The following is a work of fiction. All depicted characters are 18 or older; resemblance of characters' names to actual persons is coincidental. Some content is mildly sexual.
SYNOPSIS: Randall is astounded that a secret music rehearsal features the use of ticklish female students as musical instruments.
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<B>"The Concerto, Part 1"</B>
The orchestra room, just after nine o'clock at night.
Randall, a sophomore piano major, enters. He's flanked by James and Mark, junior violin and cello majors, respectively.
When they enter the room, all three are genuinely surprised to see three women, each wearing a two-piece bathing suit, affixed to three identical apparatuses: all three are raised off the ground with their legs together, and their arms held high above their head.
The seventh person in the room is Farel, the dark-haired graduate student who had the courage to organize this rehearsal. Since he arrived to pursue his master's degree in orchestral conducting and composition, he has hardly been seen around the building. The three men knew him by rapport and his occasional work with the Symphony Orchestra when the conductor was gone, but the reason for his unusually high amount of privacy evaded them still. Perhaps this meeting would reveal a clue.
He stands before them all in a fatherly manner. He brushes his hair away from his round glasses, and politely clears his throat.
"Good evening, gentlemen."
With the women situated as they are, this seems like a bizarre thing to say. The trio of musicians glance at each other for consensus, then decide upon nodding politely back to Farel.
"Before we get started, I'd like to introduce you to my friends, and our assistants tonight. Ellie, Anne, and Sarah: I'd like you to meet James, Randall, and Mark."
"Hi; nice to meet you," says Ellie.
Mark seems confused by the oddness of a starkly-dressed woman affixed to a device casually saying hi to him, but he seems to decide to go along with it, and says "good evening" to her. James heeds Mark's example and follows suit.
Their courage pays off. Anne and Ellie respond with a "hi" as well.
Farel pipes back up.
"Before I explain what these ladies are doing here, gentlemen, I should give you a briefing about the nature of my thesis. You've probably observed the basic progression between classical and modern composition during your time in University Orchestra and Symphony Orchestra."
The men are listening, but Farel seems to be waiting for them.
"Well, what do you notice?"
Silence. Randall decides to try answering.
"Well, the... compositions are basically weirder the closer you get to the present."
Farel nods. "Not the most eloquent way to put it, but that's very true. Have any of you ever played any John Cage? Or, perhaps I should say, have any of you ever <I>not</I> played John Cage?"
"John Cage; modern composer, famous for <I>4 Minutes, 33 Seconds</I>?" offers James.
"Yes, absolutely. The piece in which not a single note is played, and the title is derived from the length of time it takes to complete the piece. And aside from any of that, there's twelve-tone music, music for tape, music which isn't really made of music in the traditional sense, music in which the lead violinist is supposed to smash his instrument on the floor, and so on."
"Right, right," James comments.
"Well, for my thesis, I'm doing something far more sensible."
The men glance over at the women, held in those "Y"-shaped positions. It seems like there could be no word less fitting for this than "sensible," but Farel appears to have earned their interest, so he continues.
"What I'm focusing on here is mostly the concept of laughter."
Randall, who had spoken the least up to this point and had been too shy to greet the women, looked up suddenly. He was deeply stirred by the prospect of this comment. The moment he had entered the room, he had linked them with a sexual fantasy: having them in exactly this position and tickling them. He had subsequently missed the majority of Farel's introduction due to the progression of this train of thought.
"Randall?"
"Wha--?" he says, jumping.
"Please, Randall, it's important that you understand the context in which we're doing this."
"Sorry, Farel. I'm listening."
"Thank you. So, I've composed a fully-orchestrated concerto for Symphony, and I'd like to have you three step out to collectively play the solo instrument."
"Collectively?" says James.
"Yes. The instrument will be the voice of the woman taking part in the piece. The three of you, in layman's terms, are going to be... well, I suppose you could say, tickling her according to my notation. I'll give you the scores before you leave, but today, we need to train you."
Randall is stunned. He firmly asks himself whether this is a dream, scans his eyes slowly across the surroundings, and concludes just as firmly that it can't be. He repeats this process several more times before his pulse stops rising, finally snapping himself awake before Farel has a chance to catch him off-guard again.
"Essentially, this will be the pedagogy class. The ed majors take plenty of pedagogy classes in order to master the basics of an instrument; they need to be able to produce every possible sound, at least on a basic level of mastery. The idea will be the same here. Naturally this is not official, but please do treat this like a class. Understood?"
"Understood," says James, along with the nods of Mark and Randall.
"Ellie, Anne and Sarah, here, are all aware of the commitment they've made; they will all tell you that they're happy to be here and do this for us. Isn't that right, ladies?"
"Yep," says Ellie, with courage through a nervous giggle.
"I don't guarantee I won't regret this, but I'm happy to help," says Anne. Her eyes pass over Randall's eyes, and he experiences a momentary sensation of not being able to think.
"That's why you're my friends, ladies. You're willing to sacrifice in the glorious name of art," Farel jokes. "All right, let's get started."
Farel takes his position in front of Anne, pushing his round glasses back onto his nose. "Generally, stand a little to the side, so we can see both you and your instrument, just as though you were playing a solo, all right?"
The men nod. Anne, looking straight ahead through the proscenium frame of her blonde hair, prepares herself for the imminent attack.
"So, we're going to discuss the basic sensitive areas. I'm going to start by just using my hands. The areas differ from instrument to instrument, but generally, the ribs and sides are almost guaranteed to produce a fairly standard sound."
Farel places his hands on Anne's ribs, and waits. When he's satisfied, he begins wiggling and walking them up and down. Anne's eyes look suddenly surprised, and her quick shriek is followed by flowing laughter. She tries to squirm, which accomplishes nothing except a display.
