Strelnikov
4th Level Red Feather
- Joined
- May 7, 2001
- Messages
- 1,812
- Points
- 0
by Strelnikov
Copyright 2004 by the author
Dramatis Personae (in order of appearance)
Angie Fontana
Angie will be a Senior at TCHS this fall – she has just turned 18. She has a beauty queen build – tall, drop-dead gorgeous, with long dark hair, dark brows and lashes, brown eyes, a beautiful face, hourglass figure and long, shapely legs. Her skin is tanned and flawless. She’s insanely ticklish, and regards that as her greatest weakness.
Anne Kincaid
She’s 19 years old, has a great body, light brown hair, long lashes and dazzling hazel eyes. She lives with her parents, grandfather and two brothers, Josh and Jim. No one talks about why they moved to Tieson City. Anne has a heavenly southern accent and is extremely ticklish. Needless to say, her brothers take full advantage. She once had the typical southern girl innocence… But she got over it long ago.
Melissa Gabreski
Melissa is attractive with great curves, dark hazel eyes, and long dark brown hair with blonde streaks. She’s 20 years old, has lived on Tickle Street her whole life but until recently had few friends outside of her parents and Michael, her younger brother. She's super ticklish, and thinks it’s weird to be so ticklish like she is. She used to be very shy – but the other girls cured that!
Sadistic Siblings…
Josh Kincaid is 21, Jim just turned 18. They’re into football (a religious sacrament in the South), cars, fishing, and tickling Anne and her friends – not necessarily in that order. Michael Gabreski is 18 yrs old, a foot taller and outweighs his sister by 100 lbs – “big sister/little brother” is a family joke. He played high school football. Melissa knows better than to let him get in tickle range of her feet, but sometimes he gets her anyway – and her friends too.
********************
There she is – Proud Mary, my new place of employment, thought Angie Fontana as she approached the moored riverboat. The boat’s name was painted on the sides of her wheel boxes in Steamboat Gothic lettering 10 feet tall. She was at the Johnson’s Ferry Marina, nosed in to the dock, with a gangplank leading from the dock to the bow. The short forward deck led aft to the superstructure, built up like a wedding cake, with a gangway on both sides inboard of the wheel boxes and a broad stairway to the upper decks right up front.
“Hello! Anybody home?” Angie called from the dock.
Angie was tall, drop-dead gorgeous, with a beautiful face, flawless tanned skin, an hourglass figure and long, shapely legs. She had long, silky dark hair, dark brows and lashes and soft brown eyes. She wore shorts, t-shirt and platform sandals that added a good 3 inches to her already considerable height.
Angie was a veteran of the beauty contest circuit, and had done some modeling – most recently, for the department store that anchored one end of Squander Mall. But a few months back, on an out-of-town modeling trip, she had shared an... adventure... with three of her fellow models. One was still hanging in there, but two others had bailed almost immediately after they had gotten home. Angie had quit just last week – like her two friends, a modeling career no longer held its former attraction.
She had found this job by the most basic form of networking. A few months back, the owners had moved their base of operations from Mississippi to Tieson City. They now lived just down the street from Angie’s close friend Ashley Curtis, one of the girls who had shared the adventure.
Angie had learned a little about the old riverboat at her job interview. Proud Mary had started life as the sidewheel steamer Choctaw before World War I, carrying local passengers and freight on the lower Mississippi River. Motor vehicles and better roads had eventually put her out of business. In 1950, as the General Forrest, she had started a new career carrying tourists on day trips. A generation later, the Arab Oil Embargo and the Nixon Recession had put an end to that too. She spent years tied up at her dock, slowly rusting away.
The Kincaid family had bought the old paddle steamer and restored her for the day trip and dinner cruise trade. The original scotch marine boilers and steam engine had been beyond repair – these days, the smoke stacks were just decoration. A turbocharged Caterpillar 3512 marine diesel drove the big wheels now, through a reversing reduction gearbox. But outside, Proud Mary looked about the same as she always had.
“Hello!” Angie called again.
A young woman emerged onto the starboard gangway from a transverse passageway and came forward. She was lovely, with a great body, light-brown hair that fell past her shoulders, long dark lashes and dazzling hazel eyes. She wore blue-and-white pinstripe overalls, a Casey Jones hat made of the same material, a collarless checkered shirt and Navy-type boondocker shoes.
“Hi – come aboard,” the girl said. “You must be the new hostess – Angie, isn’t it? Didn’t we meet a few months ago?” Her accent was pure South Mississippi.
“Yah, Angie Fontana,” she said. “I remember you – you’re Anne.”
“The very same. Welcome aboard,” Anne said. “I guess my mom must have interviewed you for the job. C’mon, I’ll give you the tour.”
The main deck of a riverboat is for cargo and propulsion machinery. The enclosed passenger deck above was set up as a buffet restaurant. Above that, the Texas deck held tables surrounding a dance floor – a balcony-like walkway with deck chairs went all the way around it outside, overlooking the water. The highest deck was the open, awning-covered hurricane deck, aft of the pilot house and the tall black smokestacks.
The former boiler room, forward on the main deck, had been divided into three spaces. The first was the boat's business office. The second, much larger, was a storage room. The third was the boat's original engineering workshop, now walled off from the rest of the space. Its big double door opened aft onto the transverse passageway that separated it from the engine room.
“I’m the engineer and diesel mechanic,” Anne said. “I went through my apprenticeship when I was 16. That’s my diploma,” she said with a grin, and pointed to a ball cap hanging on a hook by the workshop door. It was a “CAT hat” – a black ball cap with the yellow-and-white CAT logo on the front – battered and greasy, and much the worse for wear.
“Want to see the engine?” Anne asked. Angie peeked in through the open double door of the engine room – six broad steel steps led down to the deck plates. The diesel was smaller than the steam engine it had replaced, but “smaller” is a relative term. The big V-12 was about the size of a Tradesman van.
Anne introduced Angie to her two brothers. Jim was 18 – like Angie, he would be a Senior at TCHS in the fall. He was medium height, stocky and fit-looking. Josh was 21, a little taller, and just about the most charming guy Angie had ever met – he could sell ice to Eskimos. Both had Anne’s coloring. The guys were dressed like old-time riverboat crewmen – collarless pillow-ticking shirts, unbleached canvas trousers, boondocker shoes, cloth caps. The clothing wasn’t the best choice to work in, but it was part of the ambience they were selling.
This was a family operation. Angie met the rest of them. Anne’s mom was an attractive woman in her 40’s, dark-haired and hazel-eyed. She was the book keeper and business manager – she supervised the caterers on these trips. Anne’s grandfather was a widower – Proud Mary was named for his late wife. He was crowding 80, but he still made an appearance on board during dinner cruises. He was dressed as an old-time steamboat captain, with a neatly trimmed General Lee beard, scrambled eggs on the bill of his captain’s hat, and four gold rings on the cuffs of his navy frock coat. But like Anne, Josh and Jim’s outfits, that was strictly for the passengers. Anne’s father, the real captain, wore khaki work clothes, shades and a long-billed cap that advertised a boatyard in Shreveport – he would spend the cruise out of sight in the pilot house. Angie liked them all – they seemed like good folks.
The other member of the crew – the other hostess – emerged from the store room, which evidently doubled as a dressing room. She was about Josh’s age and very attractive – medium height, with great curves, dark hazel eyes, long lashes, and dark brown hair with blonde streaks. She wore a hoop skirt and a broad-brimmed straw bonnet. Her hair was done up in sausage curls.
“Hi, Angie! I’m Melissa Gabreski,” the girl said. “Ashley introduced us a while back, remember? Follow me, I’ll help you dress out. I’ve got a curling iron in there too, I’ll give you a set of curls like these while we’re at it.”
