Her name was Melanie and I had actually known her for several years. Well, I should probably say I'd met her several years before. We had several mutual friends in high school and had seen each other at parties and friends' houses but before now she and I had never really talked that I can remember. She seemed nice enough and everybody who knew her spoke well of her but that's about all I could say about her at the time. After graduation I lost touch with just about everyone and I never gave Melanie much thought after that.
Fifteen years later my best friend Andy and his wife rent out their basement to a friend of a friend of a friend who apparently had had a string of bad luck. Can't find work, left asshole husband, the typical laundry list. Andy told me her name was Melanie but didn't offer any details about her so I didn't make any connection. “You'll meet her Friday. You're coming over, right?”
When I got to their house that Friday night everyone was out on the back porch so I let myself in and start to make my way down the hall toward the back door. I was just passing the kitchen when I heard her.
“Ryan?”
She was standing next to the refrigerator. It looked like she was just getting a beer.
“Melanie! Oh my God! How are you?”
“I'm doing OK. How are you?”
“Not too bad. Wow you look great.”
That was true. Actually, that was more than true. If the past few years had been rough for her you wouldn't know it by looking at her. The plain, nice enough girl I sorta knew was gone and now there was this woman who looked like her but somehow was just this stunning, beautiful woman. We just stood there for a second when she broke the silence.
“Well, I better get back”.
“Yeah, let me grab a beer and I'll be right out.”
Besides myself and Melanie there were four couples there that night. Andy's patio had two tables with the men all at one and the women at the other. Melanie and I took our gender appropriate places and joined in the conversations waiting for us. I stole glances when I could. She had her legs crossed and dangled the flip-flop off of the hanging foot. I thought I caught her looking over at me a few times. I couldn't tell you what the guys were talking about.
After a few hours the party starts to drift. A few people have moved inside and the tables have gone co-ed. I'm sitting on a wicker couch apart from everyone trying to ware off my beer-buzz.
“Hey rub-a-dub”
It's Melanie. Why didn't I ever notice that smile in high school?
“You OK?”
“What can I say? I'm a cheap date. Yeah, I'm fine. Have a seat.”
She sits herself sideways facing me with one leg folded in front of her and her bare foot hanging off the couch. I turn in place to face her. For a few wonderful seconds we look at each other in silence before she starts.
“So what have you been doing?”
I shrug.
“Oh, come on! Tell me! Tell me everything.”
“Let's see. Left high school, tripped and fell, just sort of laid there for thirteen years or so, finally got back on my feet, and now, here we are. How about you?”
“Pretty much the same, only without the getting back up part.”
“Well I guess I made it look too easy.”
She chuckles. I can't resist. I gently run a finger across her foot. She squeaks and wiggles her foot.
“So you're ticklish” I said.
“I am sooooo ticklish. Especially my feet. I'm serious. I can't walk barefoot in the grass. I go nuts. I'd rather be beaten than tickled.”
“Well, that's a bit extreme!”
“OK, fine. Yes I'd rather be tickled than beaten.”
“Great” I say, and this time I grab her ankle with one hand and I let all the fingers of my other hand skate on the sole of her foot.
This time she doesn't squeak. This time she laughs. It's a perfect laugh. A high, rhythm-ed, completely unrepressed laugh. She pulls her foot away.
“Jeeze, settle down tickle man! First you've got to charm me and romance me. Do that right and then you can tickle me to your tipsy heart's content.”
“OK, hmmm.. Shall I compare thee to a summers day...”
“No”
“OK, umm... She walks in beauty like the night...”
“Try again.”
I look at her for a second. Her friendly smile, her sleepy eyes.
“I'm just really happy to be here right now, with you.”
“Better”
At some point I notice that her leg is pressing on mine and that I have one hand on her knee and the other on her shoulder. Then, with nerve I didn't know that I had, I leaned in, pulling her in gently and kissed her.
For a second I was sure she was going to pull away, slap me, tell me to go to hell, and storm off. But she didn't. She threw both of her arms around my neck. I wrapped mine around her waist on pulled her body on to my lap. After who-the-hell-knows-how-long we pulled our lips apart.
“You're set up downstairs, right?” I ask.
“I've got my own outside door right there” she says.
We run down into her place and into her bedroom. I didn't leave that room for almost twenty-four hours.
The sun coming through a window woke me around eight in the morning. I started kissing her bare back and the back of her neck until she woke up.
“Good morning” she said.
“Morning” I answered.
We kissed a long drawn out kiss and I put my arms around her. After a few minutes she pushed my arms away looked at me with serious expression on her face.
“So, are you about take off?”
“No. Unless you want me to?”
“No. What I mean is, was this just one time?”
“I hope not”
“Really?”
