OldEnglish
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Apr 21, 2001
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Hey everyone,
Presenting... Episode 12!
This one kind of took off on its own in a way. I had an idea of what I wanted to write, and I was able to finish all of it in about a day. I enjoyed writing this one; I believe it is actually the longest episode to date. It's admittedly a little light on hardcore tickling, but it presents itself as a more realistic scenario --- in my mind at least. I'm curious how you guys feel.
This episode does not contain Nicki or Katy, and features Amber with a newly introduced character. I'm trying to make sure everyone "has something to do" so the series doesn't become stale.
As always, feedback is appreciated!
Happy reading,
OldEnglish
Katy & Amber - Episode 1: The Discovery (f/f, nylons)
Katy & Amber - Episode 2: Later That Evening (f/f, nylons)
Katy & Amber featuring Nicki - Episode 3: The After Party (ff/f, nylons)
Katy & Amber featuring Nicki - Episode 4: Tickle-Text Messaging (f/f tickle talk)
Katy & Amber featuring Nicki - Episode 5: Netflix & Pizza (f/f, nylons)
Katy & Amber - Episode 6: The Blanket Burrito (f/f, nylons)
Katy & Amber featuring Nicki - Episode 7: Two for the Price of One (f/ff, nylons)
Katy & Amber featuring Nicki - Episode 8: Origins & Destinies (f/f, nylons)
Katy & Amber featuring Nicki - Episode 9: The Show at the Movies: The First Challenge (f/f, nylons)
Katy & Amber featuring Nicki - Episode 10: Do Not Do Unto Others (f/f, ff/f, nylons)
Katy & Amber - Episode 11: A Different Kind of Tickle Fight (f/f, nylons)
Katy & Amber - Episode 12: The Lecture That Went Unheard (f/f, nylons)
Amber scurried down the hallway towards the lecture hall, the site of her next class. She hated being late for anything, but she especially hated being late for this lecture. She had considered herself fortunate that she was able to enroll in the lecture at all, for despite the professor’s reputation as a bit of a martinet, the class was always one of the first to fill up, and usually with a number of students on the waitlist, as well.
When Amber entered the room, she saw that her premonitions were correct; the lecture hall appeared to be packed, save for the last couple of rows at the very top of the stadium-style seating. Usually, most students would gravitate toward the back row, but this was no ordinary lecture; the professor demanded complete attention from his pupils and was known to kick out of class anyone who was either not paying attention or being distracting in any way, and he usually focused his attention on the back rows of the class to find the culprits. It was well-known that he associated the back rows of class with troublemakers; many a student had taken the walk of shame out the door from the top rows after being beckoned by the professor's pointing finger, never to be seen in the class again. It was a fate no one wanted to endure.
And yet, here was Amber, with no other option; sure, there was an empty seat or two in the middle of some aisles, but they would all require her walking over students to reach the seat, an act far too distracting to pass muster with the professor. No, the safest path, Amber decided, was to walk to the top rows and remain on her best behavior.
As expected, the top rows were sparsely populated, with only a handful of students occupying seats, none of whom were near Amber, who had settled into a seat in the second-to-last row, hoping that that would be enough to keep her out of the professor’s cross-hairs.
Amber settled in her seat, a couple of seats in from the aisle and a couple of seats away from anyone even in the third-to-last row, either. Those few souls who were resigned to sit in the back rows generally tried to keep some distance between themselves so as to appear more like isolated individuals than a group of students looking to chitchat or cause other mischief. After pulling out her textbook and her notebook, Amber placed her purse and school bag on the empty chair to her right and got as comfortable as she could in the chair, crossing her right leg over her left in the process and trying to present herself as the most serious type of student she could in case the professor’s eyes found her.
There were still about three or four minutes until the lecture officially started, and consistent with his penchant for quirks, the professor was known to enter the classroom only at the precise moment the class started, never a minute earlier or later. Amber checked her phone for the time and to check to see if she had any messages; she knew she’d have to put that phone away before the professor arrived.
