Hi, I'm leenotler, fairly new here and this is my first story post. It describes one of my favorite memories from college. I was surprised how hard it was to convey what I saw and felt. I have a new found respect for authors. Critiques welcomed.
The university ice arena's public skating session was about to close for the day. All the lights had been dimmed, but the white, reflective ice still seemed bright. I had removed my skates, ready to leave, but looked back at the last two skaters left on the ice. There, at the far corner of the rink, two women were still skating (both college age, so 18+). Both of them were wearing loose sweat pants and sweat shirts, one blond with her hair tied back, one brunette with short bangs. The brunette was a little taller and maybe a little older. They were athletic, very nice looking and were clearly having fun.
They were bending over slightly, skating in a fast, tight circle, always facing each other, their skates noisily scratching the ice. They were grabbing at each other's waists and laughing. Then I realized they were not grabbing to regain balance, but to unbalance each other by tickling! I just stopped and stared, wishing I was closer. I also hoped I was far enough away to be inconspicuous in the dimmer light. I didn't want them stopping on my account!
I think each one was trying to circle back behind the other, so they could tickle without being tickled. Giving up on that tactic, they slowed their circling. Now they bent over farther in a vain attempt to keep their vulnerable areas out of reach, while stretching their arms to tickle their opponent. Ribs and waists were the main targets. Their scribbling, pinching hands moved fast and roamed up and down their sides. They seem evenly matched for a while, both laughing more and more, but the taller brunette had a longer reach.
Then the shorter blond seemed to become a little less coordinated, her face a little more contorted. Her tickling attacks slowed while the other's attacks accelerated. With her control crumbling, she was finally laughing too hard to tickle back. The brunette smiled broadly, knowing she would win. Free from being tickled, she would be able to tickle even harder and faster.
At their corner of the rink, I saw that the ice had been melted a bit, leaving a large, thick puddle of water beneath them. I suddenly realized the goal of the tickle fight. The laughter kept increasing in pitch and volume. The brunette was tickling harder and faster, harder and faster! I could almost feel it from across the ice. The blond was laughing harder and faster, harder and faster! Weakened by the uncontrollable fit of laughter, the losing blond crumpled slowly down and sat in that ice cold water. The brunette's hands followed the blond all the way down, tickling, tickling, as though pushing her down with an invisible, magical force. Having won, the brunette gleefully skated victory laps closely around the loser, still bending down to tickle her. That greedy, gloating winner was keeping the loser down and weakening her further with flurries of quick pokes: poke, POKE, poke-poke-poke-poke. The loser couldn't even try to defend herself. She just sat there, hysterical and helpless, her blue sweat pants turning a darker blue from the ice water and her red face turning a darker red from all the tickling pokes.
I will never forget how she looked. I couldn't quite imagine how she felt. It was the first time I saw tickling that intense, the first time I saw someone tickled into complete, helpless, submission. It was very exciting to try to imagine what that might be like. When I realized they were finished, I left quickly, to give them at least the illusion of privacy. It was a public place, but no one else was there to watch them, so I was feeling like a voyeur. I was already late for an appointment and had to leave anyway, but it was worth being late to see that tickle fight on ice.
The university ice arena's public skating session was about to close for the day. All the lights had been dimmed, but the white, reflective ice still seemed bright. I had removed my skates, ready to leave, but looked back at the last two skaters left on the ice. There, at the far corner of the rink, two women were still skating (both college age, so 18+). Both of them were wearing loose sweat pants and sweat shirts, one blond with her hair tied back, one brunette with short bangs. The brunette was a little taller and maybe a little older. They were athletic, very nice looking and were clearly having fun.
They were bending over slightly, skating in a fast, tight circle, always facing each other, their skates noisily scratching the ice. They were grabbing at each other's waists and laughing. Then I realized they were not grabbing to regain balance, but to unbalance each other by tickling! I just stopped and stared, wishing I was closer. I also hoped I was far enough away to be inconspicuous in the dimmer light. I didn't want them stopping on my account!
I think each one was trying to circle back behind the other, so they could tickle without being tickled. Giving up on that tactic, they slowed their circling. Now they bent over farther in a vain attempt to keep their vulnerable areas out of reach, while stretching their arms to tickle their opponent. Ribs and waists were the main targets. Their scribbling, pinching hands moved fast and roamed up and down their sides. They seem evenly matched for a while, both laughing more and more, but the taller brunette had a longer reach.
Then the shorter blond seemed to become a little less coordinated, her face a little more contorted. Her tickling attacks slowed while the other's attacks accelerated. With her control crumbling, she was finally laughing too hard to tickle back. The brunette smiled broadly, knowing she would win. Free from being tickled, she would be able to tickle even harder and faster.
At their corner of the rink, I saw that the ice had been melted a bit, leaving a large, thick puddle of water beneath them. I suddenly realized the goal of the tickle fight. The laughter kept increasing in pitch and volume. The brunette was tickling harder and faster, harder and faster! I could almost feel it from across the ice. The blond was laughing harder and faster, harder and faster! Weakened by the uncontrollable fit of laughter, the losing blond crumpled slowly down and sat in that ice cold water. The brunette's hands followed the blond all the way down, tickling, tickling, as though pushing her down with an invisible, magical force. Having won, the brunette gleefully skated victory laps closely around the loser, still bending down to tickle her. That greedy, gloating winner was keeping the loser down and weakening her further with flurries of quick pokes: poke, POKE, poke-poke-poke-poke. The loser couldn't even try to defend herself. She just sat there, hysterical and helpless, her blue sweat pants turning a darker blue from the ice water and her red face turning a darker red from all the tickling pokes.
I will never forget how she looked. I couldn't quite imagine how she felt. It was the first time I saw tickling that intense, the first time I saw someone tickled into complete, helpless, submission. It was very exciting to try to imagine what that might be like. When I realized they were finished, I left quickly, to give them at least the illusion of privacy. It was a public place, but no one else was there to watch them, so I was feeling like a voyeur. I was already late for an appointment and had to leave anyway, but it was worth being late to see that tickle fight on ice.
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