In the storage room, Angie kicked off her sandals and peeled down to her bra and panties. Mrs. Kincaid had gotten Angie’s sizes, so the costume fit as though it was made for her – which, in fact, it was. First was a modern girdle – a corset with whalebone stays was just a little too much authenticity, Melissa said. The slip and petticoats and a pair of cotton stockings came next, then the dress, and finally the shoes. Angie tried to put them on, and discovered that they were at least a size too small.
“Oops!” Melissa said. “Sorry about the shoes. We’ll have to get you another pair.”
“I’ll just wear my sandals tonight,” Angie said. “Nobody will see them under the skirt.”
“They’re platforms – you’ll fall and bust your butt if you do,” Melissa said. “Let’s look for something else. Maybe somebody has an extra pair of sneakers you could wear.”
But the other women’s shoes were too small, and the guys’ were way too big. Finally, Angie peeled off the stockings. It would be OK – the skirt was floor length, no one would see her bare feet.
Melissa helped her to put the spring steel hoop in the hem of the skirt. From her time as a model, Angie knew how to walk without over-much hip sway – a good thing, otherwise the skirt would swing like a bell. She put on her bonnet, and both girls went out onto the gangway.
The passengers started coming aboard shortly afterward. Angie greeted them at the bottom of the stairs and directed them upward, to where Melissa and old Mr. Kincaid waited to direct them onward. She heard a steady rumble from aft, and the wooden deck vibrated under her feet – Anne must be warming up the engine, she thought.
The stream of passengers slowed to a trickle, then a few stragglers, then stopped. Anne and her brothers came forward, and the guys cast off the mooring lines. Anne had her hair piled up under her hat now – from a distance, she looked like a young teen boy, another little touch of authenticity. The walkie-talkie in her hand provided a countervailing touch of anachronism.
Anne keyed the walkie-talkie and said, “OK, Daddy, we’ve cast off.” Her father double-clicked his radio in acknowledgement. With two long blasts of her whistle and a thrashing of her 36-foot paddle wheels, the riverboat backed away from her dock and into the river current.
They didn’t have a band on board, this wasn’t a dance cruise. Like the balcony around the Texas deck, the dance floor was just a conversation area tonight, a place for the passengers to hang out before and after their dinner. Angie, Melissa and the old man stayed on the Texas deck until dinner, providing assistance and hospitality as required.
Melissa introduced Angie to a “stowaway” – her brother Michael. He was dating Anne and had come along for the ride. Angie remembered him from high school – he had been a year ahead of her, a big guy who had played football. The sibs had a definite family resemblance, but Michael was a head taller than Melissa and had to outweigh her by at least 100 lbs. Melissa whispered something to him – he laughed, looked at Angie speculatively and whispered something back. Wonder what that’s about, Angie thought.
Angie took a break halfway through the evening in the office on the main deck. She found Michael there, having a cup of coffee with Jim.
“According to Grandpa, there’s coffee, java, jamoke and joe, in descending order of drinkability,” Jim said. “This is joe, but it’s tolerable – just barely. Help yourself.”
“If you value your stomach lining, don’t let Anne near the coffee pot,” Michael advised. “She makes it Navy style, like her Grandpa showed her.”
Angie poured herself a cup. Her feet felt icky. She pulled the hoop out of the skirt hem, sat down and inspected them. Eww! The canary-yellow polish concealed the dirt under the nails, but her feet were filthy, black on the bottoms and none too clean on the tops. The guys exchanged a glance, grinning, but made no comment.
Josh was dating Melissa, Angie discovered. Jim was unattached – he started hitting on her. She flirted back at him. Why not? She wasn’t seeing anybody either, and he seemed like a nice enough guy.
Anne came in just as Angie was putting the hoop back into the skirt before going back to work. Anne put a sprinkle of salt, just a few grains, in her coffee. “Black gang coffee”, she explained. Angie did the same in the inch or so of coffee left in her own cup and tasted. It changed the character – not salty, but a flat, oily taste that somehow removed the bitter tang.
Michael stayed with Anne. Jim left with Angie. He whispered something to Anne on his way out – she grinned and winked at him. So far, this seems like a good place to work, thought Angie, but they’ve got some secret that they’re not sharing. Much more of that and she might start feeling a little paranoid.
Jim stayed on the main deck to relieve his brother. Angie went upstairs to relieve Melissa, who left to take her own break. Angie got to know old Mr. Kincaid a little. Like her own grandfather, he had served in a US Navy destroyer in World War II. He rattled two marble-sized steel ball bearings together in one hand as he talked. A nervous habit, Angie concluded, but she had the feeling that he was a little disappointed that she didn’t react to it.
Anne’s mom came over to them just before they docked. “Give it up, Dad – looks like Angie’s never seen the movie,” she told him. “Captain Queeg, from “The Caine Mutiny”, ” she explained. “He does that with all of our new hires – he’s trying to get a reaction out of you.”
“Busted!” he said. “Well, I’ve enjoyed talking with you anyway, Angie. Glad to have you with us.”
“Me too, Mr. Kincaid,” she replied. “I like it here.”
Angie went back down to the foot of the stairs on the main deck. Anne was on the bow with her walkie-talkie again, guiding the riverboat back into her dock. Josh and Jim jumped to the dock and tied up. They stayed with Angie to guide the passengers ashore, while Anne went back to the engine room to shut down. The caterers left soon afterward. Melissa and the Kincaids joined Angie just as the cleaning crew was coming aboard – a small, plump, Aztec-looking Latina with streaks of gray in her dark hair, and three young female members of her large extended family.
“We’ll see you at home, kids,” Anne’s mom said. “Good night, Mrs. Mendoza.” She left with Anne’s dad and grandfather.
“C’mon, let’s change,” Anne said. “Staying or leaving, guys?”
“We’ll stay,” Jim said. “See you in a few minutes.”
Josh and Jim went into the office to change. The girls went back to the storage room. Anne finished first, then helped the others to undress and hang up their costumes. All three put their shorts and t-shirts back on, and Anne and Melissa stepped into their sandals. Angie hesitated, then just picked hers up. No sense getting them filthy, she thought. She ought to wash her feet first, or at least rinse them off.
She reconsidered when she got to the end of the dock – the parking lot was gravel. But she needn’t have been concerned. “Alley-oop,” Jim said, and scooped her up in a carry position. “Where’s your car?”
“Are you really in such a hurry to get rid of her?” Melissa asked. “We’re right next to Riverside Park. It’s not too late, and it’s a warm night. Let’s hang for a while.”
“Good idea, sis,” Michael said. “Come get the blanket out of the trunk, and I’ll go and get us some Cokes.”
Anne and Josh followed them. Angie found herself alone with Jim, still in his arms. “I’m not too heavy, am I?” she asked.
“Nope,” he said. “And even if you were, I’m not dumb enough to answer that question any other way.”
The edge of the parking lot wasn’t far, anyway. He set her down on the sidewalk. She stepped off onto the grass, wet with evening dew, and shuffled her feet. “Maybe I can get some of the crud off this way,” she said. “Better than nothing, anyway.”
They ambled along companionably, hand in hand, talking and getting to know each other. She decided not to bother with her sandals, just walked on the grass and carried them in her free hand. I could really get to like him, she thought.
They sat on a bench overlooking the river, near a light so the others could find them. Angie extended both legs straight ahead, then drew them up and inspected her soles. “Much better,” she said. “And they don’t feel near so icky any more.”
“Yah, too bad about the shoes,” he said. He stood up and pulled a bandana out of a back pocket. “Keep your seat, I’ll be right back.”
Jim went to the river’s edge and soaked the bandana. He came back and sat to her right. “Give ‘em here,” he said.
Angie swung her feet up into Jim’s lap. He rubbed the wet bandana lightly over them, the tops first, then the sensitive soles.
“Hehehe!” Angie giggled. “That tickles!”
“Want me to quit?”
“N-no,” Angie said. She had been tickled by experts – this barely even qualified. “Go ahead. Feels kinda nice.”
He took his time. Angie giggled like a little girl all the while. “How’s that?” he asked when he was finished.