Randall, who has been trying to fight the erotic distractions, becomes newly preoccupied with his rapid transition to physical arousal. Stepping forward a little and pretending to exchange scholarly glances with James and Mark, he adjusts his pants. While Anne's laughter continues to fill the space, the inside of his mind is frantic...
<I>Just calm down. It's art. Take this seriously. Take this seriously. It's for a project. It's art.</I>
<I>Look away! Everyone will know! Don't look at the girl, you idiot!</I>
<I>She's so incredibly beautiful! You've got to watch this... it might be the only chance you'll ever have!</I>
<I>You can't do that. Find something else to look at. That spot on the floor. That's an interesting spot. This is all right; just keep looking down here until it's over.</I>
<I>What on earth are you doing? You're </I>supposed<I> to be looking at her! They'll know you're trying to avoid it! It's part of the class! Look at her!</I>
Randall quickly locks his eyes back onto Anne, immersing himself again in the erotic sight. Farel is playing her ribs, simply holding her there in laughter. He then lifts his hands gracefully from Anne's body, and her laughter subsides gently.
"This is what we'll call a basic technique. I've written several portions of this into the score, as you'll see. The notation is done mostly on the treble staff, for obvious reasons. How was that, Anne?"
"I'm gonna die up here," she says, smiling.
"All right, gentlemen. Before we go any further, I'm going to ask you to practice the basic technique for a few minutes until you become confident. James, why don't you take over on Anne, here. Mark, you can try playing Sarah, and Randall, take Ellie over there. I'll give you a minute to experiment, and try to produce the same sort of sound."
Randall looks up at the woman to whom he has been assigned. Ellie is very cute, peeking at him from under her brown bangs. It finally hits him that he's supposed to walk up to her and tickle her right now, and he finds himself unable to move or speak. After a long moment of silence, Ellie seems to realize that he's nervous.
"Well, aren't you going to try tickling me?" she asks sweetly.
The sight and sound of this question is almost too much for him. For an instant, he feels as though he might faint, but he catches himself.
<I>Concentrate. Get a grip. Just get a grip. You almost passed out, you wimp. Stop it. Just go along with this. It's fine. She wants you to, remember?</I>
<I>Oh, God, she wants me to. This is too much. All right, I'm supposed to do this. It's fine. It's for a project.</I>
<I>Randall, STOP THIS. You are going to stop being a wimp right now. You will not pass out. You will be confident. You will be confident.</I>
This seems to be the turn that Randall needs. He regains composure, and takes his position slightly to her side.
"What was your name again?"
"Ellie." She smiles at him.
"All right. Um... are you ready?"
"Go ahead. Do your worst," she giggles.
Randall places his fingers on her bare sides, feeling her skin's warmth. He begins to push gently in several places. She doesn't react, so he moves up a little.
"Hmm. Nothing yet," says Ellie. "Try a little higher."
Randall complies, approaching her underarms experimentally. He watches Ellie move her eyes around, tasting the sensation.
"A little lighter and a little higher still."
He begins to use light downward touches just below her underarms, and Ellie tenses right up and grins widely.
"Eek! That was something, right there!" she says.
Randall suddenly feels more confident, and plays her a little more firmly, working slowly down her ribs.
"Aah! Okay! That's it!" she yells, and dissolves into laughter. Randall has her now. He starts to wiggle a little more firmly, exploring her. Her cute face is now ecstatic, her eyes are closed, and she's laughing as steadily as a clarinet speaks when the airstream is just right.
As Randall successfully produces sound from Ellie, he becomes vaguely aware that the other two musicians have achieved the same result with Anne and Sarah. All three women laugh in delight, in chorus.
A moment later, Farel calls them to a stop.
"All right, gentlemen; it looks like you've got that down. Now, gently end the tone and lift up."
Randall comes in for a final prod, then gently lifts his hand to float in the air as though playing the triumphant cuttoff at the end of a piano roundelay. It is one of the most amazing things he's ever felt. His eyes rest on Ellie's. A silent effervescence is felt between them.
"Wow," she sighs.
"Did I do all right?" says Randall modestly.
"Better than all right, I think," responds Ellie. "That really got me going."
Their conversation is brought to a halt by Farel's next instruction.
"Now, let's rotate to the right. So, Mark, you move over to Ellie. James, you take Sarah, and Randall, come on over to Anne."
Randall is disappointed to have to leave Ellie, but soon finds himself in front of the clear-faced blonde girl who had been the subject of the initial, very exciting demonstration. He is nervous, but this time he reminds himself to act confidently.
"Hello, Anne," he says, taking his position.
"Hi, Randall," says Anne. "I don't know whether I can stand this. This is a lot more of a workout than I expected."
"I'll try to go easy on you," says Randall in response.
"Okay, but you'd better-- aah!!" her speech is interrupted by her signature squeak as she is overtaken by a flood of beautiful vocalization. Randall is wiggling around her sides, smiling. When he believes he can sustain her laughter sufficiently, he takes the liberty of testing her ribs. He moves forward and tries beneath her breasts, simultaneously noting where the reaction seems to drop away. Then, he tries moving around to her back. Anne's laughter begins to diminish as he reaches around, but returns even more acutely as he returns forward again.
Randall finds himself beginning to understand how this works. He works his way back to the best spot, halfway between her ribs and her sides, and lingers there as though sustaining a whole note, tied to a whole note, tied to a whole note.
"Doing okay, Anne?" he asks. He can see that she's so preoccupied with laughter that she can't speak, but he can tell that she's attempting to answer affirmatively.
"Can you stop laughing?"
It looks like she wants to form the word "no," but her joyful grin isn't budging. She gives up and just shakes her head back and forth.
Soon, Farel gives the three players the signal, and Randall brings Anne's laughter to a gentle halt.
"That was exhausting. Oh, my God," pants Anne.
"I appreciate the learning experience," says Randall in return.
Soon, he finds himself standing in front of Sarah. Her curly black hair has been thrown around quite a bit, but she smirks with determination as the pianist approaches.