Her phone safely in her purse, Amber took a moment to look herself over. After all, she had almost been late to class because she had spent some extra time getting herself ready this morning. Her suggestion that neither she nor Katy wear socks around each other had been met with approval, and neither girl had donned socks in the two days since their last fun. Today, though, Amber felt a bit mischievous and wanted to play the role of tease a bit to Katy. Nothing extreme, of course… She wasn’t trying to cross a line by any means. But it was pretty clear that both girls were well in-tune with the other’s footwear each day, nearly salivating in anticipation of the other girl finally removing her boots to reveal the nylons underneath. Katy wanted to change things up a bit today, though; why wear big clunky boots that hide your feet - and the nylons - when you could wear a cute pair of flats that highlight both? And that was exactly what Amber had done today, searching throughout her closet until she found a simple but cute pair of black flats that she wore over her suntan nylons. Amber had chosen skinny jeans to pair with them today; it was true that she often wore skinny jeans, but today she had chosen a pair that clung especially close to her ankle, all part of the play to make it as obvious as possible to Katy that she had nylons on. She rounded her outfit off with a white camisole top under a blue-ish plaid colored button-down top.
Amber knew that it was highly likely that Katy would, at some point, attempt to tickle her because of the outfit that she had chosen to wear today; again, it wasn’t flashy by any means, but it would certainly be flashy to Katy. It was a calculated risk, of course; although Amber could not wait to see the look on Katy’s face when Katy realized how vulnerable Amber was in those flats, she knew she’d have to be on her toes to strike just before it looked like Katy might strike her.
Amber’s inner monologue and all other conversations in the room ended the moment the clock struck 10 a.m. and the professor walked in. Wearing his usual three-piece suit and carrying his leather briefcase, the man oozed professionalism from every pore of his body. Indeed, Amber had likened his appearance to that of Professor Crawford in the Sean Connery flick “Finding Forrester”, often amusing herself during boring parts of the lecture by imagining the professor yelling “Punch the keys, God damn it!” to someone in class. After performing his trademark throat clearing, the professor launched into his lecture, and the students’ hands all began writing notes at a furious pace, a pace that was likely to remain constant throughout the two and half hour lecture.
Amber was never one to able to hold her attention all that long, of course. It wasn’t that she didn’t find the topic interesting; indeed, she was one of the first to sign up for this class despite the professor’s reputation. Amber was just someone who always seemed to be fidgeting in some way: twirling her hair with a finger, tapping the desk with her fingernails, lightly bobbing her head to the beat of a tune playing inside her mind. Today was no different, of course, as within five minutes of the lecture beginning, Amber had already subconsciously begun dangling the flat off of her right foot that swung by her left shin as she crossed her legs. Indeed, Amber did this often, usually subconsciously, and the shoes that she wore today were perfect for such an activity. Though she loved these shoes - she actually owned two pairs that she wore whenever the situation dictated - there was no denying that she would have been better served had she purchased a pair a half-size smaller, if not more. They didn’t necessarily fall off of her foot, as the saying goes, but the mere action of crossing her right leg over her left leg had resulted in the heel of her right foot popping out of the flat as it hung in the air. Maybe that was why Amber loved them as much as she did; they were indeed the perfect shoe to play with under the table. Of course, the nylons eliminated any friction that may have existed between the shoe and Amber’s foot, which only made the shoeplay all the easier.
The lecture continued for a while, as Amber and the rest of the students busily tried to keep up the professor’s pace in writing their notes. The ferocity with which Amber wrote her notes was matched only by the tempo at which her right foot bobbed up and down as it dangled her flat off her toes. Quite experienced at this, Amber never once dropped her shoe, always knowing just how far the shoe could dangle off of her big toe before falling off and making sure to enlist the aid of her other toes to pull the flat back on should it reach that point.
“Class, now we’re going to have a rare treat,” said the professor, turning his back to the chalkboard for once as he pressed the button to lower the projection screen. As the screen lowered, the professor noted that the class would now watch an hour-long video he had created that outlined the facts he had just gone over.
“As I spent a lot of time on this video,” the professor began, pushing his glasses up closer to his forehead as he spoke, “I expect nothing but your complete attention,” he ordered, emphasizing the word ‘complete’ as he spoke. “I will not put up with any distracting behavior.”
