TeeHeeLawrence
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*Copyright 2014 by the author. All rights reserved, even action figures (!). *No minors are depicted. *FFFF>M tickling
*It would help if you granted the author an unreasonable amount of artistic license.
COOCHIE COO CON
a tangled tale featuring a clueless guy mercilessly tickled by cunning women
by Tee Hee Lawrence
Chris was a Williamburg hipster...pushing thirty, compact, short wavy brown hair, granny specs, black tee, jeans and Converse All-Stars with no socks. After getting paid at work, he had gone pub crawling across Brooklyn. Now, it was very late and he was very drunk. And he was lost, stumbling through the quiet streets of a neighborhood that he didn't recognize. While he still had his wallet, somewhere along the way he had lost his phone.
He came upon a small commercial strip. All the shops were shuttered except for one storefront with its metal gate drooping partway down. In the window, in front of venetian blinds, was a small neon sign, with a purple hand, palm out, and, below it, the words, PSYCHIC ADVISOR, in blue. In front of the window was a small round wooden table and two folding chairs. A small candle in a red glass flickered weakly at the center of the table.
The door leading into the shop bore a poster of a glowing golden eye, and was ajar. He nudged it open and called inside. "Hell-o? Anybody there?"
Malka, a strikingly attractive, darkly complected, and full-figured older woman, with long black hair streaked with silver, peered through the thin opening and muttered, "Sorry, we're closed. Come back tomorrow." She started closing the door but he had wedged his foot in it.
"Look, I'm lost. Can you tell me where the fuck I am?"
"Take your foot away. I said we were closed." She pressed the door harder against his foot.
"OW! HEY! I'll buy whatever you're selling if you just tell me where I am and where the subway is."
Malka held the door firmly, but gave him a onceover. She could smell the alcohol wafting off of him. "I give psychic readings here. I can't help you." She put her slippered foot against his sneaker and tried to shove it out of the doorway.
"HEY! HOLD IT! 'Psychic readings?' You're a fortune teller?"
"If you say so. Now GO!" She put her shoulder to the door.
He remained stubborn. "Look, I want my fortune told. Give me a, hehheh, 'reading.' "
"It's late and--"
"Give me a quick reading. A cheap, quick reading. I'll pay you to tell me my future finding the nearest subway station."
She sighed and give him a weary look. "An introductory reading is $5."
"Fine! Great!" He pulled his wallet out of his front right pocket and fumbled a $5 bill out of it. Malka couldn't help but notice that there was lots of cash still in it. "Here!" He shoved the bill in her hand raised upon the door. "Subway?"
Slipping the bill inside her peasant blouse, Malka thought to herself, "A stupid, drunken man...so VERY sure of himself. There may be SOME way that I can get more of that money out of him. I'll tease him with some 'revelation' and talk him into a longer, costlier reading."
She opened the door, stepped out, and motioned to the table. "Sit." She sat in the chair by the door, and he in the other. The flickering candle gave their faces a slightly red glow.
She pulled a boxed Tarot deck out of a drawer in the table. Her many rings flashing, she began to shuffle the cards. The numerous bracelets that she wore jangled. Below the table, the golden anklet on her raised right ankle jingled as her bare foot juggled her slipper upon her toes.
He looked on with exasperation as she patiently shuffled the cards. Noticing the glint of her anklet, he smiled loopily and, with a tipsy lurch, reached down and ran two fingertips along her exposed arch. "Kitchey-coo, hehheh!" he chuckled.
She tsked and moved her feet under her chair. "Do you want the reading or not?" Thinking of that wallet full of cash, she was being SO patient. But, if he touched her again like that, she'd slam the gate down and lock the door before this drunken ass knew it. She began to lay the cards out.
"Yeah," he muttered, "but can we skip all this card bullshit? Can't you just, like, look at my hand and tell me where the train is?"
She gave him a solicitous smile, revealing flashes of gold teeth. "SO impatient! These might be the most important moments for determining the rest of your life." She took his left hand firmly with her right and studied his palm for a moment. "The best course for you is all written here."
"Hehheh," he snorted, "like you can see ANYTHING in this light. It's all nonsense! C'mon, lady! Train?"
She flashed him an expectant smile. "Then, you don't want me to tell you about your good fortune, with success and riches and love all very near if you follow the right path?" She ran the long nail of her forefinger along his palm, and he nearly pulled his hand out of hers. "VERY interesting," she intoned.
"It IS interesting," she thought. "I barely touched his palm, and he practically leaped away."
"Ah, shit!" he spat."What do you see?"
She gave him a sly smile. "Ahhh! The things that I see..." She stroked his palm again, this time with five long nails, and now he did jerk his hand from her firm grasp.
"DAMN! Those nails!" he snapped. "Do you have to do THAT? Can't you just LOOK and give me the fortune?"
Malka thought, "This dork is ticklish! And, if he's THIS ticklish on the palm of his hand, how ticklish must he be in other places?"
She glanced him over, up and down. Her eyes settled on his sneakered feet, and, smiling to herself, she began forming a plan to fleece this silly man. He clearly had been hooked by her hinting at a rich fortune.
She quickly took his palm again and held it firmly as she tickled it with her nails, feigning careful study. "You're really interested? I thought you said it was nonsense."
"Heh! It IS nonsense! But, since I PAID you for it, heh, I STILL want to know. Hehheh. And STOP, hehheh, with the nails!"
She still stroked his palm teasingly. "Why should I tell you? You're laughing at me."
"I'm laughing, hehheh, 'cause you're tickling!" He pulled his hand free. "Now, tell me what you saw!"