Angie inspected a foot again and made a decision. “Between my toes,” she said.
Jim folded the bandana over once. He slipped it between the toes farthest away, her left little toe and its neighbor, then took hold of the corners and pulled it back and forth.
Angie was insanely, off-the scale ticklish between and under her toes. “Eep! Hehe! HAHAHAHA-HAHAHA-HAHAHA!” she laughed. She pulled her feet back reflexively.
Jim paused. “Sure you don’t want me to quit?” he asked.
Angie took a deep breath and got a firm grip on the bench seat with both hands. “Nope. Have at it,” she answered.
“OK,” Jim said. “But you’re squirming too much.” He raised his left thigh. “Slide your feet under here, put your ankles on my right thigh.”
Angie did so. Jim lowered his leg, tucked the foot behind the other calf to lock it in place – a simple but effective leg lock.
“OK, now we’re ready,” Jim said, and moved over to the next pair of toes. Angie laughed at the top of her lungs as he pulled the bandana back and forth.
Jim scrubbed and tickled all the way across, tickling toward himself between each pair of toes. Each time, he was rewarded with a burst of ticklish laughter. And he drew the process out – he really seemed to be enjoying himself. Angie laughed and laughed, her knuckles turning white from the strength of her grip.
Jim finished and released the leg lock. Angie put her left foot down. But Jim had hold of the right foot – he lifted it and looked at the bottom. “Still a little dirt right here,” he said – he flicked the soft skin under her toes, and was rewarded with another giggle. He grinned and shifted his grip. “But I’ll get it clean.” He held her toes back and scratched the ticklish skin underneath. Angie threw her head back and laughed at the top of her lungs.
Angie laughed her head off as his tickling fingernails flicked and scratched. He tickled her stretched out sole, down her arch and onto her heel, and her laughter went down a notch. He flicked all four fingers of his right hand in her arch, a motion like chording a guitar. Then circles, figure-eights and other tickling shapes, and Angie laughed like a madwoman, tears of laughter rolling down her cheeks.
Jim shifted his tickle target, drawing circles around and on the ball of Angie’s foot. Angie laughed wildly as he scratched the exact middle of her stretched out sole, along the crease. But then he started back in under her toes, and her laughter went off the scale. It tickled so much!
“Jim! Quit!” Anne yelled – Angie heard it through a haze of tickle torture. He stopped, but didn’t turn her loose. Angie blinked away tears of laughter and looked around. The others had arrived, with a shabby old blanket and two 6-packs of Cokes.
“Let her go,” Anne said. “You oughta be ashamed of yourself! I’m sorry, Angie, I should have warned you – he tickles!”
“So I... noticed,” Angie said, a little short of breath. She used the collar of her shirt to blot the tears.
Jim turned Angie loose. He was unrepentant. “Hey, it got the job done. Her feet are a lot cleaner now.”
“No big,” Angie said. She took a deep breath and swung back around, both feet on the ground. She found her sandals and slipped them on. “It was actually kinda fun.” Angie and her friends had come back from their adventure as tickle maniacs, one and all. It drove her wild while it was happening, of course. But afterward... As long as everybody was on friendly terms, it was exhilirating. It really got the blood flowing.
Anne and Melissa exchanged a meaningful look. “If you say so,” Melissa said. “This grass is too wet to sit on. C’mon, let’s move over to the bandstand.”
They walked away from the river, crossed one of the narrow paved park roads. The bandstand was nestled in a curve of the road. It was an old-fashioned octagonal gazebo, maybe 15 or 20 ft across, raised a few steps above ground level. Six of the sides had waist-high wooden railings, two facing sides were unobstructed. Further in, toward the highway, was a big open grassy area surrounded by tall trees. There were no lights here, but the full moon and sky glow reflected from a few clouds gave them enough light to see fairly well.
They spread their blanket on the gazebo floor. The girls kicked their sandals off and everybody sat down cross-legged, Indian style.
She’d been right about the others, Angie decided after a while. They were good people, took the trouble to make the new kid feel included and welcome. She liked them all, was glad she had taken this job. But there was a subtle undertone to the conversation, something she didn’t quite get...
“Hey Anne, should we invite Angie into our little competition?” Melissa asked.
“She’ll need a trainer,” Jim said. “I’d be happy to do it.”
Anne was amused. “Yah, I imagine you would,” she said. “Michael, Josh, how do y’all feel about it?”
“Sure, why not?” Michael said. “Sounded to me like she’d fit right in.”
“Sounded?” Angie asked. “What are you guys talking about?”
“See, Anne and Melissa have a contest going,” Josh said. “A test of strength and endurance. Right now, the score is 7 to 5, in Anne’s favor.”
“Guess I’m a better trainer than you are,” Michael said, grinning.
“Nah, Anne’s just had more practice,” Josh said. “Melissa’s catching up – they’re pretty evenly matched now.”
“Why don’t y’all show her?” Jim said.
“OK. C’mon, girlfriend,” Anne said. “This match tonight is... what, Round 13?”
“A match? What kind of match?” Angie asked.
“A Tickling Death Match,” Melissa said with a grin. “Might as well give it up, Anne – you haven’t got a chance!”
“In your dreams!” Anne replied, and moved to the center of the blanket. Melissa joined her – they sat facing each other.
“Give ‘em some room,” Jim told Angie. The guys had moved well back, off the blanket. Angie did the same.
Anne and Melissa each extended their right legs straight ahead, and drew up their left legs with the bottom of the left foot against the inside of the right thigh.
“What are they doing?” Angie asked. This was weird!
“Watch,” Jim said.
Each girl took a firm grip on her opponent’s right foot with her left hand. Both flexed the fingers of their right hand. “Who’s gonna referee?” Anne asked.
“Me. I’m impartial – at least until Angie starts. If she does,” Jim said. “Ready?”
“Ready!” both girls said.
“OK. One, two, three, go!”
Each girl flicked the nails of her right hand on the bottom of her opponent’s trapped foot. Both girls burst into ticklish laughter, howling with forced mirth.
They really were evenly matched, Angie thought. Both girls tickled skillfully, fiendishly, forcing stream after stream of laughter. Anne concentrated on Melissa’s arch, just in front of the heel – Melissa on Anne’s very ticklish heel. They laughed and laughed, tears running down their cheeks, filling the air with their musical laughter.
Anne was losing it, Angie thought – Melissa’s laughter was mixed with giggles now, while Anne was laughing non-stop. Melissa’s tickling fingers speeded up, tickling the sweet spot mercilessly, and Anne laughed at the top of her lungs. But Anne called on some hidden reserve of strength, and covered Melissa’s arch and heel with a flurry of tiny nail flicks. It was too much for Melissa – she collapsed backward, laughing helplessly, all of her strength tickled away.
“Way to go, Anne!” Michael said. “It’s 8 to 5 now. You owe me a buck, Josh.”
Anne giggled as she drifted down off the tickle high. She disentangled her right leg, drew it up under her, then shifted and scooped up Melissa’s ankles in an arm lock. Melissa had just enough time to take a deep breath, and then she was laughing her head off again as Anne tickled her arches and heels.
Anne blinked away tears and met Angie’s eyes. “You’ve heard the saying, “let your fingers do the walking”, right?” She kept on tickling, getting great reactions. “Well, mine are doing the traditional Victory Dance.” She picked up the pace, and Melissa laughed at the top of her lungs. She kept it up for a minute or so, then gave Melissa’s sweet spots a final burst of nail flicks, and Melissa’s laughter went off the scale.
Anne quit tickling and released Melissa’s ankles. Melissa laid there gasping, trying to get her breathing and heart rate normal again.
“Well, what d’you think of our little competition?” Anne asked Angie. “Want in?”
“Interesting,” Angie said, thinking furiously. These two were pretty good – no, better than that – but they didn’t compare to some who had tickled her in the past. One pair of sisters in particular... “OK, I’ll play. When’s the next match? And do I go against you or Melissa?”