Her hand thankful to have a break from taking notes, Amber readjusted in her seat, getting herself in what she thought to be a comfortable position for the next hour. She started by bringing the chair’s table across so that it covered the front of her in its entirety. It was a little snug, but she was certain that she would need to rest her head on her hands at more than one point during this movie; the professor, while very knowledgeable, wasn’t necessarily the most interesting, and his monotone voice in the video coupled with the lights being off in the room would surely lull one to want to rest. Next, after pulling her flat back fully on her foot, Amber repositioned herself, tucking both of her legs off to her side so that her feet tucked behind her butt in the chair. It would have been a tight fit, but fortunately for Amber, she had selected one of the chairs in the lecture hall that had a hole cut out of it in the back, right where your behind met your back, so Amber was able to slot her feet into that opening to give herself a little more wiggle room. The operative word there was ‘little’, though, because combining the table top and her sitting position, Amber was effectively wedged into place for the next hour as the video began, for there was very little room for movement.
“Please make yourselves comfortable for the next hour,” said the professor, “for I do not expect there to be any interruptions.” A few students got up and moved seats to have better views as the professor went to shut the lights off. As he did, Amber heard someone walk into the last row behind her, taking a seat in what seemed to be the chair directly behind Amber.
‘Probably wants to take a nap without being noticed,’ thought Amber of the person behind her, though she was unable to make out the identity of the person both because of the darkness of the room and because the restrictive nature of her chair made it so that she couldn’t turn around. ‘Can’t say I blame them.’
As expected, the video presentation offered plenty of insight, but very little in the way of entertainment - just as the professor had designed. Within about five minutes, Amber again found herself fidgeting in the chair, restricted as she was. In short order, one of Amber’s flats found itself popping off of her heel as it poked out through the hole in the back of the chair. Truth be told, this wasn’t even Amber doing it subconsciously; rather, Amber had merely flexed her foot a tiny bit, but in doing so, the combination of the shoe being slightly too large and the nylons providing absolutely no friction whatsoever allowed Amber’s heel to pop out of the flats. This wasn’t a full dangle as Amber had been doing earlier, but it was certainly enough to satisfy Amber’s fidgeting need; flexing her foot back and forth allowed for her heel to pop in and out of the flat, the nylons allowing it to occur without any friction.
After about a minute or so, Amber searched for another avenue to satisfy her need to fidget and, unable to do much, found that turning the act of dangling her shoes into a game would suffice. Though she still wasn’t able to dangle the flat fully off of her toes - or rather, she wouldn’t be able to put the flat back on had she done that - Amber began popping her heel out of her flat and seeing how far down she could slide her shoe without it coming off. She did this over and over again as the professor’s video played on in front of her.
Shortly, Amber found the limits to which she could comfortably dangle the flat off of her foot, leaving it there for some time before sliding her foot back in only to begin the process again. Amber flexed her foot, letting the flat slide down further than she had before, a small smile forming on her face as she had bested her personal record. Her heel was completely out of the flat, the back of the flat now closer to her arch than her heel as her toes gripped the flat to ensure it stayed on. Amber’s flat dangled precariously in the air behind her as Amber continued to watch the movie.
It was during this moment, though, that something brushed up against Amber’s ankle. It wasn’t anything big. Instead, it was more of a light touch, maybe something on the coat or backpack of the person sitting behind her brushing up against Amber’s ankle. Whatever it was, though, caught Amber by surprise. The light touch on her ankle through the nylons was enough to elicit a surprise tickle response from Amber, who jumped a bit in her seat. In jumping, though, Amber’s toes lost their grip on the flat that had been dangling, and the shoe fell to the floor behind her.
Amber tried to turn around in her seat to pick up her shoe, but the table and the fact that her feet were wedged into that hole restricted any sort of movement. On top of that, her chair squeaked as she turned from side to side, a fact that might not have mattered that much, but in this class…
“Let’s have less fidgeting in the back, please,” warned the professor as he looked up to the top rows. The soft glow from the presentation allowed Amber to see the professor to some degree, but that the lights were off meant that the professor couldn’t tell that it was Amber who was making the noise, though he certainly had an idea of where the noise was coming from and Amber and whoever was sitting behind her were the only ones in the area.
‘It’s not worth it,’ thought Amber to herself of the risk involved in trying to retrieve her shoe. Sure, she was a bit embarrassed to not have a shoe on one of her feet, but the room was dark and there really was only one person who would even notice that she didn’t have a shoe on, so Amber decided to wait until the movie was over and people were again allowed to adjust their seats to retrieve her shoe.
That plan was one with seemingly no flaws, as the professor had again turned his attention to the presentation and everyone else was either following along with the presentation or quietly drifting off. ‘This’ll be fine,’ thought Amber to herself.