Malka thrilled at his eagerness. All she needed to do was reel him in, and get him into a position where he'd practically hand over all that money. She was weaving a web as she spoke.
"Sometimes, reading someone's palm isn't enough. The lines there withhold the full story of your future. One has to read the lines in another place to make the future clear."
"Huh?"
"In your case, I saw that the palms of your hands possess lines which hint tamtalizingly at a rich future for you. The REAL truth can be determined only by reading the lines upon the soles of your feet as well."
She couldn't believe that she was saying this nonsense. But, she could see that, nonetheless, he was drunkenly considering her words.
"You want to read my feet?"
"If you want the complete truth about your future, I must." She gave him her most radiant smile.
He blearily smiled back. "And this will cost me how much more?"
"Whatever you wish. I think that you will find my close reading of your feet VERY persuasive."
He muttered, "Jeez, I just wanted to know how to get home." He started to put his legs upon the table.
"Oh, no, dear! We can't do this HERE." she assured him. "If I'm to read your feet, we'll need more light. Let's go inside. You'll be more comfortable there." She motioned him through the door.
"OK, OK," he sighed. "Anything to get this over with so I can go the fuck home!" He weaved a bit as he walked in. She quickly lowered the heavy metal gate and locked the front door. She winked at him and said, "You're my LAST customer."
The front room had another small table, with a Tarot deck upon it, and two chairs. Down a corridor to the back, he could see a far room with a television on. He started to sit at the table.
"No," she said. "You'll be more comfortable in the private salon." She motioned him to the first door down the corridor. Another older woman and two younger ones emerged from the back room.
"My sister and my daughters. They won't bother us."
She said something to the women in a language he couldn't make out. The sister was a little younger, he figured, but plainer and a little smaller. The baby-faced, bespectacled daughters, with dark complexions matching their mom's and long, raven hair, and wearing CUNY sweatshirts, were college students in their early 20's, he guessed. It was a shame, he mused, that he couldn't get this bullshit reading from them. They returned with their aunt to the tv room.
Chris followed the mother into a red carpeted room with matching table, chairs, and cushioned divan. He hoped she'd tell him what she saw. If she didn't, he could tickle her again 'til she did, he thought, leering at her slippered feet.
Malka turned on a bright lamp at one end of the divan. She was thinking on her feet. Where to put this dork? And how to keep him here until she got every one of those bills in his wallet?
"Uh, please take off your, ah, shoes."
She watched as he sat on the divan, unlaced his sneakers and slipped his pale bare feet out of them. Seeing the pool of light on the cushion next to him, she had a bright idea.
"OK. Now stretch out face down on these nice comfy cushions and put your feet here under this bright light."
He shook his head and gave her a look as if she were crazy, but did exactly as she wished. Before he knew what was happening, she sat on the divan so her strong legs pinned his calves.
Peering back as best he could, he cried, "Hey! Get off! I can't move."
"I know, dear," she assured him, patting his thighs. "I'm just helping you to keep your feet still, so I can give you a good reading. Sitting here, I have them right where I want them."
"Huh?"
Malka's nose wrinkled. His feet were a little stinky fresh out of his sneakers. She reached for a handy tube of scented hand lotion (which she kept here for palm readings), squirted some in her hands, and then began rubbing it into his bare feet. He bucked.
"YEOW! That's COLD! What th--?"
"Just preparing your soles for the reading, sir." She took her time rubbing the lotion into his wrinkled soles and toes.
Swallowing chuckles--for it tickled--he cried, "Will you, heh, get ON with it?"
She sniffed again and was satisfied that his feet were fresher. She smiled. His soles were nice and soft. It had been obvious he had barely kept his laughter in as she rubbed his now even MORE tender feet. She chuckled and thought, "Hehheh! This WILL be fun. This dork doesn't know what he's in for!"
She announced, "Now, then, what have we here?" She ran the nail of a forefinger along each of his soles. His feet jerked.
"HEY!"
"Oooh, you have VERY tender feet for a man," she crooned, all innocence, repeating the tickle.
"HEY! Do you REALLY have to touch me? Just read my fortune!"
"If you want an accurate reading, I must trace these faint lines. Like these here." She held his right foot and dragged the nail of her forefinger with fiendish lightness along the wrinkles running from the ball of his foot to his heel. Both of his feet jerked and his toes curled.
"Hehhehheh. WAIT!"
"And here." She fluttered two fingernails upon his instep.
"Hahaha! DON'T!"
"And along here." She dragged all five nails across his sole just above his heel.
"Hehhehhehheh! OK! Hehhehheh! OK! That's ENOUGH!"
"Mmmm! I think that you have very sensitive feet. VERY sensitive. They tell me SO much about you."
What they told Malka was how marvelously ticklish he was. Before she was through with him, she'd have every dollar he had.
"Look! WHAT do they say?" He craned his neck with exasperation.
"They tell me that..."--She fluttered her nails upon his arches.--"...you're VERY TICKLISH! So CUTE in a man."
"Nohohono, I'm nahahahahahahaht! Hehheehehheehehhee! Stop! Stop it! HAHAHAHAHAAAA!"
She abandoned any pretense of accidentally teasing his tender soles while reading them. Chuckling, she used all ten long nails to viciously tickle them.
"Oh, but there are SOOO many lines to trace on your feet." She maliciously stroked all over his quivering soles with her long nails. His feet danced. His legs jerked beneath hers. His toes spasmed desperately.
"Ahhahaheehahaheeheehaaaaaaaaa! Leheheheheggo! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAAAA!"
"Oh, don't you want me to read your VERY ticklish feet, hmmm? Don't you want to know your future?"