"Ready, Sarah?" asks Randall.
"Ready, Randall," Sarah responds jovially.
Randall finds her the easiest of all three from whom to elicit a sustained stream of laughter, or perhaps his experience tickling the other two women merely prepared him to do it easily. Regardless, it feels like Sarah was designed for beginners; she's easy to tickle, and she has a very fulfilling laugh. It really is just like playing classical.
Suddenly, it clicks. So far, Randall has only been trying to tickle these girls to imitation Farel's demonstrations, and it's been mostly guesswork. But now, he realizes that he already knows how to do this. It's just like playing piano, only the instruments are different. These ones require special care and observation to master. Once mastery is achieved, artistry will be possible.
Randall tries out some accents, firm tenutos, and grace notes. As he does, Sarah sparks and laughs wildly, trying to thrash out of the way. She appears to be enjoying herself immensely.
Randall's mind soars. Through the manner of his touch and calculation, he begins to build his relationship with the instrument. Sarah responds somewhat as predicted, but her laughter tends to die down prematurely on occasion. He realizes he has more to learn and it becomes clear why the rehearsal has been scheduled for two hours.
These turn out to be two of the most enlightening hours Randall can remember. After the musicians have finished tickling the women's ribs and sides, Farel begins to teach methods of producing other sorts of sounds from them. For his next demonstration, he elicits sharp, high-pitched giggles from Ellie by flicking a fluffy feather around her neck and ears. Soon, Randall finds himself equipped with his own feather, and spends another round of intimate time experimenting with the necks and ears of the three women.
After that, the lesson turns to the superficial stimulation of the women's underarms, which brings about wilder reactions than anything previous. It's obvious that this method comes most naturally to James, evident in the graceful movements which Randall can only attribute to his violin training. Randall begins to admire James' technique as he holds Sarah in what appears to be a realm midway between hysteria and sensuality. Perhaps Farel has created notation for this and included it in his piece...
The round ends, and Farel takes the floor again.
"You're all naturals, gentlemen. I'm very pleased at your fast progress in this. This is going easily as well as I had hoped, and I'm sure you'll do my piece justice. How are you doing, ladies?"
"Whoo!" responds Sarah, whose sweat seems to be coating her curly black hair a little. "Good, Farel. Maestro. I'm doing fine."
"Happy to be of service, sir," says Anne humourously, still trying to catch her breath.
"Good," says Farel, "because we have a little more work to do before we go over the score."
Farel grips the legs of the apparatus holding Sarah, and lifts. Her body tilts until she's flat, and continues to tip until she's forty-five degrees over backward.
"Aaah!!" shouts Sarah in surprise. "Oh my God!"
Though it was understood that Sarah's participation tonight was voluntary, this appears to be unexpected. Farel carries on, tipping back the bodies of Anne and Ellie, both of whom can't help exclaiming out loud at the feeling that they're going to fall backward.
Randall, who had come to feel so good about his newfound abilities that he had almost forgotten about the sexual distraction, was sharply reminded as he regarded what was now a lineup of raised, exposed female feet. The emotional vulnerability of everybody is already high, and the added sight of the girls' defenseless soles fills Randall with a deep electricity.
Randall suddenly thinks about something he had completely forgotten since he walked into the room: his girlfriend, Mehgan. How would she react if she knew that he had spent the evening tickling three nearly-naked women? Their relationship was fairly serious, but the subject of sexual fetishes had been untraversed territory. They had hardly passed kissing. Would this get complicated? Should he bring it up when he calls her tonight?
It's time for Farel's next demonstration, for which he selects the soft, white soles of Anne's feet. He creates various muffled giggles using the feather, followed by a very amusing interchange of laughter and squealing by tickling the soles with his hands, and then an absolutely free-flowing stream of joyful guffawing by pulling one sole taut and tickling right under the toes with a dinner fork.
Having shaken off the concern about Mehgan for the moment, Randall immensely enjoys the exercise. He is more self-conscious this time, finding it necessary to check the visibility of his arousal every half-minute. It's beyond self-control; as he tickles Sarah, hearing her laugh in response and watching the involuntary wriggling of her feet, his male organ presses hard against his trousers.
He continues to the feet of Ellie, who by now he has dubbed the most adorable of the three girls. Her tiny feet are easily the most responsive. She seems to depend on her talent for darting her feet around with lightning-quick movements in order to survive.
"You're really skittish, Ellie," says Randall. "Stop moving around so much!"
"I can't!" laughs Ellie, between squeals.
"Sure you can. Come on, it's time for a special treat," responds Randall, holding one foot fast. He decides to spend a little extra time under Ellie's toes.
"Oh, no! No, please, Randall! I ca--" begins Ellie, as Randall applies the dinner fork in the prescribed manner. Her desperation melts into delight. Randall has never seen Ellie so completely resigned. She has simply turned into a ball of joy, subject only to his gentle motions.
The image of Ellie laughing so helplessly behind burns itself into Randall's mind. He will never forget this moment. He just tickles on, and thinks "wow, here we go. This is really happening."
After such an incredible privilege, Randall can hardly fathom why he's so lucky as to tickle the exquisite, snow-white feet of Anne, only to produce laughter even more bell-like. By this time, he has already improved at eliciting the desired sounds by stimulating the feet, and Anne's blonde hair and clear face seem to shake back and forth in slow motion as he draws each peal of laughter from her.
There is one moment, when her toes splay deliberately, that Randall has the terrifying feeling he is actually about to ejaculate. He ceases tickling and rapidly tries to calm his body, inhaling slowly. He hadn't even realized how shallow his breath had become.
"What's up, Randall?" says Anne in concern.
"Wha--? Uh, nothing, Anne."
"Why'd you stop?"
Randall blushes a little, but tries to hide it in the guise of confidence.
"Don't worry, Anne. I'll keep going," he says, smiling.