No sooner had she completed that thought in her mind then she felt that same material brush up against her ankle one more time. Again, caught completely off-guard by it and defenseless in nylons, Amber jumped in ticklish surprise, catching herself before yelping out. Again, the material brushed against Amber’s ankle, and though her guard was now up, it was not enough to combat the ticklish feeling of whatever was brushing up against her ankle, and Amber fidgeted in the seat trying to avoid whatever it was that was doing this.
‘Christ, what IS that?’ Amber thought to herself, running through a mental Rolodex of possibilities: a feather hanging from someone’s backpack? someone’s hair as they bent down?
After a few short seconds, the feeling returned again, causing Amber to once again jump in her chair as much as the table allowed. It was never a prolonged feeling; rather, whatever the item was seemed to be simply brushing up against Amber’s ankle as it made its journey wherever it was going.
‘This HAS to stop,’ Amber worried in her mind, unsure of what it was that was brushing her ankle or why it seemed to be doing so repeatedly. ‘If I could only just not be ticklish for one moment in life,’ Amber cursed herself, quickly eliminating the thought when she realized how much would have been removed from the last few days were she not ticklish. ‘OK,’ Amber thought, conceding to her own self in her internal debate. ‘I just don’t need to be THIS ticklish,’ thought she knew full well that the nylons were doing her no favors at the present time.
The feeling returned one more time, again landing on the same spot on Amber’s ankle that the previous instances had hit. Amber was in a bind. Whatever it was did not seem to be stopping. It certainly seemed like something inconsequential; again, maybe a feather on someone’s backpack or even a shoelace from someone’s shoe as they crossed their legs… But whatever it was was proving to have too ticklish a touch for Amber to sit idly by, and she began pulling a piece of paper from her notebook, pausing initially as the sound of the paper tearing had drawn the professor’s attention before slowly - and quietly - pulling out the paper.
Amber wrote a few words on the paper and began folding it up. ‘I haven’t passed a note in school since middle school,’ she thought to herself, as she placed the note in her right hand, inconspicuously lowering her right hand so that it hung behind her chair and went as close as it could anatomically to the person sitting behind her, who took the note on cue.
“Could you please help me?” the note asked. “I dropped my shoe and I can’t really move around enough to see where it is without the prof seeing me.”
It was a short note and to the point. Amber had chosen her words carefully. Yes, the only reason that she so desperately needed her shoe back was to block whatever it was that was brushing against her ankle from tickling - though the design of the flat likely meant that Amber’s ankle wouldn’t be protected anyways. But that was something Amber clearly wasn’t about to admit to a total stranger. Wanting your shoe back in a public setting seemed natural. Telling a total stranger that something was tickling your foot did not.
Not to mention that Amber was loathing to have someone else know she was ticklish. Sure, she had enjoyed the events over the last few weeks with Katy and Nicki - possibly even a little too much. But that was different. She had been friends with Katy for some time and the girls knew each other and felt comfortable with each other, and though she had known Nicki less, it was clear that Nicki was made of the same cloth as Katy and Amber. It didn’t matter to Amber that Katy and Nicki knew she was ticklish. In fact, she sort of liked that they knew she was ticklish. But anyone else? Especially a total stranger? This was not something Amber was willing to admit to.
Amber heard some quiet rustling behind her - fortunately for both, the professor did not - as the still unidentified person behind presumably searched for Amber’s flat. After a moment or so, Amber felt the corner of the note paper lightly poking her shoulder, the person behind her returning her note to her.
‘Sorry,” the note began. ‘It’s too dark to see where it landed.’
This was NOT the response that Amber was hoping for. ‘How could the person not find the shoe?’ thought Amber to herself. ‘It’s dark but not THAT dark.’ At least Amber now at last had somewhat of a clue who was sitting behind her now. Though she still had no idea who it actually was, Amber was certain that the handwriting on the note could only reasonably come from another girl, a fact that provided Amber with some degree of comfort. For some reason, Amber felt relieved that it was another female and not a male that was behind her as she sat in such a restricted position.
Still, though, it did nothing to return her shoe, and the light touch brushing up against her ankle returned yet again. No matter how many times it happened or how ready for it Amber thought she was, she simply could not block out the ticklish feeling it produced. Now with no chance of retrieving her shoe and still about fifty minutes left in this presentation, Amber had to change tactics, and she added to the note.
‘This’ll sound weird but something keeps brushing up against my foot back there. Do you see what it is? Could you move whatever it is so it doesn’t keep happening?”