"Ahhaheeheehahaha! NO! Hahaheeheehahaheehaha! STOP! AHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAAAA!"
"THIS is your future!" She dug her nails between his toes. "Tickletickletickletickle! Hehhehheh!"
"HAHAHAHEEHEEHEEHAHAHAAAAA! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHP! HEEEEHEHEHHEHELLLPPP!"
He was going nuts, screaming with laughter. The combination of too much to drink, her nails, her teasing, and the plain, highly embarrassing fact that the soles of his feet were really, really ticklish was making him helpless with laughter. He didn't have the strength either to buck her off or to reach back and yank her off. He was lucky that his wallet was under him, in his front right pocket, or she would, in his hilarious state, easily steal it--and the rest of two week's pay--from him.
"Scream all you like. NO one will hear you. The heavy front gate is down. The two shops on either side of us are closed. The apartment above is ours. So, no one will hear you OR help you, ticklish man."
"Stahahahahp tihihihihckling me, you BITCH!"
"Such a dirty mouth! I won't stop until you PAY! Tickle your feet, tickle your feet!"
"NOOOO! STAHAHP! STAHAHPPIT! GETHEHHEHT OFF!"
The door opened and her sister and daughters came into the room, wide eyed with astonishment. They all grinned when they realized what was happening.
Her sister stood before the divan with her hands on her hips. "Hehhehheh! Malka, WHAT are you DOING?" she asked, loudly over the man's laughter.
Malka winked at her and said, "I'm reading this customer's feet." She continued stroking his soles with her nails.
Chris was helpless with laughter. "Stahahahahahahap!"
"Hehheh. Reading his FEET?"
"He wanted a reading. I'm giving him one." Malka turned to Chris. "Isn't that right, ticklish man? You asked for it." She dug her nails into his tender soles just before his heels. Chris barked with laughter.
"Hehheh! Need any help, hehheh?" her sister giggled.
"We want to help, too!" her daughters cried, practically simultaneously.
Malka directed her sister. "Run your nails along his feet and between his toes like this." She demonstrated her wicked tickling. "Go on!"
Her sister giggled and knelt by the man's feet. She touched his soles at first tentatively, but quickly and eagerly tickled him harder when she heard him scream with laughter.
"NOOOOSTAHAHAHAHAHAPAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA!"
"Ooooo! He's SO ticklish! Hehhehheh."
"Keep tickling his feet," she told her sister.
She told Chris, "Now, until you pay me, silly man, I'm free to tickle you in other places." She grabbed his sides and squeezed, her nails poking his ribs.
He bucked and howled anew and tried to reach back to push her away, but she managed to keep him trapped under her legs. Her nails raked his sides mercilessly.
Her daughters were hopping by the divan. "Let us help!" "Yes, let us!"
Bouncing on the hilarious dork as she tickled him, Malka gestured with her chin. "Don't just stand there, dummies! Grab his arms and pull them!"
Giggling, the two younger women each grabbed one of his arms and stretched it out over the arm of the divan. Helpless with laughter, he offered little resistence. The prolonged tickling was leaving him weak.
Malka insisted, "Well, tickle HIM!"
Exchanging gleeful looks, the daughters spidered their fingernails upon Chris' exposed armpits.
He screamed, "SHIIIIT! HAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAA!" With desperation came a burst of strength. His body writhed on the divan, as he tried to evade the fiendish fingers of his tickling tormentors.
In his fierce struggling, he twisted his torso so the pocket with his wallet was briefly exposed. Malka's eyes lit up and she tickled his hips, so he'd expose the pocket again. Still tickling with one hand, she reached for the wallet with the other, and yanked it out of his pocket.
"NOOOOOHOHOHOOOOOO! GIVE THAHAT BAHHAHACK! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Chortling, Malka was eagerly going through his wallet, delighted by all the cash. She counted it gleefully as he laughed and laughed. She folded it and stuffed it under her blouse between her breasts. Returning to the wallet, she came upon his bank card.
"STOP!" she cried. "STOP!" The other women reluctantly stopped tickling the man. Malka rose from the divan and her sister immediately took her place pinning his legs
Chris could barely catch his breath. His throat was sore and his tummy hurt from all his screaming laughter. His whole body ached from his hapless struggles against these cruel women. His feet still tingled terribly from their ordeal.
"Oh, God...Oh, God...please...please...no more...no more...please...!"
Kneeling before him, she peered into his red, sweaty face and smiled with mock solicitude. She held the card in front of his eyes.
"Look what I found. This is SO great! There's a branch of this bank only a little walk from here. WE'RE going to visit the ATM. Tell us the PIN and you can go home!"
His breath still ragged, but some of his swagger--even in this position--returning, he insisted, "You must be joking! Give me THAT back. Where's my wallet? Where's my money?"
Malka intoned, "I'm not joking, but you REALLY want to laugh more, huh? Give us the PIN or it's tickle time again!"
He visibly startled at her threat, shouting, "You bitches are nothing but THIEVES! I'll get the cops...THE POLICE! I'll see all you thieves on Rykers forever!"
Malka sneered at him. "So, go! GO to the Police! And tell them WHAT? That four little women TICKLED you? TICKLED your feet and TICKLED your toes, TICKLED your ribs and TICKLED your tummy, TICKLED your pits and TICKLED your belly button?" She poked his belly button for emphasis. "Stop THAT!" he cried.
With a nod from her, her sister and her daughters delightedly resumed tickling him there and there and there, as he immediately and haplessly tumbled back into hysterical laughter, breathlessly begging them to stop. One daughter held both of his arms, while the other tickled his armpits and sides. Their aunt painstakingly scratched all over his soles with her nails.