At the end of the rehearsal, Farel sets the helpers free with the assistance of his musicians. Randall watches as they step down and stretch their previously restricted arms and legs. It's almost strange to see them able to move around.
Ellie walks over to Randall and punches him lightly in the arm.
"I'm gonna have to get you back for that someday, Randall," she giggles. "I think you played your advantage pretty hard."
"That was such a workout," Anne comments. "I can't believe you didn't tell us that you were going to do our feet, Farel. My feet are <I>so</I> ticklish."
"I doubt that's fair, Anne," replies Farel. "You had plenty of time to look at my score. All kinds of sounds are in there. Which reminds me."
As the women get dressed, Farel proceeds to provide one score to each of the musicians. Randall opens his to the first page. It looks neat and full-fledged. The staves are stacked on each other, depicting the entire string section, the winds, and some percussion. One staff is left over, devoted to the female instrument who is to be played by three musicians. As he flips through, it doesn't take him long to recognize all the types of laughter he had learned to produce from the women. Now, though, he can see the way it's intermingled with the other parts. He can't quite hear the final sound in his head, but he admires the thoughtfulness of the writing style. What amazing music this will be.
Sarah peeks over Randall's shoulder, and gives it a little squeeze.
"Thanks, Randall," she says. "I enjoyed that. I thought you played me the best."
Randall blushes, nods, and says "thank you."
"Farel? Question?" says James.
"Yes?"
"I notice there's only one staff for the solo instrument. Which one of our helpers is going to be the used in the performance?"
"Oh," says Farel. "None of them."
"None of them?" says Randall. His heart sinks.
"Our volunteer for the concert will agree to participate, but she won't know exactly what's going to happen to her until the performance begins. That's why we had this rehearsal using three different women; because they're all somewhat different. When the time comes for you to play the piece for an audience, I need you to be experienced at drawing the correct sounds regardless of the person."
All three musicians listen, intrigued.
"That is also why I must ask you all to keep this a secret from everybody for now. I thank you very, very much for your participation."
"So, who <I>will</I> be the instrument, Farel?" asks Mark.
"Enough, gentlemen," he responds, pushing up his glasses. "It's a secret."
* * *
Randall walks back to his dorm as the sky grows dark. He hears his heart softly pumping through his head. The memory of the rehearsal that ended only moments ago, already seems surreal.
<I>How am I going to tell Mehgan about this?</I>
<I>You can't tell Mehgan, you idiot. Come on. This is far too personal.</I>
<I>Personal? You were in public just now. Your classmates were there. Do you really think no one's going to know?</I>
<I>Just... don't tell her.</I>
<I>Don't you want to tickle Mehgan, Randall?</I>
Randall stops suddenly. He does want to tickle Mehgan. A lot. He just knows that if she finds out about tonight, well... he wouldn't know what he'd do. He has never thought beyond that threshold of mental intimacy. It would be embarrassing. He's sure of that.
Yet, he was tickling not even one, but three women just moments ago. He was doing it confidently. Was it just the professional atmosphere that had made it acceptable? Was it Farel's prestigious attitude?
He blows a lock of hair out of his eye and keeps walking.
<I>Call her, and ask her if she's ever been tickled. Or just tickle her. Come on, Randall. Just don't give it away that you want to. Make it look normal.</I>
<I>How can that look normal?</I>
<I>Musicians are twisted. They like to tickle people. I want to tickle Mehgan.</I>
<I>I want to tickle you, Mehgan.</I>
Randall opens the door to the silence of the dark dorm room. After he puts down his backpack, he picks up the phone and looks at the keypad. He listens to his breath for a minute, then dials.
It rings several times, and then a click lets him know it's about to be answered.
"Hello?" says Mehgan's cute voice. It sounds like her TV is on.
"Hey, Mehg," says Randall.
"Rand! Hi!"
"Is that just your TV? Is Adrian there?"
"Nope," says Mehgan. "Just celebrating that I'm finished with things."
Mehgan proceeds to inform Randall about the nature of her previous homework assignment, something that one of her professors said in her lecture earlier, and....
Randall doesn't realize that he's not listening. He's haunted by that image of Ellie's face laughing as he tickles the balls of her feet. Ellie soon transforms into Mehgan, and he adores her as she laughs, and becomes aroused as her feet squirm to get away.
He winces at his total inability to think of any way to bring this image into the conversation.
"Rand?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you there?"
"Yes, yes, I'm here," says Randall. "Hey, Mehgan."
"Hey, Rand. So, how'd rehearsal go?"
Randall tried quickly to think of an answer. "Oh, it was good."
"Good. What day is the concert, again?"
"It's this coming Monday."
"Fantastic. I can't wait to see you play again. You're so good at that!"
Randall is dead silent at that. Several long seconds elapse before he tries again.
"Mehg."
"Yes?"
"I need to tell you something."
"Yes?"
"Mehg, I... want to..."
<I>Come on, just ask her.</I>
<I>Ask her what?</I>
<I>Ask her if Adrian's ever tickled her.</I>
<I>That's so stupid and obvious. There's no way to do this.</I>
<I>Then just ask her outright! Is she ticklish? That's not so bad to ask. Everyone's ticklish, aren't they? Maybe?</I>
<I>I can't do that.</I>
<I>I want to tickle you, Mehgan... I want to tickle your feet, and your body... so much...</I>
"Ahem. Randall. You want to...?"
"... Uh, nothing."
"Randall, are you all right?"
"Sorry, I have to go, Mehgan. I'll talk to you later, all right?" says Randall with a sudden lump in his throat.
"All right, Randall. Let me know if you need anything."
"Mm-hmm. Night, Mehg."
... And Randall hangs up, and slams the desk with his hand. After a minute of breathing, he gets ready for bed and looks out the window.
"I'll talk to you about this somehow, Mehgan. We'll find a way," he says. He finds his way into bed, and turns out the light.
