The Zen of Tickling (m/f)

Caveat lector: As will rapidly become evident from the following story, what I know about Eastern philosophy and religion can be written on the back of a postage stamp. In Magic Marker. T'ain't my intention to insult or mock any students or practitioners of Zen or similar disciplines. Just accept this story in the spirit of amiable ignorance in which it was written, please. Thenk yew.

SAY, CHIEF: DIS HERE STORY'S GOT SEXY TICKLIN' IN IT, SEE? IT AIN'T FOR NO KIDS WHAT ARE UNDER 18, HUH? IF YOUSE IS A KID, DEN YOUSE HADN'T OUGHTA BE HERE. SCRAM, AWREDDY!

The Zen of Tickling

Molly Moran had tried it all. Crystals, macrobiotic dieting, past-life regression, future-life progression, t'ai chi, sweat lodges, several different flavors of astrology, just as many of Tarot cards, herbalism, homeopathy, and plain old psychotherapy. But she was still unhappy and dissatisfied, and her acting career was still going nowhere. Sure she got a part now and then, for a commercial or a guest-starring role, but they never led anywhere. Molly was sure she was a good actress, and she was cute enough -- 5' 4", black-haired and blue-eyed, in fine aerobicized shape, and a nice little snub nose -- but when it came to the big parts, the directors didn't want cute, they wanted devastating. And Molly would never devastate.
Still, she persevered, going to round after round of casting calls, trying for every part possible, getting beaten out most of the time. It was at one such call that she met Jill.
Jill was the kind of California blonde that everyone knows is really manufactured in a top-secret factory just south of Sonoma -- no real woman can possibly be that blond, that buff, that tan. Molly despised her on first sight, but they fell to talking while they waited to be called on, and Jill turned out to be nice enough that Molly was willing to forgive her appearance. Naturally enough, they wound up comparing the belief systems they'd passed through, what worked and what didn't. Finally, Jill said, "I've just finished a course of study with Master Tsai, and it did me so much good. You should try him."
"Who?" asked Molly.
"He's a sort of Zen teacher. He cleanses your body, lets you disengage yourself from the physical, separate your soul from what's holding you back."
"Yeah? What do you do, meditate and stuff?"
Jill grinned. "Not really. This might sound kinda weird ... but he does it with tickling."
Cold chills went up Molly's spine. And several other body parts. "No thanks. I'd be ready for the loony bin after one session."
"I'm pretty ticklish myself," said Jill, "but it was more fun than I thought. And it really did help me. I feel freer, stronger, more confident."
"No way," Molly said firmly.
"Suit yourself."
Jill got the part. Molly didn't.