Malka grinned as she tickled his neck with her long nails. She soon jumped up and eagerly knelt by his feet. As her sister shifted to tickling his sides, Malka relished running her long nails up and down his soles as he screamed with laughter and his toes clenched.
After a few minutes of this concerted torture, Malka shouted, "STOP!" She knelt again before his even redder face and asked, "Will you tell us? Or shall we kill you by tickling?"
"Look," he panted hoarsely, "the card's no good. I got no money in the bank."
Malka grabbed his hair and peered into his teary eyes. "Tell us the truth or we'll TICKLE you and we WON'T stop!" Her sister giggled and danced her fingers on his soles. Her daughters, holding tightly to his arms, quickly poked his armpits. He jerked and screamed, "HAHAHA! I AM! I AM! I was broke. Nothing in the bank and all my credit cards maxxed out. So stop! STOP!"
Malka sat on her heels for a moment, considering his desperate words. "He's probably lying," she thought, "and we certainly could tickle this dork until he gives us the PIN." As if they could hear her thoughts, the other three women impatiently and playfully began to tickle him again. Exhausted, he surrendered to laughter--lighter this time--instantly. The sister was having fun tickling his toes to make them clench and unclench. The daughter not holding his arms down giggled as she ran her nails all over his wriggling sides.
Chris closed his eyes and laughed, "Hehhehheh! C'mon, hehhehheh, please stahahappit!"
Feeling the cash between her breasts, Malka sighed and thought, "We made out pretty well. Nearly $900. I took this dork for all he had, and it was so much fun and so easy! But, we've got to get rid of him, and make sure that he doesn't tell anyone."
She pulled out the crystal pendant hanging next to the bills, under her blouse and between her breasts. As her sister and daughters gently kept him in helpless hilarity, she grabbed his chin and intoned, "Open your eyes!"
When he did, she twirled the pendant before his eyes, filling them with the light flashing from the crystal. "Mine is the only voice you hear now. Only mine. You are feeling sleepy...so very, very sleepy. You will hear my voice even in your sleep. Sleep...sleep..."
Chris fell asleep. His body relaxed completely. The three women reluctantly stopped tickling him and released him.
Malka continued, "When I tell you to awake, you will have forgotten EVERYTHING that happened in this room. EVERYTHING. You will forget seeing my sister and my daughters. You never met them. You never came into my parlor. We simply sat outside for a few minutes, and I read only your palm, and helped you find your way."
She thought a moment and, taking a few bills out of her blouse, replaced them with the bank card in his wallet. He handed it to her sister to slip back into his pocket. After all, she thought, the poor dork needs to get home, and he shouldn't starve.
"You spent almost all of your money before you ever saw me. You only gave me $5 for an introductory reading."
Thinking another moment, she smiled and whispered more words into his ear. He muttered a phone number and an address.
She grinned and murmurred, "Now, sleep...sleep..."
The four of them managed to sit his limp body up on the divan. Her daughters put his sneakers back on his feet, but not before playfully tickling his soles and toes just a little. He giggled lightly in his sleep.
She told him, "Stand up and walk to the front door." He did so. Her sister had unlocked the front door, and the daughters rolled up the metal gate. She told him,"Sit at the table." The other three women disappeared into the back room. She stepped outside and closed the door.
Then, she sat at the table opposite him and intoned, "Awake."
Chris opened his eyes and saw the palmist sitting before him. He gave a glance at her foot jiggling under the table, but kept himself from giving it another tickle.
He yawned and stretched. "God, I ache," he thought, "and I'm beat and hung over and I need mucho munchies." He asked the woman, "We done?" and stood up. He grinned at her. "What's in my future?"
She pointed past him, saying, "Walk five blocks, then right three more, and you'll see the subway."
He shook his head and muttered, "Ah, I guess that's worth $5. It WAS $5, right?" He pulled out his wallet, and was startled to find only a couple hundred dollars. "Oh, man! Who knows what the fuck I spent tonight?"
Malka rose and assured him, "You already paid me. Goodbye." She went inside and locked the door.
"What bullshit!" he muttered, and--still a bit unsteady, and on, for some reason, really tender feet--headed for the train.
******************************************************************************
A week later...
Chris was playing his guitar in his Williamsburg studio apartment when his phone rang.
He didn't recognize the number, but said, "Hell-o!"
A woman's voice intoned, "I am tickling your feet."
Chris blurted, "Wha--?" He instantly felt long fingernails stroking his soles and his toes. He dropped the phone and fell back onto his sofa, laughing helplessly.
"NOOOOOOO! STOP! STAHAHAHAHAHEEHEEHEEHAHAHAHAAAAP! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAAA!"
He stamped his feet on the hardwood floor and rubbed one foot on another. But, nothing seemed to stop the terrible tickling sensations under his feet. The nails tickled and tickled, and he laughed and laughed.
"PLHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEEESE STAHAHAHAHAHAHHAPPIT! HAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAA!"
On the other end of the call, Malka had her phone on speaker in the TV room. She and her sister and her daughters giggled as they listened to Chris scream with laughter, begging for the tickling to stop.
After a few minutes, she intoned into the phone, "I stop. You will forget this call."
Chris sighed and picked up his guitar off the floor. "Geez, another fugue state. I gotta smoke better weed." Rubbing his bare feet together, he started playing a few licks.
Malka hung up and grinned at the others. "We'll wait a little while and call him again." She thought, "And, when we need more money, I'll pay him a little visit, and say the magic words. He'll be SO tickled to give it to me."
She chuckled and hit redial as the others laughed.
FIN
*No hipsters were actually harmed during the making of this story.