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This story is continued in <A HREF="http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=107686">this thread</A>.
SYNOPSIS: Randall is astounded that a secret music rehearsal features the use of ticklish female students as musical instruments.
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<B>"The Concerto, Part 1"</B>
The orchestra room, just after nine o'clock at night.
Randall, a sophomore piano major, enters. He's flanked by James and Mark, junior violin and cello majors, respectively.
When they enter the room, all three are genuinely surprised to see three women, each wearing a two-piece bathing suit, affixed to three identical apparatuses: all three are raised off the ground with their legs together, and their arms held high above their head.
The seventh person in the room is Farel, the dark-haired graduate student who had the courage to organize this rehearsal. Since he arrived to pursue his master's degree in orchestral conducting and composition, he has hardly been seen around the building. The three men knew him by rapport and his occasional work with the Symphony Orchestra when the conductor was gone, but the reason for his unusually high amount of privacy evaded them still. Perhaps this meeting would reveal a clue.
He stands before them all in a fatherly manner. He brushes his hair away from his round glasses, and politely clears his throat.
"Good evening, gentlemen."
With the women situated as they are, this seems like a bizarre thing to say. The trio of musicians glance at each other for consensus, then decide upon nodding politely back to Farel.
"Before we get started, I'd like to introduce you to my friends, and our assistants tonight. Ellie, Anne, and Sarah: I'd like you to meet James, Randall, and Mark."
"Hi; nice to meet you," says Ellie.
Mark seems confused by the oddness of a starkly-dressed woman affixed to a device casually saying hi to him, but he seems to decide to go along with it, and says "good evening" to her. James heeds Mark's example and follows suit.
Their courage pays off. Anne and Ellie respond with a "hi" as well.
Farel pipes back up.
"Before I explain what these ladies are doing here, gentlemen, I should give you a briefing about the nature of my thesis. You've probably observed the basic progression between classical and modern composition during your time in University Orchestra and Symphony Orchestra."
The men are listening, but Farel seems to be waiting for them.
"Well, what do you notice?"
Silence. Randall decides to try answering.
"Well, the... compositions are basically weirder the closer you get to the present."
Farel nods. "Not the most eloquent way to put it, but that's very true. Have any of you ever played any John Cage? Or, perhaps I should say, have any of you ever <I>not</I> played John Cage?"
"John Cage; modern composer, famous for <I>4 Minutes, 33 Seconds</I>?" offers James.
"Yes, absolutely. The piece in which not a single note is played, and the title is derived from the length of time it takes to complete the piece. And aside from any of that, there's twelve-tone music, music for tape, music which isn't really made of music in the traditional sense, music in which the lead violinist is supposed to smash his instrument on the floor, and so on."
"Right, right," James comments.
"Well, for my thesis, I'm doing something far more sensible."
The men glance over at the women, held in those "Y"-shaped positions. It seems like there could be no word less fitting for this than "sensible," but Farel appears to have earned their interest, so he continues.
"What I'm focusing on here is mostly the concept of laughter."
Randall, who had spoken the least up to this point and had been too shy to greet the women, looked up suddenly. He was deeply stirred by the prospect of this comment. The moment he had entered the room, he had linked them with a sexual fantasy: having them in exactly this position and tickling them. He had subsequently missed the majority of Farel's introduction due to the progression of this train of thought.
"Randall?"
"Wha--?" he says, jumping.
"Please, Randall, it's important that you understand the context in which we're doing this."
"Sorry, Farel. I'm listening."
"Thank you. So, I've composed a fully-orchestrated concerto for Symphony, and I'd like to have you three step out to collectively play the solo instrument."
"Collectively?" says James.
"Yes. The instrument will be the voice of the woman taking part in the piece. The three of you, in layman's terms, are going to be... well, I suppose you could say, tickling her according to my notation. I'll give you the scores before you leave, but today, we need to train you."
Randall is stunned. He firmly asks himself whether this is a dream, scans his eyes slowly across the surroundings, and concludes just as firmly that it can't be. He repeats this process several more times before his pulse stops rising, finally snapping himself awake before Farel has a chance to catch him off-guard again.
"Essentially, this will be the pedagogy class. The ed majors take plenty of pedagogy classes in order to master the basics of an instrument; they need to be able to produce every possible sound, at least on a basic level of mastery. The idea will be the same here. Naturally this is not official, but please do treat this like a class. Understood?"
"Understood," says James, along with the nods of Mark and Randall.
"Ellie, Anne and Sarah, here, are all aware of the commitment they've made; they will all tell you that they're happy to be here and do this for us. Isn't that right, ladies?"
"Yep," says Ellie, with courage through a nervous giggle.
"I don't guarantee I won't regret this, but I'm happy to help," says Anne. Her eyes pass over Randall's eyes, and he experiences a momentary sensation of not being able to think.
"That's why you're my friends, ladies. You're willing to sacrifice in the glorious name of art," Farel jokes. "All right, let's get started."
Farel takes his position in front of Anne, pushing his round glasses back onto his nose. "Generally, stand a little to the side, so we can see both you and your instrument, just as though you were playing a solo, all right?"
The men nod. Anne, looking straight ahead through the proscenium frame of her blonde hair, prepares herself for the imminent attack.
"So, we're going to discuss the basic sensitive areas. I'm going to start by just using my hands. The areas differ from instrument to instrument, but generally, the ribs and sides are almost guaranteed to produce a fairly standard sound."
Farel places his hands on Anne's ribs, and waits. When he's satisfied, he begins wiggling and walking them up and down. Anne's eyes look suddenly surprised, and her quick shriek is followed by flowing laughter. She tries to squirm, which accomplishes nothing except a display.
Randall, who has been trying to fight the erotic distractions, becomes newly preoccupied with his rapid transition to physical arousal. Stepping forward a little and pretending to exchange scholarly glances with James and Mark, he adjusts his pants. While Anne's laughter continues to fill the space, the inside of his mind is frantic...
