit puberty. He’d be one of their favorites, she was sure of it.
Meanwhile, Noah was still laughing his head off.
“IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIIIIIII PROHOHOHOHOHOHOMISE! IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIH’M AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA GOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOOD BOHOHOHOHOHOHOY! IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHI’M AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA GOOOHOHOHOHOOOOOD BOHOHOHOHOHOYYYYYY! PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!”
At this, the Tickle Monster and Mrs. TeeHee exchanged a look and nodded at each other. The Tickle Monster did not cease her ticklish ministrations, but stood up and slowed them. With one foot under each of her skillful hands, Noah kept giggling and wriggling as Mrs. TeeHee rounded the table and took a position leaning over his impressive erection.
“Yeah? You’re a very good boy, aren’t you?” Mrs. TeeHee cooed, softly as she gently rolled down his underwear. “And good boys get rewards, especially on their special day.”
With The Tickle Monster now standing up, Roberta’s view of what happened next was obstructed. But there was no mistaking what was about to transpire. She could see Mrs. TeeHee’s hand moving and hear the soft moans that now escaped through the little gasps of laughter that the Tickle Monster coaxed from his soft feet.
Roberta watched the Tickle Monster’s finger’s closely. They were moving slowly now, deliberately. Each movement of her fingers against his soles caused a new hiccup in his moans, timed perfectly to the movements of Mrs. TeeHee’s soft hands. It was as if they were playing the exhausted boy like an instrument.
“Say it again, Nono. Be a good boy and make your little mess in my hand. Come on sweet boy, say the magic words.”
“I…Ihihihihihi’m-mmmmmmmmm…a-hahaha-a…gooooo - oh fuck! Ihihihi’m a good bohohohoy…I’m a good boy…Ihihihih’m a gohohood boy…I’m your goohohood bohohoy…” Noah whined, like a shy schoolboy caught stealing chalk.
“Good boy. Such a good boy for the tickle monster. That’s right, get all that naughty cum out, just make your mess in mommy’s hand. That’s right…”
The more the Tickle Monster teased his soles the closer it seemed to bring Noah to climax. And the slower her fingers teased, the slower Mrs. TeeHee’s hand seemed to move. They were in perfect sync. It was horrifying and inspiring in equal measure.
Oh yes, Louis would do well here. This was exactly what he needed.
Roberta saw the orgasm before she heard it. There was a sudden silence as Noah became momentarily incapable of thought or articulation. His toes curled, wrinkling the soles that the Tickle Monster was still teasing as he tipped over the edge of pleasure and tumbled into bliss. Mrs. TeeHee smiled, her hand still moving as Noah’s body bucked, trembled, then finally settled still.
“Oh god…oh my god.” Noah whispered, dazed. “Oh…”
Dr. Winderham pressed the little red button again, muting the scene as she turned expectantly toward Roberta.
“Do you need to see more? Or have you come to a decision?”
Roberta gave her answer. Dr. Winderham nodded. Nancy smiled.
Through the glass, Noah’s body began to shake violently as the ticklers started up again. Noah’s session was not over yet.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Roberta returned home a few hours later, having discussed Louis’ treatment plan with Dr. Winderham over dinner and a few glasses of wine. The wheels were already in motion, all that was left was for her to deliver her son to the institute in the next 48 hours.
When she returned home, she slipped a little pill into Louis’ post-exercise gatorade, something Dr. Winderham had given Roberta when they parted ways. She watched her shows and noted all the little messes left around the house that Louis had neglected to tend to: little piles of coffee grounds, water on the counter, dirty dishes in the sink.
After Louis did eventually slump to bed, Roberta waited a few minutes before sneaking upstairs after him.
There he was, her son, her baby boy, asleep face down with his feet hanging off the bed. He was snoring. Roberta had never known her son to snore. Perhaps it was due to the sedative, but Louis had neglected to remove his shoes before passing out, and Roberta took it upon herself to remove them.
As she shimmied his sneakers off his feet, Roberta smiled as she thought back to her time at the institute. The things she’d seen, the laughter she’d heard, and the treatment plan she and Dr. Winderham had cooked up gave her hope for the future generation. Perhaps her son wasn’t doomed after all.
Peeling off his socks, Roberta couldn’t help herself. She pressed her thumb into her son’s warm sole and just gently let the nail glide down toward his toes. Even in his deepest slumber, Louis giggled through his snores. Whether he liked it or not, Louis would be the well-mannered, obedient boy his mother always wanted.
It was only a matter of time.
How can someone arrange to be enrolled there? 