*And, no, I don't know where you can get one of those crystal pendants!
*It would help if you granted the author an unreasonable amount of artistic license.
COOCHIE COO CON
a tangled tale featuring a clueless guy mercilessly tickled by cunning women
by Tee Hee Lawrence
Chris was a Williamburg hipster...pushing thirty, compact, short wavy brown hair, granny specs, black tee, jeans and Converse All-Stars with no socks. After getting paid at work, he had gone pub crawling across Brooklyn. Now, it was very late and he was very drunk. And he was lost, stumbling through the quiet streets of a neighborhood that he didn't recognize. While he still had his wallet, somewhere along the way he had lost his phone.
He came upon a small commercial strip. All the shops were shuttered except for one storefront with its metal gate drooping partway down. In the window, in front of venetian blinds, was a small neon sign, with a purple hand, palm out, and, below it, the words, PSYCHIC ADVISOR, in blue. In front of the window was a small round wooden table and two folding chairs. A small candle in a red glass flickered weakly at the center of the table.
The door leading into the shop bore a poster of a glowing golden eye, and was ajar. He nudged it open and called inside. "Hell-o? Anybody there?"
Malka, a strikingly attractive, darkly complected, and full-figured older woman, with long black hair streaked with silver, peered through the thin opening and muttered, "Sorry, we're closed. Come back tomorrow." She started closing the door but he had wedged his foot in it.
"Look, I'm lost. Can you tell me where the fuck I am?"
"Take your foot away. I said we were closed." She pressed the door harder against his foot.
"OW! HEY! I'll buy whatever you're selling if you just tell me where I am and where the subway is."
Malka held the door firmly, but gave him a onceover. She could smell the alcohol wafting off of him. "I give psychic readings here. I can't help you." She put her slippered foot against his sneaker and tried to shove it out of the doorway.
"HEY! HOLD IT! 'Psychic readings?' You're a fortune teller?"
"If you say so. Now GO!" She put her shoulder to the door.
He remained stubborn. "Look, I want my fortune told. Give me a, hehheh, 'reading.' "
"It's late and--"
"Give me a quick reading. A cheap, quick reading. I'll pay you to tell me my future finding the nearest subway station."
She sighed and give him a weary look. "An introductory reading is $5."
"Fine! Great!" He pulled his wallet out of his front right pocket and fumbled a $5 bill out of it. Malka couldn't help but notice that there was lots of cash still in it. "Here!" He shoved the bill in her hand raised upon the door. "Subway?"
Slipping the bill inside her peasant blouse, Malka thought to herself, "A stupid, drunken man...so VERY sure of himself. There may be SOME way that I can get more of that money out of him. I'll tease him with some 'revelation' and talk him into a longer, costlier reading."
She opened the door, stepped out, and motioned to the table. "Sit." She sat in the chair by the door, and he in the other. The flickering candle gave their faces a slightly red glow.
She pulled a boxed Tarot deck out of a drawer in the table. Her many rings flashing, she began to shuffle the cards. The numerous bracelets that she wore jangled. Below the table, the golden anklet on her raised right ankle jingled as her bare foot juggled her slipper upon her toes.
He looked on with exasperation as she patiently shuffled the cards. Noticing the glint of her anklet, he smiled loopily and, with a tipsy lurch, reached down and ran two fingertips along her exposed arch. "Kitchey-coo, hehheh!" he chuckled.
She tsked and moved her feet under her chair. "Do you want the reading or not?" Thinking of that wallet full of cash, she was being SO patient. But, if he touched her again like that, she'd slam the gate down and lock the door before this drunken ass knew it. She began to lay the cards out.
"Yeah," he muttered, "but can we skip all this card bullshit? Can't you just, like, look at my hand and tell me where the train is?"
She gave him a solicitous smile, revealing flashes of gold teeth. "SO impatient! These might be the most important moments for determining the rest of your life." She took his left hand firmly with her right and studied his palm for a moment. "The best course for you is all written here."
"Hehheh," he snorted, "like you can see ANYTHING in this light. It's all nonsense! C'mon, lady! Train?"
She flashed him an expectant smile. "Then, you don't want me to tell you about your good fortune, with success and riches and love all very near if you follow the right path?" She ran the long nail of her forefinger along his palm, and he nearly pulled his hand out of hers. "VERY interesting," she intoned.
"It IS interesting," she thought. "I barely touched his palm, and he practically leaped away."
"Ah, shit!" he spat."What do you see?"
She gave him a sly smile. "Ahhh! The things that I see..." She stroked his palm again, this time with five long nails, and now he did jerk his hand from her firm grasp.
"DAMN! Those nails!" he snapped. "Do you have to do THAT? Can't you just LOOK and give me the fortune?"
Malka thought, "This dork is ticklish! And, if he's THIS ticklish on the palm of his hand, how ticklish must he be in other places?"
She glanced him over, up and down. Her eyes settled on his sneakered feet, and, smiling to herself, she began forming a plan to fleece this silly man. He clearly had been hooked by her hinting at a rich fortune.
She quickly took his palm again and held it firmly as she tickled it with her nails, feigning careful study. "You're really interested? I thought you said it was nonsense."
"Heh! It IS nonsense! But, since I PAID you for it, heh, I STILL want to know. Hehheh. And STOP, hehheh, with the nails!"
She still stroked his palm teasingly. "Why should I tell you? You're laughing at me."
"I'm laughing, hehheh, 'cause you're tickling!" He pulled his hand free. "Now, tell me what you saw!"
Malka thrilled at his eagerness. All she needed to do was reel him in, and get him into a position where he'd practically hand over all that money. She was weaving a web as she spoke.