<I>Just calm down. It's art. Take this seriously. Take this seriously. It's for a project. It's art.</I>
<I>Look away! Everyone will know! Don't look at the girl, you idiot!</I>
<I>She's so incredibly beautiful! You've got to watch this... it might be the only chance you'll ever have!</I>
<I>You can't do that. Find something else to look at. That spot on the floor. That's an interesting spot. This is all right; just keep looking down here until it's over.</I>
<I>What on earth are you doing? You're </I>supposed<I> to be looking at her! They'll know you're trying to avoid it! It's part of the class! Look at her!</I>
Randall quickly locks his eyes back onto Anne, immersing himself again in the erotic sight. Farel is playing her ribs, simply holding her there in laughter. He then lifts his hands gracefully from Anne's body, and her laughter subsides gently.
"This is what we'll call a basic technique. I've written several portions of this into the score, as you'll see. The notation is done mostly on the treble staff, for obvious reasons. How was that, Anne?"
"I'm gonna die up here," she says, smiling.
"All right, gentlemen. Before we go any further, I'm going to ask you to practice the basic technique for a few minutes until you become confident. James, why don't you take over on Anne, here. Mark, you can try playing Sarah, and Randall, take Ellie over there. I'll give you a minute to experiment, and try to produce the same sort of sound."
Randall looks up at the woman to whom he has been assigned. Ellie is very cute, peeking at him from under her brown bangs. It finally hits him that he's supposed to walk up to her and tickle her right now, and he finds himself unable to move or speak. After a long moment of silence, Ellie seems to realize that he's nervous.
"Well, aren't you going to try tickling me?" she asks sweetly.
The sight and sound of this question is almost too much for him. For an instant, he feels as though he might faint, but he catches himself.
<I>Concentrate. Get a grip. Just get a grip. You almost passed out, you wimp. Stop it. Just go along with this. It's fine. She wants you to, remember?</I>
<I>Oh, God, she wants me to. This is too much. All right, I'm supposed to do this. It's fine. It's for a project.</I>
<I>Randall, STOP THIS. You are going to stop being a wimp right now. You will not pass out. You will be confident. You will be confident.</I>
This seems to be the turn that Randall needs. He regains composure, and takes his position slightly to her side.
"What was your name again?"
"Ellie." She smiles at him.
"All right. Um... are you ready?"
"Go ahead. Do your worst," she giggles.
Randall places his fingers on her bare sides, feeling her skin's warmth. He begins to push gently in several places. She doesn't react, so he moves up a little.
"Hmm. Nothing yet," says Ellie. "Try a little higher."
Randall complies, approaching her underarms experimentally. He watches Ellie move her eyes around, tasting the sensation.
"A little lighter and a little higher still."
He begins to use light downward touches just below her underarms, and Ellie tenses right up and grins widely.
"Eek! That was something, right there!" she says.
Randall suddenly feels more confident, and plays her a little more firmly, working slowly down her ribs.
"Aah! Okay! That's it!" she yells, and dissolves into laughter. Randall has her now. He starts to wiggle a little more firmly, exploring her. Her cute face is now ecstatic, her eyes are closed, and she's laughing as steadily as a clarinet speaks when the airstream is just right.
As Randall successfully produces sound from Ellie, he becomes vaguely aware that the other two musicians have achieved the same result with Anne and Sarah. All three women laugh in delight, in chorus.
A moment later, Farel calls them to a stop.
"All right, gentlemen; it looks like you've got that down. Now, gently end the tone and lift up."
Randall comes in for a final prod, then gently lifts his hand to float in the air as though playing the triumphant cuttoff at the end of a piano roundelay. It is one of the most amazing things he's ever felt. His eyes rest on Ellie's. A silent effervescence is felt between them.
"Wow," she sighs.
"Did I do all right?" says Randall modestly.
"Better than all right, I think," responds Ellie. "That really got me going."
Their conversation is brought to a halt by Farel's next instruction.
"Now, let's rotate to the right. So, Mark, you move over to Ellie. James, you take Sarah, and Randall, come on over to Anne."
Randall is disappointed to have to leave Ellie, but soon finds himself in front of the clear-faced blonde girl who had been the subject of the initial, very exciting demonstration. He is nervous, but this time he reminds himself to act confidently.
"Hello, Anne," he says, taking his position.
"Hi, Randall," says Anne. "I don't know whether I can stand this. This is a lot more of a workout than I expected."
"I'll try to go easy on you," says Randall in response.
"Okay, but you'd better-- aah!!" her speech is interrupted by her signature squeak as she is overtaken by a flood of beautiful vocalization. Randall is wiggling around her sides, smiling. When he believes he can sustain her laughter sufficiently, he takes the liberty of testing her ribs. He moves forward and tries beneath her breasts, simultaneously noting where the reaction seems to drop away. Then, he tries moving around to her back. Anne's laughter begins to diminish as he reaches around, but returns even more acutely as he returns forward again.
Randall finds himself beginning to understand how this works. He works his way back to the best spot, halfway between her ribs and her sides, and lingers there as though sustaining a whole note, tied to a whole note, tied to a whole note.
"Doing okay, Anne?" he asks. He can see that she's so preoccupied with laughter that she can't speak, but he can tell that she's attempting to answer affirmatively.
"Can you stop laughing?"
It looks like she wants to form the word "no," but her joyful grin isn't budging. She gives up and just shakes her head back and forth.
Soon, Farel gives the three players the signal, and Randall brings Anne's laughter to a gentle halt.
"That was exhausting. Oh, my God," pants Anne.
"I appreciate the learning experience," says Randall in return.
Soon, he finds himself standing in front of Sarah. Her curly black hair has been thrown around quite a bit, but she smirks with determination as the pianist approaches.
"Ready, Sarah?" asks Randall.