Amber passed the note back to the girl behind her. She had gone back and forth on how to word the note. She didn’t want to come off as rude in demanding that the person stop whatever she was doing, but… the person had to stop whatever she was doing. In short order, both the note and the tickly feeling returned.
‘Really? Sorry,’ the note read. I don’t see anything doing it. I’ll keep a look-out for it.’
Amber sighed. ‘Could this person be any less helpful?’ she wondered to herself as she added more to the note.
‘Whatever it was happened again as you handed me the note last time,’ she wrote. You don’t have to stop whatever you’re doing, but could you just do it so it doesn’t hit my foot?’
Amber passed the note back once again and hoped for the best. ‘That should do it,” she thought to herself, hoping that she was finally able to get through to whoever was sitting behind her, and without coming across as rude. Amber’s confidence waned, though, as she once again felt the feeling on her arch. Once. Twice. Three quick times this time. Amber’s foot flailed about behind her as it tried desperately to move itself from whatever was touching it. Amber felt the note once again tap her on her shoulder.
‘I’m sorry,’ it read. ‘I really don’t see what could be doing it. Does whatever it is hurt?’
‘UGH!’ thought Amber to herself reading the note. ‘Why is this so hard?’ Amber was doing her best to try to get whatever was happening to stop without actually admitting that she was ticklish, but she had tried seemingly every other way of asking the person to stop, and now the person was wondering if Amber was in pain. Amber furrowed her brows and returned the note.
‘No, no,’ she began. ‘It doesn’t hurt. It’s more of a tickly feeling,’ Amber wrote, adding a smiley face at the end in hoping that might eliminate any rudeness Amber’s words had reflected earlier.
That was a good way to describe it, Amber thought. Though it suggested that she was indeed ticklish, wasn’t everyone to some degree? And now having a good idea that she had been communicating with another girl, surely a fellow female would feel her pain, would understand how something could accidentally tickle. Weren’t college-aged females collectively the most ticklish group of people on the planet? Amber felt the tap on her shoulder again and hoped that this would bring a resolution to her situation, though her eyes widened as she read what the girl behind her had written.
‘LOL,’ it began. ‘Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry! You’re ticklish?’
Where was the “Yes, of course I’ll stop”? Where was the “Oh I’ll just move a seat over”? Why was THIS the response? Amber thought for a moment, unsure, really, of what to say back. Clearly, she was ticklish. Again, wasn’t everyone? And hadn’t she just admitted that whatever was touching her ankle was producing a tickly feeling? Admitting that she was ticklish was really the last thing that Amber wanted to do, but her hope of not coming off as rude won as she began to respond in the note.
‘LOL,’ she began, wanting to maintain the jovial tone of her “friend” behind her despite feeling the exact opposite. ‘I guess,’ she wrote, still not really wanting to pen the words that would explicitly state she was ticklish. ‘It’s just that whatever it is is brushing up against my ankle, so yeah, LOL, it kind of tickles.’
Amber passed the note back, angry at both herself for admitting to a stranger that she was ticklish and at the stranger for not just letting things be and ending whatever that movement was. That movement. There it was again. As much as Amber’s mood wanted to present a resting bitch face, whatever was brushing against her ankle always forced a smile to form on her face. ‘Christ,’ thought Amber to herself after jumping once again. ‘Whatever. Maybe now she’ll get it.’ The tap on her shoulder informed her of the note’s return.
‘Why are you wearing nylons if your feet are ticklish?’ the note read.
A pit formed in Amber’s stomach as she read the words over and over again. This interaction was not going the way Amber had hoped; in fact, it was going in the complete opposite direction she had hoped. Where she had earlier been relieved that it was a female sitting behind her, she now realized that any female who had worn nylons would likely be aware of the effects on ticklishness. And Amber had basically just flat out told this girl that she was, indeed, ticklish. Worse, she had also told the girl that she was stuck in her current position, her nyloned foot still shoeless and sticking out from behind her chair perfectly at the level of the girl sitting behind her. ‘Who IS this girl?’ Amber thought to herself, again turning as far as she could in her seat to catch a glimpse of the person.
‘A little less fidgeting in the back, AGAIN, please,” announced the professor with disdain in his voice, clearly upset that he again had to repeat his message.
Amber sat still for a moment, hoping that the feeling didn’t return immediately after the professor had asked her to remain still; there was no way she would be able to remain still if that feeling returned.