"Sometimes, reading someone's palm isn't enough. The lines there withhold the full story of your future. One has to read the lines in another place to make the future clear."
"Huh?"
"In your case, I saw that the palms of your hands possess lines which hint tamtalizingly at a rich future for you. The REAL truth can be determined only by reading the lines upon the soles of your feet as well."
She couldn't believe that she was saying this nonsense. But, she could see that, nonetheless, he was drunkenly considering her words.
"You want to read my feet?"
"If you want the complete truth about your future, I must." She gave him her most radiant smile.
He blearily smiled back. "And this will cost me how much more?"
"Whatever you wish. I think that you will find my close reading of your feet VERY persuasive."
He muttered, "Jeez, I just wanted to know how to get home." He started to put his legs upon the table.
"Oh, no, dear! We can't do this HERE." she assured him. "If I'm to read your feet, we'll need more light. Let's go inside. You'll be more comfortable there." She motioned him through the door.
"OK, OK," he sighed. "Anything to get this over with so I can go the fuck home!" He weaved a bit as he walked in. She quickly lowered the heavy metal gate and locked the front door. She winked at him and said, "You're my LAST customer."
The front room had another small table, with a Tarot deck upon it, and two chairs. Down a corridor to the back, he could see a far room with a television on. He started to sit at the table.
"No," she said. "You'll be more comfortable in the private salon." She motioned him to the first door down the corridor. Another older woman and two younger ones emerged from the back room.
"My sister and my daughters. They won't bother us."
She said something to the women in a language he couldn't make out. The sister was a little younger, he figured, but plainer and a little smaller. The baby-faced, bespectacled daughters, with dark complexions matching their mom's and long, raven hair, and wearing CUNY sweatshirts, were college students in their early 20's, he guessed. It was a shame, he mused, that he couldn't get this bullshit reading from them. They returned with their aunt to the tv room.
Chris followed the mother into a red carpeted room with matching table, chairs, and cushioned divan. He hoped she'd tell him what she saw. If she didn't, he could tickle her again 'til she did, he thought, leering at her slippered feet.
Malka turned on a bright lamp at one end of the divan. She was thinking on her feet. Where to put this dork? And how to keep him here until she got every one of those bills in his wallet?
"Uh, please take off your, ah, shoes."
She watched as he sat on the divan, unlaced his sneakers and slipped his pale bare feet out of them. Seeing the pool of light on the cushion next to him, she had a bright idea.
"OK. Now stretch out face down on these nice comfy cushions and put your feet here under this bright light."
He shook his head and gave her a look as if she were crazy, but did exactly as she wished. Before he knew what was happening, she sat on the divan so her strong legs pinned his calves.
Peering back as best he could, he cried, "Hey! Get off! I can't move."
"I know, dear," she assured him, patting his thighs. "I'm just helping you to keep your feet still, so I can give you a good reading. Sitting here, I have them right where I want them."
"Huh?"
Malka's nose wrinkled. His feet were a little stinky fresh out of his sneakers. She reached for a handy tube of scented hand lotion (which she kept here for palm readings), squirted some in her hands, and then began rubbing it into his bare feet. He bucked.
"YEOW! That's COLD! What th--?"
"Just preparing your soles for the reading, sir." She took her time rubbing the lotion into his wrinkled soles and toes.
Swallowing chuckles--for it tickled--he cried, "Will you, heh, get ON with it?"
She sniffed again and was satisfied that his feet were fresher. She smiled. His soles were nice and soft. It had been obvious he had barely kept his laughter in as she rubbed his now even MORE tender feet. She chuckled and thought, "Hehheh! This WILL be fun. This dork doesn't know what he's in for!"
She announced, "Now, then, what have we here?" She ran the nail of a forefinger along each of his soles. His feet jerked.
"HEY!"
"Oooh, you have VERY tender feet for a man," she crooned, all innocence, repeating the tickle.
"HEY! Do you REALLY have to touch me? Just read my fortune!"
"If you want an accurate reading, I must trace these faint lines. Like these here." She held his right foot and dragged the nail of her forefinger with fiendish lightness along the wrinkles running from the ball of his foot to his heel. Both of his feet jerked and his toes curled.
"Hehhehheh. WAIT!"
"And here." She fluttered two fingernails upon his instep.
"Hahaha! DON'T!"
"And along here." She dragged all five nails across his sole just above his heel.
"Hehhehhehheh! OK! Hehhehheh! OK! That's ENOUGH!"
"Mmmm! I think that you have very sensitive feet. VERY sensitive. They tell me SO much about you."
What they told Malka was how marvelously ticklish he was. Before she was through with him, she'd have every dollar he had.
"Look! WHAT do they say?" He craned his neck with exasperation.
"They tell me that..."--She fluttered her nails upon his arches.--"...you're VERY TICKLISH! So CUTE in a man."
"Nohohono, I'm nahahahahahahaht! Hehheehehheehehhee! Stop! Stop it! HAHAHAHAHAAAA!"
She abandoned any pretense of accidentally teasing his tender soles while reading them. Chuckling, she used all ten long nails to viciously tickle them.
"Oh, but there are SOOO many lines to trace on your feet." She maliciously stroked all over his quivering soles with her long nails. His feet danced. His legs jerked beneath hers. His toes spasmed desperately.
"Ahhahaheehahaheeheehaaaaaaaaa! Leheheheheggo! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAAAA!"
"Oh, don't you want me to read your VERY ticklish feet, hmmm? Don't you want to know your future?"
"Ahhaheeheehahaha! NO! Hahaheeheehahaheehaha! STOP! AHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAAAA!"