“Really. I really do hope that this is the start of something.”
“You're not a cheater or a junkie or anything like that?”
“Nope. I'm practically perfect.”
“Good”
She took my arms and wrapped them around herself with her back up against my chest. I slowly take her wrists and then hold them both with one hand moving moving the other near her smooth stomach. I very lightly slide a finger across her delicate belly. She giggles and tries to pull here hands free but I hold them in place. I drag my finger across her stomach again, this time a little more quickly. She giggles again and squirms.
“I should tell you”, I said, “ I'm not a cheater or liar or a beater”.
“Uh-huh”, she says, holding in a laugh
I run two fingers at a time across her soft tender abs.
“there is a type that I am and it's better if you know now”
“OK?” she says fighting hard not to laugh.
“I'm a tickler”
I let go of her wrists, wrap my arms around her with a hand on either flank and poke wiggling fingers into her sides. She bursts with that same beautiful pulsing laugh I heard last night but this time is doesn't stop.
“Lemme go, lemme go, lemme goooooooo....”
“WHAT?”
“PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, LEMME GO, LEMME GOOOOOOO!”
“I can't understand you; you're going to have to stop laughing.”
She starts laughing even harder. She's kicking her feet like mad, knocking the sheets and bedspread on to the floor. I watch her feet kick and I stop. She collapses into the bed panting. I let her rest for a second before I grab her ankles. She starts squealing right away.
The skin on her feet was so smooth and so soft and unblemished that you would think she had never been barefoot in her life. Not a line, not a crease, nothing but light pink ticklish skin begging, aching to be attacked and I how dare I not comply? I clamp her legs together with one arm and let my other hand loose on her poor feet.
She bellows with laughter so loud and so deeply I expect people upstairs to start banging on the floor. She is thrashing about with everything she's got but it's not nearly enough. I have her and my fingers aren't stopping.
Finally, I stop. I let her catch her breath. I take the blankets off the floor, wrap them around us, and then, not for the last time, I make love to her.
Later on we start talking again. She looks at me and says “A tickler. I'm in love with a tickler.”
“It sure looks that way”
“Well if I've gotta put up with that I want credit. Massage credit. For every minute you tickle me you owe me two minutes of massages. Deal?”
“Deal”
“Good. I figure now you owe me, say, ten minutes of massage.”
“OK”
With that I jump under the covers and take her ankles in my hands.
“What are you doing?” she asked with more than just a note of panic in her voice.
“I'm going to make it an even half-hour.”
… and we lived happily ever after. At least, so far.
Fifteen years later my best friend Andy and his wife rent out their basement to a friend of a friend of a friend who apparently had had a string of bad luck. Can't find work, left asshole husband, the typical laundry list. Andy told me her name was Melanie but didn't offer any details about her so I didn't make any connection. “You'll meet her Friday. You're coming over, right?”
When I got to their house that Friday night everyone was out on the back porch so I let myself in and start to make my way down the hall toward the back door. I was just passing the kitchen when I heard her.
“Ryan?”
She was standing next to the refrigerator. It looked like she was just getting a beer.
“Melanie! Oh my God! How are you?”
“I'm doing OK. How are you?”
“Not too bad. Wow you look great.”
That was true. Actually, that was more than true. If the past few years had been rough for her you wouldn't know it by looking at her. The plain, nice enough girl I sorta knew was gone and now there was this woman who looked like her but somehow was just this stunning, beautiful woman. We just stood there for a second when she broke the silence.
“Well, I better get back”.
“Yeah, let me grab a beer and I'll be right out.”
Besides myself and Melanie there were four couples there that night. Andy's patio had two tables with the men all at one and the women at the other. Melanie and I took our gender appropriate places and joined in the conversations waiting for us. I stole glances when I could. She had her legs crossed and dangled the flip-flop off of the hanging foot. I thought I caught her looking over at me a few times. I couldn't tell you what the guys were talking about.
After a few hours the party starts to drift. A few people have moved inside and the tables have gone co-ed. I'm sitting on a wicker couch apart from everyone trying to ware off my beer-buzz.
“Hey rub-a-dub”
It's Melanie. Why didn't I ever notice that smile in high school?
“You OK?”
“What can I say? I'm a cheap date. Yeah, I'm fine. Have a seat.”
She sits herself sideways facing me with one leg folded in front of her and her bare foot hanging off the couch. I turn in place to face her. For a few wonderful seconds we look at each other in silence before she starts.
“So what have you been doing?”
I shrug.
“Oh, come on! Tell me! Tell me everything.”
“Let's see. Left high school, tripped and fell, just sort of laid there for thirteen years or so, finally got back on my feet, and now, here we are. How about you?”