“Me,” Anne said. “But like Jim said, you’ll need a trainer.”
“That’s right,” Melissa added. “Aerobic conditioning is very important in a sport like this.”
Hmm. Three guesses what the training consisted of, thought Angie – and the first two don’t count. Well, what the hell – she liked Jim, and it was kinda fun. “OK, Jim, you’ve got it,” she said. “When do we start?”
“Anne and Melissa train twice a week,” Jim said. “Come to the boat an hour early tomorrow and join ‘em.”
“We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” Michael said. “We can’t have Angie competing out of her weight class... sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. But we all need to know you’re qualified at their level.”
“Let’s give her a trial run, one that won’t affect the official score,” Jim said. “I’ve already warmed her up. Enough for a pickup contest, anyway.”
“I won tonight – I’ll do it.” Anne said. “Sit down on the blanket, Angie. Facing me, right leg straight, like Melissa did. Now grab my foot... OK, that’s fine.”
“I’ll be the ref this time,” Josh said. “Ready?”
“Ready!” both girls said.
“One, two, three, go!”
Each girl flicked the nails of her right hand on the bottom of her opponent’s trapped foot. Both girls laughed like madwomen, as time expanded and the tickling filled their universe.
Anne flicked and scratched Angie’s sole, traced tickling shapes in her arch, scrabbled her nails on the ticklish heel. Angie laughed her head off. Her feet were sensitized from Jim’s tickling – it tickled far worse than she could have imagined.
Angie was giving it back too. She covered Anne’s heel with tiny nail flicks, not making much contact but tickling like crazy. Anne laughed and laughed, eyes closed, tears running down her cheeks. But she hung on, and kept on tickling.
Angie speeded up, tickling Anne’s heel mercilessly. Anne laughed helplessly – she faltered, lost coordination. It didn’t tickle nearly as bad now. But Anne lucked out, and found the place where Angie’s feet were insanely, unbearably ticklish – she tickled under Angie’s toes, and Angie’s laughter went off the scale. A fleeting thought – “Th- th- that’s all, folks!” – and Anne had her.
Angie lost her grip on Anne’s foot – both hands were in her lap, fists balled up. She sat there, swaying slightly, laughing at the top of her lungs as Anne’s well-manicured nails flicked and scratched. Through a ticklish haze, she heard Michael say, “The Winner, and still Champion!”
“Not too shabby,” Anne said. She quit tickling and released Angie. “You’re not a bad tickler – you almost had me.”
Angie giggled weakly as the tickling sensation faded. “That’s all?” she asked. “What about the Victory Dance?”
“I don’t believe it!” Anne said. “Another tickle masochist like Candice.”
“Nope, not even close,” Angie said. “But fair’s fair. I lost, so I’ll pay the forfeit, just like Melissa did.”
“She’s right, Anne,” Melissa said. “We’ve done that from the first. Let’s not change the rules now.”
The girls rolled Angie up in the blanket like a burrito, with just her head and feet sticking out. Angie squirmed a little, testing the bondage. But these girls knew how to do a Blanket Roll, this wasn’t their first rodeo.
“Ready when you are, Anne,” Angie said.
Anne sat at Angie’s feet. She grabbed Angie’s ankles and trapped them in a simple leg lock. Then Anne dug in, tickling both feet with skill and enthusiasm. Angie arched her back and laughed at the top of her lungs.
Anne scratched and scrabbled the heels, the arches, the soles while Angie laughed and laughed. She scratched between Angie’s toes, tickling between each pair, and each time Angie laughed at the top of her lungs. She held Angie’s toes back and tickled the soft skin underneath, and Angie’s laughter went off the scale. Anne tickled mercilessly, covering the sweet spots with unbearable tickling. Angie lost it and laughed herself breathless.
Anne quit and released the leg lock. Angie laid there, eyes closed, gasping and sweaty. Her hair had come out of her pony tail and was in tangles around her head. She felt her ankles grabbed and immobilized again, opened her eyes, saw that Melissa had taken Anne’s place.
“Hey, that’s not fair!” Jim protested.
This tickling session was turning into an initiation of the new kid, thought Angie. Oh well – it wouldn’t kill her. Might as well relax and enjoy it!
“Oh, hush!” Melissa said. “She’s not complaining. Would you pass up an opportunity like this?”
“Well... no,” he conceded. “But don’t you think...”
“Nope,” Melissa said, and got down to business. Angie laughed helplessly as Melissa’s nails flicked her sensitive soles.
Melissa took her time and did the job right. She held Angie on the edge, never letting her zone out, until Angie thought the tickling would drive her crazy. Melissa covered Angie’s feet with tickling nail flicks, toes to heels, getting great reactions and stream after stream of helpless laughter. She paid special attention to the sweet spots, tickling side to side under all ten toes. It went on for what seemed like forever. Angie laughed like a madwoman, tears of laughter streaming down her cheeks.
A brilliant light, a single WHOOP! on a siren, and an amplified voice: “Hold it right there!” The tickling stopped abruptly.
Angie blinked away tears and took long deep breaths. A uniformed police officer entered her field of vision, a stocky man in his 40’s. His police car spotlight picked up a few streaks of gray in his fiery red hair. He had a brushy cop mustache that was as much a part of the uniform as the badge, and a name tag over his right pocket that said MACDONALD.
“The Gabreskis and the Kincaids,” the man said. “I should have known. Turn her loose now. Are you OK, young lady?”
“Yah... I’m fine, Officer,” Angie said, a little short of breath. “We’re all friends here – we’re just playing.”
Anne and Melissa unrolled Angie. Angie rolled onto her back and sat up. She was a mess – sweaty, short of breath, hair in tangles, her face streaked with tears. Her abs and ribs were a little sore from laughing. But she wasn’t really in any distress. She was still riding the tickle high...
“He’s our neighbor,” Melissa explained. “Lives a few houses down the street. His daughter is about our age – she plays with us sometimes.”
“They’ve done the same to her,” Officer MacDonald said. “Emily got ‘em back too. I suppose you’ll do the same, eventually. Let’s see some ID.”
Angie found her purse and produced her driver’s license. She knew Emily MacDonald – this was a small town, after all – but not well. She hadn’t met Emily’s father or known what he did for a living.
He inspected the license and handed it back. “You’re all of legal age, so what you do is your business,” he said. “But not now, and not here. Where are you parked?”
“In the marina parking lot, Mr. MacDonald,” Anne said.
“That’s Officer MacDonald tonight, Anne,” he said. “The park closes at sundown for a reason – there’s goblins out there,” he went on, using the race-neutral police term-of-art for shady citizens. “Are any of you armed?”
“Pocket knife,” Jim said.
“Not a good idea to bring a knife to a gunfight,” the policeman said. “Next time, find someplace a little less exposed and a little more private to play. Now beat your feet.”
“Yes, sir,” Josh said. “C’mon, y’all, let’s go.”
They all walked back to the parking lot together. “Well, do I qualify?” Angie asked.
“You’ll do,” Melissa replied.
“Melissa, that’s not fair,” Anne said. “I’d say she passed with flying colors.”
“Lots of fun to tickle, too,” Melissa conceded. “Yah, you’re right, Anne. Welcome to the group, Angie.”
Jim walked Angie to her car. “I had a good time tonight,” he said.
“Me too,” Angie said. “See ya tomorrow.”
Angie thought the evening over while she was driving home. She’d lucked into a good job, had made some good friends, and had met somebody who might turn out to be more than a friend. And even their odd ongoing contest...
She looked forward to the “training”, and to the next match. It would be a lot of fun, tickling and being tickled. Plenty of practice on her other friends had turned her into a fiendish and skillful tickler. And Angie was tougher than she looked. She had been tickled by experts, and that had given her a lot of stamina and endurance – almost as much as her friend Amanda, who loved to be tickled. Anne hadn’t really won the match tonight – Angie had thrown it.