"THIS is your future!" She dug her nails between his toes. "Tickletickletickletickle! Hehhehheh!"
"HAHAHAHEEHEEHEEHAHAHAAAAA! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHP! HEEEEHEHEHHEHELLLPPP!"
He was going nuts, screaming with laughter. The combination of too much to drink, her nails, her teasing, and the plain, highly embarrassing fact that the soles of his feet were really, really ticklish was making him helpless with laughter. He didn't have the strength either to buck her off or to reach back and yank her off. He was lucky that his wallet was under him, in his front right pocket, or she would, in his hilarious state, easily steal it--and the rest of two week's pay--from him.
"Scream all you like. NO one will hear you. The heavy front gate is down. The two shops on either side of us are closed. The apartment above is ours. So, no one will hear you OR help you, ticklish man."
"Stahahahahp tihihihihckling me, you BITCH!"
"Such a dirty mouth! I won't stop until you PAY! Tickle your feet, tickle your feet!"
"NOOOO! STAHAHP! STAHAHPPIT! GETHEHHEHT OFF!"
The door opened and her sister and daughters came into the room, wide eyed with astonishment. They all grinned when they realized what was happening.
Her sister stood before the divan with her hands on her hips. "Hehhehheh! Malka, WHAT are you DOING?" she asked, loudly over the man's laughter.
Malka winked at her and said, "I'm reading this customer's feet." She continued stroking his soles with her nails.
Chris was helpless with laughter. "Stahahahahahahap!"
"Hehheh. Reading his FEET?"
"He wanted a reading. I'm giving him one." Malka turned to Chris. "Isn't that right, ticklish man? You asked for it." She dug her nails into his tender soles just before his heels. Chris barked with laughter.
"Hehheh! Need any help, hehheh?" her sister giggled.
"We want to help, too!" her daughters cried, practically simultaneously.
Malka directed her sister. "Run your nails along his feet and between his toes like this." She demonstrated her wicked tickling. "Go on!"
Her sister giggled and knelt by the man's feet. She touched his soles at first tentatively, but quickly and eagerly tickled him harder when she heard him scream with laughter.
"NOOOOSTAHAHAHAHAHAPAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA!"
"Ooooo! He's SO ticklish! Hehhehheh."
"Keep tickling his feet," she told her sister.
She told Chris, "Now, until you pay me, silly man, I'm free to tickle you in other places." She grabbed his sides and squeezed, her nails poking his ribs.
He bucked and howled anew and tried to reach back to push her away, but she managed to keep him trapped under her legs. Her nails raked his sides mercilessly.
Her daughters were hopping by the divan. "Let us help!" "Yes, let us!"
Bouncing on the hilarious dork as she tickled him, Malka gestured with her chin. "Don't just stand there, dummies! Grab his arms and pull them!"
Giggling, the two younger women each grabbed one of his arms and stretched it out over the arm of the divan. Helpless with laughter, he offered little resistence. The prolonged tickling was leaving him weak.
Malka insisted, "Well, tickle HIM!"
Exchanging gleeful looks, the daughters spidered their fingernails upon Chris' exposed armpits.
He screamed, "SHIIIIT! HAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAA!" With desperation came a burst of strength. His body writhed on the divan, as he tried to evade the fiendish fingers of his tickling tormentors.
In his fierce struggling, he twisted his torso so the pocket with his wallet was briefly exposed. Malka's eyes lit up and she tickled his hips, so he'd expose the pocket again. Still tickling with one hand, she reached for the wallet with the other, and yanked it out of his pocket.
"NOOOOOHOHOHOOOOOO! GIVE THAHAT BAHHAHACK! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Chortling, Malka was eagerly going through his wallet, delighted by all the cash. She counted it gleefully as he laughed and laughed. She folded it and stuffed it under her blouse between her breasts. Returning to the wallet, she came upon his bank card.
"STOP!" she cried. "STOP!" The other women reluctantly stopped tickling the man. Malka rose from the divan and her sister immediately took her place pinning his legs
Chris could barely catch his breath. His throat was sore and his tummy hurt from all his screaming laughter. His whole body ached from his hapless struggles against these cruel women. His feet still tingled terribly from their ordeal.
"Oh, God...Oh, God...please...please...no more...no more...please...!"
Kneeling before him, she peered into his red, sweaty face and smiled with mock solicitude. She held the card in front of his eyes.
"Look what I found. This is SO great! There's a branch of this bank only a little walk from here. WE'RE going to visit the ATM. Tell us the PIN and you can go home!"
His breath still ragged, but some of his swagger--even in this position--returning, he insisted, "You must be joking! Give me THAT back. Where's my wallet? Where's my money?"
Malka intoned, "I'm not joking, but you REALLY want to laugh more, huh? Give us the PIN or it's tickle time again!"
He visibly startled at her threat, shouting, "You bitches are nothing but THIEVES! I'll get the cops...THE POLICE! I'll see all you thieves on Rykers forever!"
Malka sneered at him. "So, go! GO to the Police! And tell them WHAT? That four little women TICKLED you? TICKLED your feet and TICKLED your toes, TICKLED your ribs and TICKLED your tummy, TICKLED your pits and TICKLED your belly button?" She poked his belly button for emphasis. "Stop THAT!" he cried.
With a nod from her, her sister and her daughters delightedly resumed tickling him there and there and there, as he immediately and haplessly tumbled back into hysterical laughter, breathlessly begging them to stop. One daughter held both of his arms, while the other tickled his armpits and sides. Their aunt painstakingly scratched all over his soles with her nails.