Relieved that the moment in the professor’s spotlight had passed, Amber returned to the note, trying to think of what to say, but finding it more and more difficult to NOT seem rude when she was becoming more and more agitated each second. Still, Amber recognized the potential disastrous situation she was in and penned as jovial a note as she could.
‘IDK,’ she wrote, not really wanting to get into the whole thing about nylons with a stranger. ‘Thought they’d be good for warmth,’ she added while trying to think of a way to get back to the matter at hand: stopping whatever it was that was touching her ankle. ‘Did you figure out what is brushing on my foot yet to get it to stop?’ Amber asked.
Butterflies filled Amber’s stomach as she awaited the response back. She wished she knew who was sitting behind her. Katy? Nicki? This was totally something that they would do, but it was impossible that it would be either of them; neither were enrolled in the class. Amber didn’t really know anyone in the class very well; sure, she spoke to a few students here and there waiting for the professor, but she wasn’t friendly enough with anyone to make someone stand out as a possible suspect. A poke to the shoulder again signaled the return of another note.
‘Nope,’ the note read. ‘Sorry. Haven’t figured out what’s tickling you yet. Isn’t it a little risky to be wearing nylons if your feet are ticklish? Do your friends know?’
‘WHO IS THIS PERSON?’ was all Amber could think of.
‘Who are you?’ wrote Amber in her return note, though she didn’t expect a response. ‘And yeah my friends know I’m ticklish,’ she added, hating that she had to write that out but realizing that the longer she played note-tag with this person, the less time the person had to do anything to her feet.
‘I don’t think we know each other,’ the note replied. ‘And if your friends know your feet are ticklish, isn’t it like ASKING them to tickle if you’re wearing nylons around them?’ the note asked.
As frustrated as she was, Amber knew the note-writer had a point and that it was pointless to say otherwise. She had already admitted way more than she wanted to to this unknown person, so she tried to steer the conversation back to its intent.
‘Maybe,’ said Amber, again not wanting to sound rude and give the note-writer any added incentive to take advantage of the situation that presented itself before her. ‘I guess I never thought of it. Have you found my shoe yet?’
‘No luck on your shoe,’ was the response, which Amber expected. ‘You never thought of it?’ the note went on. ‘If you saw a friend who you knew had ticklish feet was just sitting there in nylons, you wouldn’t be tempted to tickle her?’ the note asked bluntly.
Again, Amber’s shoulder shrugged, as she realized more and more that she was fighting a losing battle. Not only was the person making valid points against which Amber could not argue, but she was also not being helpful in any way. Still, Amber clung to the hope that the longer the note exchange went on, the less likely it would be that the person would tickle.
And again, just as before, as soon as Amber was beginning to feel some possible relief, she felt something else brush up against her foot, this time by her toes. Amber jumped and flexed her toes in response as whatever it was that had touched her toes vanished.
‘It just happened again,’ Amber wrote, clinging to some hope that the girl sitting behind her was doing this accidentally. ‘By my toes. And yeah - I guess you’re right. I would probably tickle.’ Amber passed the note back, hoping that admitting that she was of the same mindset would establish some form of camaraderie and the girl - if she was indeed doing this on purpose - would stop.
Meanwhile, the professor paused the presentation to deliver some more notes verbally, leaving the lights off as he did. Every second mattered to Amber, though. The sooner those lights turned on again and everyone was able to move, the sooner she could free her trapped foot. Again, the tap on the shoulder…
‘Sorry hun,’ the note began. ‘I didn’t see anything by your toes. I just know that if I saw someone who I knew had ticklish feet was just sitting there in nylons, I would totally mess with her with a little tickling.’
Was… Was that an admission? Was she really doing this on purpose? Was she saying this just to state a fact? Why were the responses so clouded? Amber had a feeling of dread well up within her. Even if the girl hadn’t been tickling Amber on purpose, she just admitted that it would be something that she would definitely do -- and no easier opportunity existed for her than what stood in front of her right now: Amber’s helpless foot. Amber had to know.
‘Who are you?’ she wrote again. ‘You haven’t been tickling my foot on purpose, have you?’
There. It was out there. A yes or no question that would finally - at the very least - let Amber know what she was up against here.
‘We don’t know each other,’ the note read back. ‘But what if I was tickling your foot on purpose?’ it asked, a winky face coming at the conclusion of the note.