"Ready, Randall," Sarah responds jovially.
Randall finds her the easiest of all three from whom to elicit a sustained stream of laughter, or perhaps his experience tickling the other two women merely prepared him to do it easily. Regardless, it feels like Sarah was designed for beginners; she's easy to tickle, and she has a very fulfilling laugh. It really is just like playing classical.
Suddenly, it clicks. So far, Randall has only been trying to tickle these girls to imitation Farel's demonstrations, and it's been mostly guesswork. But now, he realizes that he already knows how to do this. It's just like playing piano, only the instruments are different. These ones require special care and observation to master. Once mastery is achieved, artistry will be possible.
Randall tries out some accents, firm tenutos, and grace notes. As he does, Sarah sparks and laughs wildly, trying to thrash out of the way. She appears to be enjoying herself immensely.
Randall's mind soars. Through the manner of his touch and calculation, he begins to build his relationship with the instrument. Sarah responds somewhat as predicted, but her laughter tends to die down prematurely on occasion. He realizes he has more to learn and it becomes clear why the rehearsal has been scheduled for two hours.
These turn out to be two of the most enlightening hours Randall can remember. After the musicians have finished tickling the women's ribs and sides, Farel begins to teach methods of producing other sorts of sounds from them. For his next demonstration, he elicits sharp, high-pitched giggles from Ellie by flicking a fluffy feather around her neck and ears. Soon, Randall finds himself equipped with his own feather, and spends another round of intimate time experimenting with the necks and ears of the three women.
After that, the lesson turns to the superficial stimulation of the women's underarms, which brings about wilder reactions than anything previous. It's obvious that this method comes most naturally to James, evident in the graceful movements which Randall can only attribute to his violin training. Randall begins to admire James' technique as he holds Sarah in what appears to be a realm midway between hysteria and sensuality. Perhaps Farel has created notation for this and included it in his piece...
The round ends, and Farel takes the floor again.
"You're all naturals, gentlemen. I'm very pleased at your fast progress in this. This is going easily as well as I had hoped, and I'm sure you'll do my piece justice. How are you doing, ladies?"
"Whoo!" responds Sarah, whose sweat seems to be coating her curly black hair a little. "Good, Farel. Maestro. I'm doing fine."
"Happy to be of service, sir," says Anne humourously, still trying to catch her breath.
"Good," says Farel, "because we have a little more work to do before we go over the score."
Farel grips the legs of the apparatus holding Sarah, and lifts. Her body tilts until she's flat, and continues to tip until she's forty-five degrees over backward.
"Aaah!!" shouts Sarah in surprise. "Oh my God!"
Though it was understood that Sarah's participation tonight was voluntary, this appears to be unexpected. Farel carries on, tipping back the bodies of Anne and Ellie, both of whom can't help exclaiming out loud at the feeling that they're going to fall backward.
Randall, who had come to feel so good about his newfound abilities that he had almost forgotten about the sexual distraction, was sharply reminded as he regarded what was now a lineup of raised, exposed female feet. The emotional vulnerability of everybody is already high, and the added sight of the girls' defenseless soles fills Randall with a deep electricity.
Randall suddenly thinks about something he had completely forgotten since he walked into the room: his girlfriend, Mehgan. How would she react if she knew that he had spent the evening tickling three nearly-naked women? Their relationship was fairly serious, but the subject of sexual fetishes had been untraversed territory. They had hardly passed kissing. Would this get complicated? Should he bring it up when he calls her tonight?
It's time for Farel's next demonstration, for which he selects the soft, white soles of Anne's feet. He creates various muffled giggles using the feather, followed by a very amusing interchange of laughter and squealing by tickling the soles with his hands, and then an absolutely free-flowing stream of joyful guffawing by pulling one sole taut and tickling right under the toes with a dinner fork.
Having shaken off the concern about Mehgan for the moment, Randall immensely enjoys the exercise. He is more self-conscious this time, finding it necessary to check the visibility of his arousal every half-minute. It's beyond self-control; as he tickles Sarah, hearing her laugh in response and watching the involuntary wriggling of her feet, his male organ presses hard against his trousers.
He continues to the feet of Ellie, who by now he has dubbed the most adorable of the three girls. Her tiny feet are easily the most responsive. She seems to depend on her talent for darting her feet around with lightning-quick movements in order to survive.
"You're really skittish, Ellie," says Randall. "Stop moving around so much!"
"I can't!" laughs Ellie, between squeals.
"Sure you can. Come on, it's time for a special treat," responds Randall, holding one foot fast. He decides to spend a little extra time under Ellie's toes.
"Oh, no! No, please, Randall! I ca--" begins Ellie, as Randall applies the dinner fork in the prescribed manner. Her desperation melts into delight. Randall has never seen Ellie so completely resigned. She has simply turned into a ball of joy, subject only to his gentle motions.
The image of Ellie laughing so helplessly behind burns itself into Randall's mind. He will never forget this moment. He just tickles on, and thinks "wow, here we go. This is really happening."
After such an incredible privilege, Randall can hardly fathom why he's so lucky as to tickle the exquisite, snow-white feet of Anne, only to produce laughter even more bell-like. By this time, he has already improved at eliciting the desired sounds by stimulating the feet, and Anne's blonde hair and clear face seem to shake back and forth in slow motion as he draws each peal of laughter from her.
There is one moment, when her toes splay deliberately, that Randall has the terrifying feeling he is actually about to ejaculate. He ceases tickling and rapidly tries to calm his body, inhaling slowly. He hadn't even realized how shallow his breath had become.
"What's up, Randall?" says Anne in concern.
"Wha--? Uh, nothing, Anne."
"Why'd you stop?"
Randall blushes a little, but tries to hide it in the guise of confidence.
"Don't worry, Anne. I'll keep going," he says, smiling.