Malka grinned as she tickled his neck with her long nails. She soon jumped up and eagerly knelt by his feet. As her sister shifted to tickling his sides, Malka relished running her long nails up and down his soles as he screamed with laughter and his toes clenched.
After a few minutes of this concerted torture, Malka shouted, "STOP!" She knelt again before his even redder face and asked, "Will you tell us? Or shall we kill you by tickling?"
"Look," he panted hoarsely, "the card's no good. I got no money in the bank."
Malka grabbed his hair and peered into his teary eyes. "Tell us the truth or we'll TICKLE you and we WON'T stop!" Her sister giggled and danced her fingers on his soles. Her daughters, holding tightly to his arms, quickly poked his armpits. He jerked and screamed, "HAHAHA! I AM! I AM! I was broke. Nothing in the bank and all my credit cards maxxed out. So stop! STOP!"
Malka sat on her heels for a moment, considering his desperate words. "He's probably lying," she thought, "and we certainly could tickle this dork until he gives us the PIN." As if they could hear her thoughts, the other three women impatiently and playfully began to tickle him again. Exhausted, he surrendered to laughter--lighter this time--instantly. The sister was having fun tickling his toes to make them clench and unclench. The daughter not holding his arms down giggled as she ran her nails all over his wriggling sides.
Chris closed his eyes and laughed, "Hehhehheh! C'mon, hehhehheh, please stahahappit!"
Feeling the cash between her breasts, Malka sighed and thought, "We made out pretty well. Nearly $900. I took this dork for all he had, and it was so much fun and so easy! But, we've got to get rid of him, and make sure that he doesn't tell anyone."
She pulled out the crystal pendant hanging next to the bills, under her blouse and between her breasts. As her sister and daughters gently kept him in helpless hilarity, she grabbed his chin and intoned, "Open your eyes!"
When he did, she twirled the pendant before his eyes, filling them with the light flashing from the crystal. "Mine is the only voice you hear now. Only mine. You are feeling sleepy...so very, very sleepy. You will hear my voice even in your sleep. Sleep...sleep..."
Chris fell asleep. His body relaxed completely. The three women reluctantly stopped tickling him and released him.
Malka continued, "When I tell you to awake, you will have forgotten EVERYTHING that happened in this room. EVERYTHING. You will forget seeing my sister and my daughters. You never met them. You never came into my parlor. We simply sat outside for a few minutes, and I read only your palm, and helped you find your way."
She thought a moment and, taking a few bills out of her blouse, replaced them with the bank card in his wallet. He handed it to her sister to slip back into his pocket. After all, she thought, the poor dork needs to get home, and he shouldn't starve.
"You spent almost all of your money before you ever saw me. You only gave me $5 for an introductory reading."
Thinking another moment, she smiled and whispered more words into his ear. He muttered a phone number and an address.
She grinned and murmurred, "Now, sleep...sleep..."
The four of them managed to sit his limp body up on the divan. Her daughters put his sneakers back on his feet, but not before playfully tickling his soles and toes just a little. He giggled lightly in his sleep.
She told him, "Stand up and walk to the front door." He did so. Her sister had unlocked the front door, and the daughters rolled up the metal gate. She told him,"Sit at the table." The other three women disappeared into the back room. She stepped outside and closed the door.
Then, she sat at the table opposite him and intoned, "Awake."
Chris opened his eyes and saw the palmist sitting before him. He gave a glance at her foot jiggling under the table, but kept himself from giving it another tickle.
He yawned and stretched. "God, I ache," he thought, "and I'm beat and hung over and I need mucho munchies." He asked the woman, "We done?" and stood up. He grinned at her. "What's in my future?"
She pointed past him, saying, "Walk five blocks, then right three more, and you'll see the subway."
He shook his head and muttered, "Ah, I guess that's worth $5. It WAS $5, right?" He pulled out his wallet, and was startled to find only a couple hundred dollars. "Oh, man! Who knows what the fuck I spent tonight?"
Malka rose and assured him, "You already paid me. Goodbye." She went inside and locked the door.
"What bullshit!" he muttered, and--still a bit unsteady, and on, for some reason, really tender feet--headed for the train.
******************************************************************************
A week later...
Chris was playing his guitar in his Williamsburg studio apartment when his phone rang.
He didn't recognize the number, but said, "Hell-o!"
A woman's voice intoned, "I am tickling your feet."
Chris blurted, "Wha--?" He instantly felt long fingernails stroking his soles and his toes. He dropped the phone and fell back onto his sofa, laughing helplessly.
"NOOOOOOO! STOP! STAHAHAHAHAHEEHEEHEEHAHAHAHAAAAP! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAAA!"
He stamped his feet on the hardwood floor and rubbed one foot on another. But, nothing seemed to stop the terrible tickling sensations under his feet. The nails tickled and tickled, and he laughed and laughed.
"PLHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEEESE STAHAHAHAHAHAHHAPPIT! HAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAA!"
On the other end of the call, Malka had her phone on speaker in the TV room. She and her sister and her daughters giggled as they listened to Chris scream with laughter, begging for the tickling to stop.
After a few minutes, she intoned into the phone, "I stop. You will forget this call."
Chris sighed and picked up his guitar off the floor. "Geez, another fugue state. I gotta smoke better weed." Rubbing his bare feet together, he started playing a few licks.
Malka hung up and grinned at the others. "We'll wait a little while and call him again." She thought, "And, when we need more money, I'll pay him a little visit, and say the magic words. He'll be SO tickled to give it to me."
She chuckled and hit redial as the others laughed.
FIN
*No hipsters were actually harmed during the making of this story.
*And, no, I don't know where you can get one of those crystal pendants!
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