Anne just thought she was the best. Winner and still Champion? Anne had a surprise coming!
***THE END***
Copyright 2004 by the author
Dramatis Personae (in order of appearance)
Angie Fontana
Angie will be a Senior at TCHS this fall – she has just turned 18. She has a beauty queen build – tall, drop-dead gorgeous, with long dark hair, dark brows and lashes, brown eyes, a beautiful face, hourglass figure and long, shapely legs. Her skin is tanned and flawless. She’s insanely ticklish, and regards that as her greatest weakness.
Anne Kincaid
She’s 19 years old, has a great body, light brown hair, long lashes and dazzling hazel eyes. She lives with her parents, grandfather and two brothers, Josh and Jim. No one talks about why they moved to Tieson City. Anne has a heavenly southern accent and is extremely ticklish. Needless to say, her brothers take full advantage. She once had the typical southern girl innocence… But she got over it long ago.
Melissa Gabreski
Melissa is attractive with great curves, dark hazel eyes, and long dark brown hair with blonde streaks. She’s 20 years old, has lived on Tickle Street her whole life but until recently had few friends outside of her parents and Michael, her younger brother. She's super ticklish, and thinks it’s weird to be so ticklish like she is. She used to be very shy – but the other girls cured that!
Sadistic Siblings…
Josh Kincaid is 21, Jim just turned 18. They’re into football (a religious sacrament in the South), cars, fishing, and tickling Anne and her friends – not necessarily in that order. Michael Gabreski is 18 yrs old, a foot taller and outweighs his sister by 100 lbs – “big sister/little brother” is a family joke. He played high school football. Melissa knows better than to let him get in tickle range of her feet, but sometimes he gets her anyway – and her friends too.
********************
There she is – Proud Mary, my new place of employment, thought Angie Fontana as she approached the moored riverboat. The boat’s name was painted on the sides of her wheel boxes in Steamboat Gothic lettering 10 feet tall. She was at the Johnson’s Ferry Marina, nosed in to the dock, with a gangplank leading from the dock to the bow. The short forward deck led aft to the superstructure, built up like a wedding cake, with a gangway on both sides inboard of the wheel boxes and a broad stairway to the upper decks right up front.
“Hello! Anybody home?” Angie called from the dock.
Angie was tall, drop-dead gorgeous, with a beautiful face, flawless tanned skin, an hourglass figure and long, shapely legs. She had long, silky dark hair, dark brows and lashes and soft brown eyes. She wore shorts, t-shirt and platform sandals that added a good 3 inches to her already considerable height.
Angie was a veteran of the beauty contest circuit, and had done some modeling – most recently, for the department store that anchored one end of Squander Mall. But a few months back, on an out-of-town modeling trip, she had shared an... adventure... with three of her fellow models. One was still hanging in there, but two others had bailed almost immediately after they had gotten home. Angie had quit just last week – like her two friends, a modeling career no longer held its former attraction.
She had found this job by the most basic form of networking. A few months back, the owners had moved their base of operations from Mississippi to Tieson City. They now lived just down the street from Angie’s close friend Ashley Curtis, one of the girls who had shared the adventure.
Angie had learned a little about the old riverboat at her job interview. Proud Mary had started life as the sidewheel steamer Choctaw before World War I, carrying local passengers and freight on the lower Mississippi River. Motor vehicles and better roads had eventually put her out of business. In 1950, as the General Forrest, she had started a new career carrying tourists on day trips. A generation later, the Arab Oil Embargo and the Nixon Recession had put an end to that too. She spent years tied up at her dock, slowly rusting away.
The Kincaid family had bought the old paddle steamer and restored her for the day trip and dinner cruise trade. The original scotch marine boilers and steam engine had been beyond repair – these days, the smoke stacks were just decoration. A turbocharged Caterpillar 3512 marine diesel drove the big wheels now, through a reversing reduction gearbox. But outside, Proud Mary looked about the same as she always had.
“Hello!” Angie called again.
A young woman emerged onto the starboard gangway from a transverse passageway and came forward. She was lovely, with a great body, light-brown hair that fell past her shoulders, long dark lashes and dazzling hazel eyes. She wore blue-and-white pinstripe overalls, a Casey Jones hat made of the same material, a collarless checkered shirt and Navy-type boondocker shoes.
“Hi – come aboard,” the girl said. “You must be the new hostess – Angie, isn’t it? Didn’t we meet a few months ago?” Her accent was pure South Mississippi.
“Yah, Angie Fontana,” she said. “I remember you – you’re Anne.”
“The very same. Welcome aboard,” Anne said. “I guess my mom must have interviewed you for the job. C’mon, I’ll give you the tour.”
The main deck of a riverboat is for cargo and propulsion machinery. The enclosed passenger deck above was set up as a buffet restaurant. Above that, the Texas deck held tables surrounding a dance floor – a balcony-like walkway with deck chairs went all the way around it outside, overlooking the water. The highest deck was the open, awning-covered hurricane deck, aft of the pilot house and the tall black smokestacks.
The former boiler room, forward on the main deck, had been divided into three spaces. The first was the boat's business office. The second, much larger, was a storage room. The third was the boat's original engineering workshop, now walled off from the rest of the space. Its big double door opened aft onto the transverse passageway that separated it from the engine room.
“I’m the engineer and diesel mechanic,” Anne said. “I went through my apprenticeship when I was 16. That’s my diploma,” she said with a grin, and pointed to a ball cap hanging on a hook by the workshop door. It was a “CAT hat” – a black ball cap with the yellow-and-white CAT logo on the front – battered and greasy, and much the worse for wear.
“Want to see the engine?” Anne asked. Angie peeked in through the open double door of the engine room – six broad steel steps led down to the deck plates. The diesel was smaller than the steam engine it had replaced, but “smaller” is a relative term. The big V-12 was about the size of a Tradesman van.
Anne introduced Angie to her two brothers. Jim was 18 – like Angie, he would be a Senior at TCHS in the fall. He was medium height, stocky and fit-looking. Josh was 21, a little taller, and just about the most charming guy Angie had ever met – he could sell ice to Eskimos. Both had Anne’s coloring. The guys were dressed like old-time riverboat crewmen – collarless pillow-ticking shirts, unbleached canvas trousers, boondocker shoes, cloth caps. The clothing wasn’t the best choice to work in, but it was part of the ambience they were selling.
This was a family operation. Angie met the rest of them. Anne’s mom was an attractive woman in her 40’s, dark-haired and hazel-eyed. She was the book keeper and business manager – she supervised the caterers on these trips. Anne’s grandfather was a widower – Proud Mary was named for his late wife. He was crowding 80, but he still made an appearance on board during dinner cruises. He was dressed as an old-time steamboat captain, with a neatly trimmed General Lee beard, scrambled eggs on the bill of his captain’s hat, and four gold rings on the cuffs of his navy frock coat. But like Anne, Josh and Jim’s outfits, that was strictly for the passengers. Anne’s father, the real captain, wore khaki work clothes, shades and a long-billed cap that advertised a boatyard in Shreveport – he would spend the cruise out of sight in the pilot house. Angie liked them all – they seemed like good folks.
The other member of the crew – the other hostess – emerged from the store room, which evidently doubled as a dressing room. She was about Josh’s age and very attractive – medium height, with great curves, dark hazel eyes, long lashes, and dark brown hair with blonde streaks. She wore a hoop skirt and a broad-brimmed straw bonnet. Her hair was done up in sausage curls.
“Hi, Angie! I’m Melissa Gabreski,” the girl said. “Ashley introduced us a while back, remember? Follow me, I’ll help you dress out. I’ve got a curling iron in there too, I’ll give you a set of curls like these while we’re at it.”
In the storage room, Angie kicked off her sandals and peeled down to her bra and panties. Mrs. Kincaid had gotten Angie’s sizes, so the costume fit as though it was made for her – which, in fact, it was. First was a modern girdle – a corset with whalebone stays was just a little too much authenticity, Melissa said. The slip and petticoats and a pair of cotton stockings came next, then the dress, and finally the shoes. Angie tried to put them on, and discovered that they were at least a size too small.