"So ... you seek enlightenment?" Master Tsai was younger than Molly'd expected, not much older than her. His shaven head was turning stubbly, and his saffron robe needed a trip to the cleaners. His voice, though, was deep and solemn, with the hint of an exotic accent. The front room of his little Temple of Transcendental Sensation was completely bare. "I can provide that, daughter, if you are willing to accept my teachings."
Molly gripped her handbag strap nervously. "Um ... you mean ... let you tickle me?"
"'Tickling' is a trivial, Western term," said the master dismissively. "What I do is a process that cannot be summed up in one word. Yes, it does 'tickle,' but there is no enlightenment without work."
"So, uh ... what do we do?"
"Follow me." Master Tsai led her through a beaded curtain into the back. The room was dimly lit by three braziers that gave off a faint incense smell. At the far side of the room was a large statue of Buddha, but rather than looking serene and peaceful, this Buddha's features were contorted in laughter. But Molly's attention was fixed on the large block of stone in the center of the room, atop which lay a futon cushion. Four cords on the futon were connected to four rings carved into the corners of the block.
"I ... I go on that?"
"Yes. If you will just remove your clothing ... "
"WHAT?" Molly turned, ready to walk out.
"It is necessary. By restraining your body and removing your coverings, we incapacitate the physical and allow your aura its full range of movement. You may retain your underclothes if you wish. I have no desire to molest you. I left such things behind me long ago."
Molly stared at him for a long moment. He _sounded_ sincere. And right now, she was desperate enough to try anything. With a silent sigh, she set aside her handbag and began undressing, wishing she'd known beforehand so she could have worn something more modest than the blue lace. But Master Tsai really did seem unmoved by her partial nudity, only folding her clothes carefully and setting them aside before motioning her to lie down. Molly settled onto the block, shifting nervously as Master Tsai began to tie her right wrist. The futon was more comfortable than it looked, but Molly was still stiff with nervousness as Master Tsai tied one limb after another.
When she was completely spread-eagled, Master Tsai moved to stand at the foot of the block, bending down and picking up something, which he placed between Molly's bound ankles. Looking down, she could see that it was a Chinese writing set. "We must prepare the feet first of all," explained Master Tsai as he mixed the ink. "They represent the points of your attachment to the material world, and therefore require careful and thorough treatment. If this is done properly, it will aid you in concentrating in the work to come." He picked up the writing brush and dabbled it in the ink. "The first step involves the inscription of certain sacred characters on the area to be treated. You must remain absolutely still; even the slightest flaw in one of the character will mean that I must erase the whole thing and begin again."
Molly nodded nervously, then braced herself, tightening her muscles, screwing up her eyes, and trying to focus on her mantra from back in her TM days (couldn't hurt). Master Tsai took firm hold of her left foot and raised the ink-charged brush. "We begin."
For all Molly's determination, the first gliding stroke of the brush on her sole nearly undid her. Somehow, she managed to stop her convulsive twitch before it reached her feet, but she didn't have to open her eyes to know that Master Tsai was frowning at her. "You must relax, daughter. Allow the sensations to flow through you. They are of this world, transient, meaningless ... " He punctuated the lecture with a pair of quick brushstrokes along the arch of her foot, bringing a choked, giggly gasp from Molly. She gritted her teeth as the Zen master began to work in earnest, trying to hold back the mirthful shudders that racked her body, not daring to laugh out loud lest she break his concentration. The words "erase the whole thing and begin again" kept running through her mind as she desperately tried to let the ticklish feeling pass harmlessly through her, without much success. Brushstroke followed on brushstroke: it felt more like Master Tsai was painting an Impressionist masterpiece on her helpless foot than writing anything.
At last he said, "It is good." Molly slumped in relief as he let go -- and then his fingers encircled her right foot. "And now the other. This requires a very complex inscription. Remember, daughter, you must not allow this to affect you ... "
"B-but it t-tickles!" Molly moaned through tight lips.
"It tickles because you allow it to," said Master Tsai, brush working away relentlessly as he pulled her toes apart one by one to leave ink tracks on the hypersensitive skin inside. Molly's entire upper body writhed in agony, but by an effort of supreme will she held her legs motionless as rock. What was he writing down there, the entire teachings of the Buddha? Her stomach and ribs heaved with barely contained laughter.
After what seemed like thirty years, give or take a decade, Master Tsai laid aside his brush. "Well done, daughter. While the inscriptions dry, we will proceed with the cleansing of your other bodily parts." Molly slumped in her bonds, letting out a long groan of relief, which was abruptly broken off as Master Tsai moved up and lightly placed all ten fingertips on her rib cage.
"The ribs," Master Tsai explained, "protect the heart and lungs, as you may know. By manipulating them in the proper fashion, the breath and blood may be purified. The impurities will be forced from your body by laughter, there to dissipate in the atmosphere. Remember, daughter: though you laugh, you must not allow what you feel to dominate you." His fingers began to probe Molly's ribs slowly and rhythmically, squeezing wild gusts of laughter from the actress's body. "The demons of impurity resist by possessing your limbs," the Zen master said, looking gravely at the frantically squirming Molly. "But there is no escape for them." Indeed, his grip was firm and unyielding, moving only to shift to even more ticklish spots along her ribs.
"Please -- please -- " Molly gasped between bursts of mirth. "No more -- "
Master Tsai shook his head. "Your blood is very impure. It is so with most Americans. It will take extraordinary measures to cleanse it fully. Welcome the tickling, daughter, for it will bring you freedom from the merely physical." He started using both hands on the right side of her rib cage. Molly's entire body curved to the left, and she strained against her bonds as she -- or the demons of impurity -- struggled to escape the two-handed tickling. Abruptly, the master took hold of her left-side ribs with both hands, and her body snapped back in the opposite direction as she shrieked wildly. He switched sides again and again, without warning, while Molly's petite torso shimmied back and forth as if she were going for first prize in a belly-dance competition.