At the end of the rehearsal, Farel sets the helpers free with the assistance of his musicians. Randall watches as they step down and stretch their previously restricted arms and legs. It's almost strange to see them able to move around.
Ellie walks over to Randall and punches him lightly in the arm.
"I'm gonna have to get you back for that someday, Randall," she giggles. "I think you played your advantage pretty hard."
"That was such a workout," Anne comments. "I can't believe you didn't tell us that you were going to do our feet, Farel. My feet are <I>so</I> ticklish."
"I doubt that's fair, Anne," replies Farel. "You had plenty of time to look at my score. All kinds of sounds are in there. Which reminds me."
As the women get dressed, Farel proceeds to provide one score to each of the musicians. Randall opens his to the first page. It looks neat and full-fledged. The staves are stacked on each other, depicting the entire string section, the winds, and some percussion. One staff is left over, devoted to the female instrument who is to be played by three musicians. As he flips through, it doesn't take him long to recognize all the types of laughter he had learned to produce from the women. Now, though, he can see the way it's intermingled with the other parts. He can't quite hear the final sound in his head, but he admires the thoughtfulness of the writing style. What amazing music this will be.
Sarah peeks over Randall's shoulder, and gives it a little squeeze.
"Thanks, Randall," she says. "I enjoyed that. I thought you played me the best."
Randall blushes, nods, and says "thank you."
"Farel? Question?" says James.
"Yes?"
"I notice there's only one staff for the solo instrument. Which one of our helpers is going to be the used in the performance?"
"Oh," says Farel. "None of them."
"None of them?" says Randall. His heart sinks.
"Our volunteer for the concert will agree to participate, but she won't know exactly what's going to happen to her until the performance begins. That's why we had this rehearsal using three different women; because they're all somewhat different. When the time comes for you to play the piece for an audience, I need you to be experienced at drawing the correct sounds regardless of the person."
All three musicians listen, intrigued.
"That is also why I must ask you all to keep this a secret from everybody for now. I thank you very, very much for your participation."
"So, who <I>will</I> be the instrument, Farel?" asks Mark.
"Enough, gentlemen," he responds, pushing up his glasses. "It's a secret."
* * *
Randall walks back to his dorm as the sky grows dark. He hears his heart softly pumping through his head. The memory of the rehearsal that ended only moments ago, already seems surreal.
<I>How am I going to tell Mehgan about this?</I>
<I>You can't tell Mehgan, you idiot. Come on. This is far too personal.</I>
<I>Personal? You were in public just now. Your classmates were there. Do you really think no one's going to know?</I>
<I>Just... don't tell her.</I>
<I>Don't you want to tickle Mehgan, Randall?</I>
Randall stops suddenly. He does want to tickle Mehgan. A lot. He just knows that if she finds out about tonight, well... he wouldn't know what he'd do. He has never thought beyond that threshold of mental intimacy. It would be embarrassing. He's sure of that.
Yet, he was tickling not even one, but three women just moments ago. He was doing it confidently. Was it just the professional atmosphere that had made it acceptable? Was it Farel's prestigious attitude?
He blows a lock of hair out of his eye and keeps walking.
<I>Call her, and ask her if she's ever been tickled. Or just tickle her. Come on, Randall. Just don't give it away that you want to. Make it look normal.</I>
<I>How can that look normal?</I>
<I>Musicians are twisted. They like to tickle people. I want to tickle Mehgan.</I>
<I>I want to tickle you, Mehgan.</I>
Randall opens the door to the silence of the dark dorm room. After he puts down his backpack, he picks up the phone and looks at the keypad. He listens to his breath for a minute, then dials.
It rings several times, and then a click lets him know it's about to be answered.
"Hello?" says Mehgan's cute voice. It sounds like her TV is on.
"Hey, Mehg," says Randall.
"Rand! Hi!"
"Is that just your TV? Is Adrian there?"
"Nope," says Mehgan. "Just celebrating that I'm finished with things."
Mehgan proceeds to inform Randall about the nature of her previous homework assignment, something that one of her professors said in her lecture earlier, and....
Randall doesn't realize that he's not listening. He's haunted by that image of Ellie's face laughing as he tickles the balls of her feet. Ellie soon transforms into Mehgan, and he adores her as she laughs, and becomes aroused as her feet squirm to get away.
He winces at his total inability to think of any way to bring this image into the conversation.
"Rand?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you there?"
"Yes, yes, I'm here," says Randall. "Hey, Mehgan."
"Hey, Rand. So, how'd rehearsal go?"
Randall tried quickly to think of an answer. "Oh, it was good."
"Good. What day is the concert, again?"
"It's this coming Monday."
"Fantastic. I can't wait to see you play again. You're so good at that!"
Randall is dead silent at that. Several long seconds elapse before he tries again.
"Mehg."
"Yes?"
"I need to tell you something."
"Yes?"
"Mehg, I... want to..."
<I>Come on, just ask her.</I>
<I>Ask her what?</I>
<I>Ask her if Adrian's ever tickled her.</I>
<I>That's so stupid and obvious. There's no way to do this.</I>
<I>Then just ask her outright! Is she ticklish? That's not so bad to ask. Everyone's ticklish, aren't they? Maybe?</I>
<I>I can't do that.</I>
<I>I want to tickle you, Mehgan... I want to tickle your feet, and your body... so much...</I>
"Ahem. Randall. You want to...?"
"... Uh, nothing."
"Randall, are you all right?"
"Sorry, I have to go, Mehgan. I'll talk to you later, all right?" says Randall with a sudden lump in his throat.
"All right, Randall. Let me know if you need anything."
"Mm-hmm. Night, Mehg."
... And Randall hangs up, and slams the desk with his hand. After a minute of breathing, he gets ready for bed and looks out the window.
"I'll talk to you about this somehow, Mehgan. We'll find a way," he says. He finds his way into bed, and turns out the light.
--------------------
This story is continued in <A HREF="http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=107686">this thread</A>.
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