‘ARE YOU?’ Amber wrote back in all caps, hoping that the inclusion of capital letters would signify the importance of the question.
‘You yourself said you would tickle someone,’ the note replied, using Amber’s own words against her.
‘Just please,’ Amber begged in her note. ‘Yes or no. Are you doing this on purpose?’
The tap on the shoulder signaled the note had returned. Amber held onto the note in its folded form for a moment, nervous about what it might say.
Amber opened up the note. No new words had been written, but the word “YES” had been circled with a smiley face. Amber had her answer. It was the answer that she had hoped she wouldn’t see. But at least she knew now. Amber went back to writing the response, hoping to craft words that would put an end to this.
‘LOL’, wrote Amber. ‘You got me pretty good,’ she admitted. ‘Now if we could be serious for a moment, we should prolly concentrate on this movie,’ Amber finished, hoping that a response like that - one that admitted defeat and suggested a conclusion - would end the back-and-forth. The tap on the shoulder returned.
‘You’re saying you don’t want me to tickle your foot anymore?’ the note asked, as something else brushed up against Amber’s ankle again, causing yet another jump.
‘LOL,’ wrote Amber, though she found nothing humorous about this. ‘That’s what I’m saying!’, adding a smiley face of her own at the end to hopefully win over the note-writer with kindness.
‘But whyyyyyyyy?’ was the response. ‘It’s so much fun messing with you.’
Amber actually did laugh - at least internally - at that response. Yes, she was frustrated with the situation she found herself in, but more because of the setting. She did NOT want the professor to ask her to leave, and there was no way she could handle someone messing with her feet like this. Truth be told, there was a lot of Katy and Nicki in this girl sitting behind her, so much so that at least part of her wondered if one of them had crashed the class.
‘Fun for YOU,’ wrote Amber, becoming more and more friendly with the note-writer as each note passed sans-tickle. ‘But imagine if you were in my spot,’ she wrote, adding a face with a frown on it for fun.
“Oh gosh,” the response read. ‘I would absolutely DIE if I were in your situation right now.’
A smile formed on Amber’s face as she read the last entry over and over again. ‘Ahhh,’ she wrote back. ‘So you’re ticklish too?’ She handed the note back, still smiling, realizing for the first time that she hadn’t asked the person to stop over the last few entries.
‘Oh yah,’ the note admitted. ‘But you’re the one whose feet are stuck right now. In nylons. Without your shoe.’
That sense of dread returned to Amber. Her new friend hadn’t forgotten how vulnerable Amber was right now, but at least she had hopefully stopped now that Amber had admitted it to her.
‘Fair point,’ conceded Amber in her response. ‘But we’d both get in trouble if you keep tickling me, so it’d be better if you cease and desist.’ Amber passed the note back again. Now feeling somewhat more comfortable with the person behind her, Amber allowed her hand to touch the hand of the girl behind her for the first time; up through this point, Amber had held the note at the tops of her fingertips in passing it back, but this time, their hands casually brushed against each other. In doing so, Amber confirmed something else that she had been dreading: this girl had nails.
‘How would we both get in trouble?’ asked the note.
‘Because I’m totally going to crack up if you don’t stop,’ Amber admitted, feeling a general sense of uneasiness in admitting that combined with some hope that her tormenter would realize the dangers for her herself.
‘That’s too cute,” wrote the note back. ‘Are you seriously THAT ticklish?’ it asked, capitalizing the word “that” and adding three underlines underneath it for emphasis. ‘I’m barely touching your foot,’ it added.
‘Yes I seriously am unfortunately THAT ticklish,’ replied Amber, mimicking her friend’s response by underlining and capitalizing the word “that”. ‘If you couldn’t tell by the fact that I’ve pretty much jumped out of my skin every time you’ve touched my foot,’ she added as evidence.
‘I can’t believe you’re wearing nylons if you’re THAT ticklish,’ the note responded, again with the effects on the word “that”. ‘WAY too much risk if you ask me.’
‘LOL,’ wrote Amber back. ‘Yeah the nylons do make it worse,’ Amber admitted, thinking it was fairly obvious that her friend already knew that and that she in the clear of any further tickling. ‘But to be fair,’ she added, “I wasn’t expecting anyone in class to find out I’m ticklish,” she wrote with a smiley face.