“Pretty much the same, only without the getting back up part.”
“Well I guess I made it look too easy.”
She chuckles. I can't resist. I gently run a finger across her foot. She squeaks and wiggles her foot.
“So you're ticklish” I said.
“I am sooooo ticklish. Especially my feet. I'm serious. I can't walk barefoot in the grass. I go nuts. I'd rather be beaten than tickled.”
“Well, that's a bit extreme!”
“OK, fine. Yes I'd rather be tickled than beaten.”
“Great” I say, and this time I grab her ankle with one hand and I let all the fingers of my other hand skate on the sole of her foot.
This time she doesn't squeak. This time she laughs. It's a perfect laugh. A high, rhythm-ed, completely unrepressed laugh. She pulls her foot away.
“Jeeze, settle down tickle man! First you've got to charm me and romance me. Do that right and then you can tickle me to your tipsy heart's content.”
“OK, hmmm.. Shall I compare thee to a summers day...”
“No”
“OK, umm... She walks in beauty like the night...”
“Try again.”
I look at her for a second. Her friendly smile, her sleepy eyes.
“I'm just really happy to be here right now, with you.”
“Better”
At some point I notice that her leg is pressing on mine and that I have one hand on her knee and the other on her shoulder. Then, with nerve I didn't know that I had, I leaned in, pulling her in gently and kissed her.
For a second I was sure she was going to pull away, slap me, tell me to go to hell, and storm off. But she didn't. She threw both of her arms around my neck. I wrapped mine around her waist on pulled her body on to my lap. After who-the-hell-knows-how-long we pulled our lips apart.
“You're set up downstairs, right?” I ask.
“I've got my own outside door right there” she says.
We run down into her place and into her bedroom. I didn't leave that room for almost twenty-four hours.
The sun coming through a window woke me around eight in the morning. I started kissing her bare back and the back of her neck until she woke up.
“Good morning” she said.
“Morning” I answered.
We kissed a long drawn out kiss and I put my arms around her. After a few minutes she pushed my arms away looked at me with serious expression on her face.
“So, are you about take off?”
“No. Unless you want me to?”
“No. What I mean is, was this just one time?”
“I hope not”
“Really?”
“Really. I really do hope that this is the start of something.”
“You're not a cheater or a junkie or anything like that?”
“Nope. I'm practically perfect.”
“Good”
She took my arms and wrapped them around herself with her back up against my chest. I slowly take her wrists and then hold them both with one hand moving moving the other near her smooth stomach. I very lightly slide a finger across her delicate belly. She giggles and tries to pull here hands free but I hold them in place. I drag my finger across her stomach again, this time a little more quickly. She giggles again and squirms.
“I should tell you”, I said, “ I'm not a cheater or liar or a beater”.
“Uh-huh”, she says, holding in a laugh
I run two fingers at a time across her soft tender abs.
“there is a type that I am and it's better if you know now”
“OK?” she says fighting hard not to laugh.
“I'm a tickler”
I let go of her wrists, wrap my arms around her with a hand on either flank and poke wiggling fingers into her sides. She bursts with that same beautiful pulsing laugh I heard last night but this time is doesn't stop.
“Lemme go, lemme go, lemme goooooooo....”
“WHAT?”
“PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, LEMME GO, LEMME GOOOOOOO!”
“I can't understand you; you're going to have to stop laughing.”
She starts laughing even harder. She's kicking her feet like mad, knocking the sheets and bedspread on to the floor. I watch her feet kick and I stop. She collapses into the bed panting. I let her rest for a second before I grab her ankles. She starts squealing right away.
The skin on her feet was so smooth and so soft and unblemished that you would think she had never been barefoot in her life. Not a line, not a crease, nothing but light pink ticklish skin begging, aching to be attacked and I how dare I not comply? I clamp her legs together with one arm and let my other hand loose on her poor feet.
She bellows with laughter so loud and so deeply I expect people upstairs to start banging on the floor. She is thrashing about with everything she's got but it's not nearly enough. I have her and my fingers aren't stopping.
Finally, I stop. I let her catch her breath. I take the blankets off the floor, wrap them around us, and then, not for the last time, I make love to her.
Later on we start talking again. She looks at me and says “A tickler. I'm in love with a tickler.”
“It sure looks that way”
“Well if I've gotta put up with that I want credit. Massage credit. For every minute you tickle me you owe me two minutes of massages. Deal?”
“Deal”
“Good. I figure now you owe me, say, ten minutes of massage.”
“OK”
With that I jump under the covers and take her ankles in my hands.
“What are you doing?” she asked with more than just a note of panic in her voice.
“I'm going to make it an even half-hour.”
… and we lived happily ever after. At least, so far.
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