"Stoooopppp!" she screamed.
"Ah, the demons cry for mercy!" said Master Tsai, not abating the tickling a bit. "It shouldn't be long now." But he only finally released Molly's ribs when she had barely any breath, purified or not, left, and most of her purified blood had rushed to her face during her laughing fit.
"Are ... we ... done?" Molly panted desperately.
"Hardly. Your chakras require immediate attention." His hands glided up along her sensitive sides, stopping just short of her armpits.
"That's _yoga_!" Molly shouted, trying to wriggle off the top edge of the block but barely moving. "And the chakras are in the _spine_!"
"Trust the Indians to get it wrong," Master Tsai said contemptuously. "You must release your preconceived notions, daughter. Concentrate on the experience, separate yourself from it, analyze it ... " But Molly had stopped listening a few minutes ago, because the Master's hands had moved the final, fatal fraction of an inch, and he was now gently moving his fingers in the smooth hollows under her arms. His nails were longer than most men's, but not sharp, and the sensation of them scratching against the sensitive flesh was overwhelming.
"Hahahahahahaha -- aaah -- noo! I can't -- " she yelled. Master Tsai's frowning face loomed over her, distorted by a film of mirth-induced tears.
"You must focus! Face your ticklishness! Permit it to pass over you and through you! When it has gone past, turn the inner eye to see its path! Where the ticklishness has gone there will be nothing. Only you will remain." Mercifully, the fingers under her arms had slowed, though not stopped entirely. He was now using his index fingernails to slowly draw what felt like geometric patterns around the edges of her armpits, but even this gentle tickling was almost too much for Molly in her highly stimulated state. She couldn't stop the giggles from spilling out in an endless stream of "teeheeheeheehee ... ", much less focus on anything.
Finally, Master Tsai stopped and straightened up. "Your problem is obvious. You have a great store of energy"--though at the moment, Molly, sweat running off her in rivers, felt about as energetic as overdone linguini--"but no discipline. You squander it. I believe we may find the root of the difficulty in the organ of prodigality ... the stomach."
Horror flooded through Molly, but she steeled herself as the master moved to sit beside her once again. Discipline, she reminded herself as his quivering fingers descended with agonizing slowness toward her soft, shrinking tummy. Discipline. Don't let it get to you. Be flowing water, the uncarved block, let it pass throh god oh god I can't stand it I'm gonna burst not both hands please noooooooo no don't if he goes there I'm gonna ... "EEEEEEhahahahahahaha!" Master Tsai looked at her in disappointment as he tickled around her slim waist, but Molly, head thrown back and buttocks pounding a drumbeat on the futon, was too far gone to notice.
"This is very distressing," the master finally announced, his fingers stopping so she could pay attention to what he said. Molly, still giggling feebly even though the assault had ceased, sagged back limply. "With the preparation I gave you, you should have been able to absorb and reject the disagreeable sensations much more easily, even though you are still only a beginner in this system. Perhaps I did make an error in the initial inscriptions. I will verify them."
Molly only realized what he meant when he walked around to the bottom of the block and knelt in front of her feet. That was when she decided, to hell with discipline. Her screams bounced off the walls of the temple as he grabbed hold of one furiously kicking foot, and when he began to trace along the sole with the forefinger of his other hand, she howled and fought for all she was worth. Which was considerable: Molly was in good shape and strong for her size, even after what seemed like an eternity of being tickled to exhaustion. "Lehhhahahahaha -- let me -- go! No -- nooooo more! Co -- ohhh -- heeheeheeheehee -- come on! Enough!" But Master Tsai's response was only to begin scratching at the sole and caressing the toes with all the fingers of his free hand, driving Molly absolutely crazy with uncontrollable laughter. When he dropped the foot at last, he snatched up the other one and began working on it before Molly could get the first syllable of her protest out. He seemed to take even longer to "verify" this one, tracing around and around the outer edge of her foot and stopping again and again to swirl his fingers through the most ticklish spot in her arch, while she curled her foot in a futile attempt to protect herself and shouted laughter-stifled imprecations.
And then he let the foot go. Molly tensed, waiting for the new attack to come, and then sagged in relief as he began untying the ankle. She took stock: her whole body was thickly sheened with sweat, her sides and stomach ached as if she'd just done a hundred ab crunches, and her throat was nearly raw from laughing. A deep exhaustion had settled in her muscles. Might as well have run a marathon to relax.
"Do you not feel better?" asked Master Tsai as he uncoiled the rope.
"Sure," Molly snarled. "Like I've been hitting my head against a brick wall -- it feels so good to stop." She sat up, flinching away from the hand he offered to help her up.
"I regret that your initial session was so difficult, but -- "
"Initial session? You mean final session, pal. Find some other ticklebunny, 'cause you're not seeing me in here again," Molly said as she pulled on her skirt. "You're nothing but a fraud. Next time someone tells me about some weirdo cure or philosophy, I'm gonna think twice."
"You're right, actually." Master Tsai grinned at her, his Wise-Old-Scholar voice suddenly becoming a normal American accent. Molly, still half-dressed, turned to stare at him. "I was born in Oregon, and you probably know more about Buddhism than I do. I just do this because I like tickling people.
"On the other hand," he said, slipping back into his former voice, "it does occur to me that you sound a bit wiser than you were before you came to me. So maybe there's something to it after all, hmm?"
If looks could kill, "Master" Tsai would have become a fine red mist on the spot. Head high, Molly spun and stalked out of the temple. Tsai shrugged, smiling, and turned to smooth out the futon cover, humming to himself.