Forgive me. This story is rubbish but I felt compelled to write, like all of my work it is primarily a selfish endeavor and one undertaken in a moment of impairment. If you like it fine, if you hate it great, either way I guess I’ll live and may this be the last thing I ever write.
****
We were surprised at how much had changed, but I guess it was what had stayed the same that surprised us. Fenced in. That was the first thing we noticed driving up to the grounds. We had to look for an entrance, we of course could have hopped the fence, but the rust the years had given it were not inviting.
“Why are we here?” she asked nervously. I looked at her concerned face and realized that I did not have an answer. My heart swelled with reasons: we met here, I wanted to see the old place, or even I just wanted to go somewhere void of responsibility, to appreciate an age so long ago and eagerly remembered. These reasons would not do in this hour of maturity but still I insisted on the importance of this location. She gave me a look, coy but understanding, a look I have grown to recognize and appreciate in the last few months or so. So we entered this hallowed ground. Immediately I felt free.
We first approached the swing set. “Remember when,” I began “Mr. Willoughby would come up to us and make us give him our swing?” Again she shot me her look and again my heart swam. I motioned for her to get on the swing, she did.
“I remember, but I also remember he would push us harder than any one else,” I took her cue and moved behind her as she sat. The old chains groaned slightly but her delicate frame would do no damage. I made to push her but could not help myself. I grabbed her sides and pinched. Her laughter was ecstasy. I continued to tickle her sides as the swing groaned with strain or maybe appreciation for men to be using it after so many lonely years. “STOP HAHAHAHA, ok HEHA-” I did with much reservation, my tickling then replaced with a hearty push. The whole swing structure protested but we would not be denied this slice of our past. “Higher!” she playfully yelled and I sought to oblige. The set finally groaned out its last good bye. The chain broke as she jumped from the set. I watched heart in throat as she and the swing landed gracefully onto the overgrown grass.
“Are you okay?” I asked while running to her.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she assured. Still as I met her I wrapped my arms around her waist as if I were a safety restraint. Her light hand touched my face as our eyes met. “We’re fine, lets keep exploring, I’m having so much fun,” while I was regretting this selfish decision it appears she was embracing it.
An hour later while exploring an old wooden train that we agreed had been donated by a local construction company a unique opportunity presented itself. We sat in the caboose and she removed her boots. I was captivated by her socked feet but despite the sum of events that led us to this position I was still unnerved at the prospect of broaching any proclivity. I became flushed with memories and desire.
Something inside of me forced my hand; I grabbed her socked foot and peeled away the garment. A stronger man took over as I tickled her bare foot. I was gentle of course, only lightly running my fingers up her sole, but my purpose was firm. I released her foot only to take an opportunity at her other foot. I did not chance looking her in the eye, how could I?
So I sat there in the caboose of our memories tickling her feet, living the dream twenty or more years in the making. Her size ten feet scrunched at each tickling stroke but they were just too sensitive, her soles were just too ticklish. I finally stopped.
“What…was that…about…?” she asked through panted breath. How could I explain? How could I tell her that it took Armageddon and the will of a child for a man to accept and fulfill his shallow dreams?
“Let’s go,” I said curtly, “This place is not safe for us,”
“You’re right,” she added “Safe for children but not for us, we’re too old,”
We gathered our things and left. We left it all behind.
****
We were surprised at how much had changed, but I guess it was what had stayed the same that surprised us. Fenced in. That was the first thing we noticed driving up to the grounds. We had to look for an entrance, we of course could have hopped the fence, but the rust the years had given it were not inviting.
“Why are we here?” she asked nervously. I looked at her concerned face and realized that I did not have an answer. My heart swelled with reasons: we met here, I wanted to see the old place, or even I just wanted to go somewhere void of responsibility, to appreciate an age so long ago and eagerly remembered. These reasons would not do in this hour of maturity but still I insisted on the importance of this location. She gave me a look, coy but understanding, a look I have grown to recognize and appreciate in the last few months or so. So we entered this hallowed ground. Immediately I felt free.
We first approached the swing set. “Remember when,” I began “Mr. Willoughby would come up to us and make us give him our swing?” Again she shot me her look and again my heart swam. I motioned for her to get on the swing, she did.
“I remember, but I also remember he would push us harder than any one else,” I took her cue and moved behind her as she sat. The old chains groaned slightly but her delicate frame would do no damage. I made to push her but could not help myself. I grabbed her sides and pinched. Her laughter was ecstasy. I continued to tickle her sides as the swing groaned with strain or maybe appreciation for men to be using it after so many lonely years. “STOP HAHAHAHA, ok HEHA-” I did with much reservation, my tickling then replaced with a hearty push. The whole swing structure protested but we would not be denied this slice of our past. “Higher!” she playfully yelled and I sought to oblige. The set finally groaned out its last good bye. The chain broke as she jumped from the set. I watched heart in throat as she and the swing landed gracefully onto the overgrown grass.
“Are you okay?” I asked while running to her.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she assured. Still as I met her I wrapped my arms around her waist as if I were a safety restraint. Her light hand touched my face as our eyes met. “We’re fine, lets keep exploring, I’m having so much fun,” while I was regretting this selfish decision it appears she was embracing it.
An hour later while exploring an old wooden train that we agreed had been donated by a local construction company a unique opportunity presented itself. We sat in the caboose and she removed her boots. I was captivated by her socked feet but despite the sum of events that led us to this position I was still unnerved at the prospect of broaching any proclivity. I became flushed with memories and desire.
Something inside of me forced my hand; I grabbed her socked foot and peeled away the garment. A stronger man took over as I tickled her bare foot. I was gentle of course, only lightly running my fingers up her sole, but my purpose was firm. I released her foot only to take an opportunity at her other foot. I did not chance looking her in the eye, how could I?
So I sat there in the caboose of our memories tickling her feet, living the dream twenty or more years in the making. Her size ten feet scrunched at each tickling stroke but they were just too sensitive, her soles were just too ticklish. I finally stopped.
“What…was that…about…?” she asked through panted breath. How could I explain? How could I tell her that it took Armageddon and the will of a child for a man to accept and fulfill his shallow dreams?
“Let’s go,” I said curtly, “This place is not safe for us,”
“You’re right,” she added “Safe for children but not for us, we’re too old,”
We gathered our things and left. We left it all behind.
This is not even close to rubbish. You see rubbish and I see a glowing bright bit of inspiration written in whatever state you wrote it in...it does. not. matter. This was filled with so much and delivered with so little. Please don't stop writing. 