“Oops!” Melissa said. “Sorry about the shoes. We’ll have to get you another pair.”
“I’ll just wear my sandals tonight,” Angie said. “Nobody will see them under the skirt.”
“They’re platforms – you’ll fall and bust your butt if you do,” Melissa said. “Let’s look for something else. Maybe somebody has an extra pair of sneakers you could wear.”
But the other women’s shoes were too small, and the guys’ were way too big. Finally, Angie peeled off the stockings. It would be OK – the skirt was floor length, no one would see her bare feet.
Melissa helped her to put the spring steel hoop in the hem of the skirt. From her time as a model, Angie knew how to walk without over-much hip sway – a good thing, otherwise the skirt would swing like a bell. She put on her bonnet, and both girls went out onto the gangway.
The passengers started coming aboard shortly afterward. Angie greeted them at the bottom of the stairs and directed them upward, to where Melissa and old Mr. Kincaid waited to direct them onward. She heard a steady rumble from aft, and the wooden deck vibrated under her feet – Anne must be warming up the engine, she thought.
The stream of passengers slowed to a trickle, then a few stragglers, then stopped. Anne and her brothers came forward, and the guys cast off the mooring lines. Anne had her hair piled up under her hat now – from a distance, she looked like a young teen boy, another little touch of authenticity. The walkie-talkie in her hand provided a countervailing touch of anachronism.
Anne keyed the walkie-talkie and said, “OK, Daddy, we’ve cast off.” Her father double-clicked his radio in acknowledgement. With two long blasts of her whistle and a thrashing of her 36-foot paddle wheels, the riverboat backed away from her dock and into the river current.
They didn’t have a band on board, this wasn’t a dance cruise. Like the balcony around the Texas deck, the dance floor was just a conversation area tonight, a place for the passengers to hang out before and after their dinner. Angie, Melissa and the old man stayed on the Texas deck until dinner, providing assistance and hospitality as required.
Melissa introduced Angie to a “stowaway” – her brother Michael. He was dating Anne and had come along for the ride. Angie remembered him from high school – he had been a year ahead of her, a big guy who had played football. The sibs had a definite family resemblance, but Michael was a head taller than Melissa and had to outweigh her by at least 100 lbs. Melissa whispered something to him – he laughed, looked at Angie speculatively and whispered something back. Wonder what that’s about, Angie thought.
Angie took a break halfway through the evening in the office on the main deck. She found Michael there, having a cup of coffee with Jim.
“According to Grandpa, there’s coffee, java, jamoke and joe, in descending order of drinkability,” Jim said. “This is joe, but it’s tolerable – just barely. Help yourself.”
“If you value your stomach lining, don’t let Anne near the coffee pot,” Michael advised. “She makes it Navy style, like her Grandpa showed her.”
Angie poured herself a cup. Her feet felt icky. She pulled the hoop out of the skirt hem, sat down and inspected them. Eww! The canary-yellow polish concealed the dirt under the nails, but her feet were filthy, black on the bottoms and none too clean on the tops. The guys exchanged a glance, grinning, but made no comment.
Josh was dating Melissa, Angie discovered. Jim was unattached – he started hitting on her. She flirted back at him. Why not? She wasn’t seeing anybody either, and he seemed like a nice enough guy.
Anne came in just as Angie was putting the hoop back into the skirt before going back to work. Anne put a sprinkle of salt, just a few grains, in her coffee. “Black gang coffee”, she explained. Angie did the same in the inch or so of coffee left in her own cup and tasted. It changed the character – not salty, but a flat, oily taste that somehow removed the bitter tang.
Michael stayed with Anne. Jim left with Angie. He whispered something to Anne on his way out – she grinned and winked at him. So far, this seems like a good place to work, thought Angie, but they’ve got some secret that they’re not sharing. Much more of that and she might start feeling a little paranoid.
Jim stayed on the main deck to relieve his brother. Angie went upstairs to relieve Melissa, who left to take her own break. Angie got to know old Mr. Kincaid a little. Like her own grandfather, he had served in a US Navy destroyer in World War II. He rattled two marble-sized steel ball bearings together in one hand as he talked. A nervous habit, Angie concluded, but she had the feeling that he was a little disappointed that she didn’t react to it.
Anne’s mom came over to them just before they docked. “Give it up, Dad – looks like Angie’s never seen the movie,” she told him. “Captain Queeg, from “The Caine Mutiny”, ” she explained. “He does that with all of our new hires – he’s trying to get a reaction out of you.”
“Busted!” he said. “Well, I’ve enjoyed talking with you anyway, Angie. Glad to have you with us.”
“Me too, Mr. Kincaid,” she replied. “I like it here.”
Angie went back down to the foot of the stairs on the main deck. Anne was on the bow with her walkie-talkie again, guiding the riverboat back into her dock. Josh and Jim jumped to the dock and tied up. They stayed with Angie to guide the passengers ashore, while Anne went back to the engine room to shut down. The caterers left soon afterward. Melissa and the Kincaids joined Angie just as the cleaning crew was coming aboard – a small, plump, Aztec-looking Latina with streaks of gray in her dark hair, and three young female members of her large extended family.
“We’ll see you at home, kids,” Anne’s mom said. “Good night, Mrs. Mendoza.” She left with Anne’s dad and grandfather.
“C’mon, let’s change,” Anne said. “Staying or leaving, guys?”
“We’ll stay,” Jim said. “See you in a few minutes.”
Josh and Jim went into the office to change. The girls went back to the storage room. Anne finished first, then helped the others to undress and hang up their costumes. All three put their shorts and t-shirts back on, and Anne and Melissa stepped into their sandals. Angie hesitated, then just picked hers up. No sense getting them filthy, she thought. She ought to wash her feet first, or at least rinse them off.
She reconsidered when she got to the end of the dock – the parking lot was gravel. But she needn’t have been concerned. “Alley-oop,” Jim said, and scooped her up in a carry position. “Where’s your car?”
“Are you really in such a hurry to get rid of her?” Melissa asked. “We’re right next to Riverside Park. It’s not too late, and it’s a warm night. Let’s hang for a while.”
“Good idea, sis,” Michael said. “Come get the blanket out of the trunk, and I’ll go and get us some Cokes.”
Anne and Josh followed them. Angie found herself alone with Jim, still in his arms. “I’m not too heavy, am I?” she asked.
“Nope,” he said. “And even if you were, I’m not dumb enough to answer that question any other way.”
The edge of the parking lot wasn’t far, anyway. He set her down on the sidewalk. She stepped off onto the grass, wet with evening dew, and shuffled her feet. “Maybe I can get some of the crud off this way,” she said. “Better than nothing, anyway.”
They ambled along companionably, hand in hand, talking and getting to know each other. She decided not to bother with her sandals, just walked on the grass and carried them in her free hand. I could really get to like him, she thought.
They sat on a bench overlooking the river, near a light so the others could find them. Angie extended both legs straight ahead, then drew them up and inspected her soles. “Much better,” she said. “And they don’t feel near so icky any more.”
“Yah, too bad about the shoes,” he said. He stood up and pulled a bandana out of a back pocket. “Keep your seat, I’ll be right back.”
Jim went to the river’s edge and soaked the bandana. He came back and sat to her right. “Give ‘em here,” he said.
Angie swung her feet up into Jim’s lap. He rubbed the wet bandana lightly over them, the tops first, then the sensitive soles.
“Hehehe!” Angie giggled. “That tickles!”
“Want me to quit?”
“N-no,” Angie said. She had been tickled by experts – this barely even qualified. “Go ahead. Feels kinda nice.”
He took his time. Angie giggled like a little girl all the while. “How’s that?” he asked when he was finished.
Angie inspected a foot again and made a decision. “Between my toes,” she said.
Jim folded the bandana over once. He slipped it between the toes farthest away, her left little toe and its neighbor, then took hold of the corners and pulled it back and forth.
Angie was insanely, off-the scale ticklish between and under her toes. “Eep! Hehe! HAHAHAHA-HAHAHA-HAHAHA!” she laughed. She pulled her feet back reflexively.
Jim paused. “Sure you don’t want me to quit?” he asked.
Angie took a deep breath and got a firm grip on the bench seat with both hands. “Nope. Have at it,” she answered.
“OK,” Jim said. “But you’re squirming too much.” He raised his left thigh. “Slide your feet under here, put your ankles on my right thigh.”
Angie did so. Jim lowered his leg, tucked the foot behind the other calf to lock it in place – a simple but effective leg lock.
“OK, now we’re ready,” Jim said, and moved over to the next pair of toes. Angie laughed at the top of her lungs as he pulled the bandana back and forth.
Jim scrubbed and tickled all the way across, tickling toward himself between each pair of toes. Each time, he was rewarded with a burst of ticklish laughter. And he drew the process out – he really seemed to be enjoying himself. Angie laughed and laughed, her knuckles turning white from the strength of her grip.
Jim finished and released the leg lock. Angie put her left foot down. But Jim had hold of the right foot – he lifted it and looked at the bottom. “Still a little dirt right here,” he said – he flicked the soft skin under her toes, and was rewarded with another giggle. He grinned and shifted his grip. “But I’ll get it clean.” He held her toes back and scratched the ticklish skin underneath. Angie threw her head back and laughed at the top of her lungs.
Angie laughed her head off as his tickling fingernails flicked and scratched. He tickled her stretched out sole, down her arch and onto her heel, and her laughter went down a notch. He flicked all four fingers of his right hand in her arch, a motion like chording a guitar. Then circles, figure-eights and other tickling shapes, and Angie laughed like a madwoman, tears of laughter rolling down her cheeks.
Jim shifted his tickle target, drawing circles around and on the ball of Angie’s foot. Angie laughed wildly as he scratched the exact middle of her stretched out sole, along the crease. But then he started back in under her toes, and her laughter went off the scale. It tickled so much!
“Jim! Quit!” Anne yelled – Angie heard it through a haze of tickle torture. He stopped, but didn’t turn her loose. Angie blinked away tears of laughter and looked around. The others had arrived, with a shabby old blanket and two 6-packs of Cokes.
“Let her go,” Anne said. “You oughta be ashamed of yourself! I’m sorry, Angie, I should have warned you – he tickles!”
“So I... noticed,” Angie said, a little short of breath. She used the collar of her shirt to blot the tears.
Jim turned Angie loose. He was unrepentant. “Hey, it got the job done. Her feet are a lot cleaner now.”
“No big,” Angie said. She took a deep breath and swung back around, both feet on the ground. She found her sandals and slipped them on. “It was actually kinda fun.” Angie and her friends had come back from their adventure as tickle maniacs, one and all. It drove her wild while it was happening, of course. But afterward... As long as everybody was on friendly terms, it was exhilirating. It really got the blood flowing.
Anne and Melissa exchanged a meaningful look. “If you say so,” Melissa said. “This grass is too wet to sit on. C’mon, let’s move over to the bandstand.”
They walked away from the river, crossed one of the narrow paved park roads. The bandstand was nestled in a curve of the road. It was an old-fashioned octagonal gazebo, maybe 15 or 20 ft across, raised a few steps above ground level. Six of the sides had waist-high wooden railings, two facing sides were unobstructed. Further in, toward the highway, was a big open grassy area surrounded by tall trees. There were no lights here, but the full moon and sky glow reflected from a few clouds gave them enough light to see fairly well.
They spread their blanket on the gazebo floor. The girls kicked their sandals off and everybody sat down cross-legged, Indian style.
She’d been right about the others, Angie decided after a while. They were good people, took the trouble to make the new kid feel included and welcome. She liked them all, was glad she had taken this job. But there was a subtle undertone to the conversation, something she didn’t quite get...
“Hey Anne, should we invite Angie into our little competition?” Melissa asked.
“She’ll need a trainer,” Jim said. “I’d be happy to do it.”
Anne was amused. “Yah, I imagine you would,” she said. “Michael, Josh, how do y’all feel about it?”
“Sure, why not?” Michael said. “Sounded to me like she’d fit right in.”
“Sounded?” Angie asked. “What are you guys talking about?”
“See, Anne and Melissa have a contest going,” Josh said. “A test of strength and endurance. Right now, the score is 7 to 5, in Anne’s favor.”
“Guess I’m a better trainer than you are,” Michael said, grinning.
“Nah, Anne’s just had more practice,” Josh said. “Melissa’s catching up – they’re pretty evenly matched now.”
“Why don’t y’all show her?” Jim said.
“OK. C’mon, girlfriend,” Anne said. “This match tonight is... what, Round 13?”
“A match? What kind of match?” Angie asked.
“A Tickling Death Match,” Melissa said with a grin. “Might as well give it up, Anne – you haven’t got a chance!”
“In your dreams!” Anne replied, and moved to the center of the blanket. Melissa joined her – they sat facing each other.
“Give ‘em some room,” Jim told Angie. The guys had moved well back, off the blanket. Angie did the same.
Anne and Melissa each extended their right legs straight ahead, and drew up their left legs with the bottom of the left foot against the inside of the right thigh.
“What are they doing?” Angie asked. This was weird!
“Watch,” Jim said.
Each girl took a firm grip on her opponent’s right foot with her left hand. Both flexed the fingers of their right hand. “Who’s gonna referee?” Anne asked.
“Me. I’m impartial – at least until Angie starts. If she does,” Jim said. “Ready?”
“Ready!” both girls said.
“OK. One, two, three, go!”
Each girl flicked the nails of her right hand on the bottom of her opponent’s trapped foot. Both girls burst into ticklish laughter, howling with forced mirth.
They really were evenly matched, Angie thought. Both girls tickled skillfully, fiendishly, forcing stream after stream of laughter. Anne concentrated on Melissa’s arch, just in front of the heel – Melissa on Anne’s very ticklish heel. They laughed and laughed, tears running down their cheeks, filling the air with their musical laughter.
Anne was losing it, Angie thought – Melissa’s laughter was mixed with giggles now, while Anne was laughing non-stop. Melissa’s tickling fingers speeded up, tickling the sweet spot mercilessly, and Anne laughed at the top of her lungs. But Anne called on some hidden reserve of strength, and covered Melissa’s arch and heel with a flurry of tiny nail flicks. It was too much for Melissa – she collapsed backward, laughing helplessly, all of her strength tickled away.
“Way to go, Anne!” Michael said. “It’s 8 to 5 now. You owe me a buck, Josh.”
Anne giggled as she drifted down off the tickle high. She disentangled her right leg, drew it up under her, then shifted and scooped up Melissa’s ankles in an arm lock. Melissa had just enough time to take a deep breath, and then she was laughing her head off again as Anne tickled her arches and heels.
Anne blinked away tears and met Angie’s eyes. “You’ve heard the saying, “let your fingers do the walking”, right?” She kept on tickling, getting great reactions. “Well, mine are doing the traditional Victory Dance.” She picked up the pace, and Melissa laughed at the top of her lungs. She kept it up for a minute or so, then gave Melissa’s sweet spots a final burst of nail flicks, and Melissa’s laughter went off the scale.
Anne quit tickling and released Melissa’s ankles. Melissa laid there gasping, trying to get her breathing and heart rate normal again.
“Well, what d’you think of our little competition?” Anne asked Angie. “Want in?”
“Interesting,” Angie said, thinking furiously. These two were pretty good – no, better than that – but they didn’t compare to some who had tickled her in the past. One pair of sisters in particular... “OK, I’ll play. When’s the next match? And do I go against you or Melissa?”
“Me,” Anne said. “But like Jim said, you’ll need a trainer.”
“That’s right,” Melissa added. “Aerobic conditioning is very important in a sport like this.”
Hmm. Three guesses what the training consisted of, thought Angie – and the first two don’t count. Well, what the hell – she liked Jim, and it was kinda fun. “OK, Jim, you’ve got it,” she said. “When do we start?”
“Anne and Melissa train twice a week,” Jim said. “Come to the boat an hour early tomorrow and join ‘em.”
“We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” Michael said. “We can’t have Angie competing out of her weight class... sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. But we all need to know you’re qualified at their level.”
“Let’s give her a trial run, one that won’t affect the official score,” Jim said. “I’ve already warmed her up. Enough for a pickup contest, anyway.”
“I won tonight – I’ll do it.” Anne said. “Sit down on the blanket, Angie. Facing me, right leg straight, like Melissa did. Now grab my foot... OK, that’s fine.”
“I’ll be the ref this time,” Josh said. “Ready?”
“Ready!” both girls said.
“One, two, three, go!”
Each girl flicked the nails of her right hand on the bottom of her opponent’s trapped foot. Both girls laughed like madwomen, as time expanded and the tickling filled their universe.
Anne flicked and scratched Angie’s sole, traced tickling shapes in her arch, scrabbled her nails on the ticklish heel. Angie laughed her head off. Her feet were sensitized from Jim’s tickling – it tickled far worse than she could have imagined.
Angie was giving it back too. She covered Anne’s heel with tiny nail flicks, not making much contact but tickling like crazy. Anne laughed and laughed, eyes closed, tears running down her cheeks. But she hung on, and kept on tickling.
Angie speeded up, tickling Anne’s heel mercilessly. Anne laughed helplessly – she faltered, lost coordination. It didn’t tickle nearly as bad now. But Anne lucked out, and found the place where Angie’s feet were insanely, unbearably ticklish – she tickled under Angie’s toes, and Angie’s laughter went off the scale. A fleeting thought – “Th- th- that’s all, folks!” – and Anne had her.
Angie lost her grip on Anne’s foot – both hands were in her lap, fists balled up. She sat there, swaying slightly, laughing at the top of her lungs as Anne’s well-manicured nails flicked and scratched. Through a ticklish haze, she heard Michael say, “The Winner, and still Champion!”
“Not too shabby,” Anne said. She quit tickling and released Angie. “You’re not a bad tickler – you almost had me.”
Angie giggled weakly as the tickling sensation faded. “That’s all?” she asked. “What about the Victory Dance?”
“I don’t believe it!” Anne said. “Another tickle masochist like Candice.”
“Nope, not even close,” Angie said. “But fair’s fair. I lost, so I’ll pay the forfeit, just like Melissa did.”
“She’s right, Anne,” Melissa said. “We’ve done that from the first. Let’s not change the rules now.”
The girls rolled Angie up in the blanket like a burrito, with just her head and feet sticking out. Angie squirmed a little, testing the bondage. But these girls knew how to do a Blanket Roll, this wasn’t their first rodeo.
“Ready when you are, Anne,” Angie said.
Anne sat at Angie’s feet. She grabbed Angie’s ankles and trapped them in a simple leg lock. Then Anne dug in, tickling both feet with skill and enthusiasm. Angie arched her back and laughed at the top of her lungs.
Anne scratched and scrabbled the heels, the arches, the soles while Angie laughed and laughed. She scratched between Angie’s toes, tickling between each pair, and each time Angie laughed at the top of her lungs. She held Angie’s toes back and tickled the soft skin underneath, and Angie’s laughter went off the scale. Anne tickled mercilessly, covering the sweet spots with unbearable tickling. Angie lost it and laughed herself breathless.
Anne quit and released the leg lock. Angie laid there, eyes closed, gasping and sweaty. Her hair had come out of her pony tail and was in tangles around her head. She felt her ankles grabbed and immobilized again, opened her eyes, saw that Melissa had taken Anne’s place.
“Hey, that’s not fair!” Jim protested.
This tickling session was turning into an initiation of the new kid, thought Angie. Oh well – it wouldn’t kill her. Might as well relax and enjoy it!
“Oh, hush!” Melissa said. “She’s not complaining. Would you pass up an opportunity like this?”
“Well... no,” he conceded. “But don’t you think...”
“Nope,” Melissa said, and got down to business. Angie laughed helplessly as Melissa’s nails flicked her sensitive soles.
Melissa took her time and did the job right. She held Angie on the edge, never letting her zone out, until Angie thought the tickling would drive her crazy. Melissa covered Angie’s feet with tickling nail flicks, toes to heels, getting great reactions and stream after stream of helpless laughter. She paid special attention to the sweet spots, tickling side to side under all ten toes. It went on for what seemed like forever. Angie laughed like a madwoman, tears of laughter streaming down her cheeks.
A brilliant light, a single WHOOP! on a siren, and an amplified voice: “Hold it right there!” The tickling stopped abruptly.
Angie blinked away tears and took long deep breaths. A uniformed police officer entered her field of vision, a stocky man in his 40’s. His police car spotlight picked up a few streaks of gray in his fiery red hair. He had a brushy cop mustache that was as much a part of the uniform as the badge, and a name tag over his right pocket that said MACDONALD.
“The Gabreskis and the Kincaids,” the man said. “I should have known. Turn her loose now. Are you OK, young lady?”
“Yah... I’m fine, Officer,” Angie said, a little short of breath. “We’re all friends here – we’re just playing.”
Anne and Melissa unrolled Angie. Angie rolled onto her back and sat up. She was a mess – sweaty, short of breath, hair in tangles, her face streaked with tears. Her abs and ribs were a little sore from laughing. But she wasn’t really in any distress. She was still riding the tickle high...
“He’s our neighbor,” Melissa explained. “Lives a few houses down the street. His daughter is about our age – she plays with us sometimes.”
“They’ve done the same to her,” Officer MacDonald said. “Emily got ‘em back too. I suppose you’ll do the same, eventually. Let’s see some ID.”
Angie found her purse and produced her driver’s license. She knew Emily MacDonald – this was a small town, after all – but not well. She hadn’t met Emily’s father or known what he did for a living.
He inspected the license and handed it back. “You’re all of legal age, so what you do is your business,” he said. “But not now, and not here. Where are you parked?”
“In the marina parking lot, Mr. MacDonald,” Anne said.
“That’s Officer MacDonald tonight, Anne,” he said. “The park closes at sundown for a reason – there’s goblins out there,” he went on, using the race-neutral police term-of-art for shady citizens. “Are any of you armed?”
“Pocket knife,” Jim said.
“Not a good idea to bring a knife to a gunfight,” the policeman said. “Next time, find someplace a little less exposed and a little more private to play. Now beat your feet.”
“Yes, sir,” Josh said. “C’mon, y’all, let’s go.”
They all walked back to the parking lot together. “Well, do I qualify?” Angie asked.
“You’ll do,” Melissa replied.
“Melissa, that’s not fair,” Anne said. “I’d say she passed with flying colors.”
“Lots of fun to tickle, too,” Melissa conceded. “Yah, you’re right, Anne. Welcome to the group, Angie.”
Jim walked Angie to her car. “I had a good time tonight,” he said.
“Me too,” Angie said. “See ya tomorrow.”
Angie thought the evening over while she was driving home. She’d lucked into a good job, had made some good friends, and had met somebody who might turn out to be more than a friend. And even their odd ongoing contest...
She looked forward to the “training”, and to the next match. It would be a lot of fun, tickling and being tickled. Plenty of practice on her other friends had turned her into a fiendish and skillful tickler. And Angie was tougher than she looked. She had been tickled by experts, and that had given her a lot of stamina and endurance – almost as much as her friend Amanda, who loved to be tickled. Anne hadn’t really won the match tonight – Angie had thrown it.
Anne just thought she was the best. Winner and still Champion? Anne had a surprise coming!
***THE END***