‘Good point,’ agreed the note-writer. ‘Still though… Friends, family... ‘
‘Oh my roomie is even worse,’ Amber wrote, butterflies filling her stomach as she thought about how ticklish Katy was.
‘Someone is more ticklish than you?’ the note asked. ‘I don’t believe it.
Amber laughed, again drawing the attention of the professor, though she was fortunate enough to make it seem like she was clearing her throat. ‘It’s true,’ she answered. ‘Seems like maybe you might be, too?’ Amber asked, adding a wink face to the end of the note. Was Amber flirting with this person? What was happening?
‘Let’s just say I know enough not to get my feet stuck in chairs when I have nylons on,’ the note replied, forcing yet another smile from Amber. The smile grew even larger when something again brushed against Amber’s toes, completely catching her off-guard as she was re-reading the note.
‘You’re literally killing me right now,’ wrote Amber, adding an ‘LOL’ to her response. “Whatever you’re using is so ticklish,’ she wrote, sending the note back to her friend.
‘I haven’t even used my nails yet,’ replied the note, adding, ‘I’m curious: how much do you think you could take before you did crack?’
Amber’s eyes bugged out of her head when she read that. She had thought she was safe from further tickles, but it seemed like her new friend had another idea altogether. She would have to choose her words wisely.
‘Not much,’ admitted Amber. ‘You’ve got me pretty defenseless here,’ she added. ‘This would be the epitome of not fair,’ she wrote, adding, “so don’t get any ideas.’
Amber felt the note return quickly this time and opened it to see that it read simply: ‘Too late’. She didn’t even have time to process the meaning of the note when that feeling returned again, focusing on Amber’s heel this time, but not stopping like it had done before. Amber reacted to the initial touch by jumping in her seat, and when she felt that whatever it was was not stopping after brushing her heel once, she clenched her eyes tight to try to block out the unbelievably ticklish sensation that was being administered to her. She fidgeted in her seat, trying to find a way - anyway - that she could pull her foot from harm’s way, though she did not find any success. Her foot remained trapped, unable to move even a few inches to escape whatever it was that was brushing her heel right now.
‘No you have to stop,’ Amber wrote frantically. ‘I can’t!’ she added, tossing the note over her shoulder with reckless abandon, hoping to get the tickly feeling to stop. As the person behind her fished for the note, Amber did get the break that she needed.
‘You’ll have to come up with a convincing argument to get me to stop,’ the note-writer responded. ‘Because this is a whole lot more fun than watching that movie.’
The movie! Amber had been so concentrated on this that she hadn’t even been paying attention to the movie at all!
‘Just please,’ wrote Amber, not really knowing how to frame an argument to get someone to stop tickling you. ‘It’s way too ticklish,’ Amber added, pausing after writing the words to see if something better would come to mind. ‘And the nylons…’ she added, hoping that just those words would be enough to get her point across.
Amber had lost track of the time during all of this, and since taking her phone out from her purse was a big no-no in the class, she had no idea of knowing if they were 15 minutes into the movie or 30 minutes. It had seemed like this had been going on forever, but Amber knew very well that when it comes to tickling, ‘forever’ could simply mean 5 minutes.
‘The fact that you’re wearing nylons is only more reason for me to keep tickling,’ replied the note-writer. ‘Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same if you saw your roomie like this… Or me…?’ the note finished.
Was the note-writer flirting back now? ‘Fine,’ conceded Amber in her response. ‘I admit it. I totally would,’ she wrote, not sure if this was helping or harming her cause. ‘But it should be pretty clear that I can’t take it,’ she wrote.
‘Who can take it?’ asked the note rhetorically. ‘You should see me during pedicures. And there’s a reason my shoes always stay on when I am wearing nylons,” the note wrote, adding an ‘LOL’ before posing the following question: ‘Do you regret wearing nylons today?’
Amber again smiled reading the note. For some reason, she liked reading the note-writer admit her own ticklishness, even if it meant Amber had to do the same. Amber began to picture who this person could be and what they might look like. She knew that she had long fingernails, of course. And she knew that she had great taste in perfume, as Amber got a quick whiff every time the girl leaned forward to return the note. She was also clearly ticklish herself, having said as much, and Amber smiled picturing her tormenter at a party or some function and leaving her shoes on for as long as she could so no one had access to her feet.
‘If you’re as ticklish as you say you are,’ wrote Amber, trying to find the right combination of words that would draw a response, “then you should have some sympathy on me here,” she wrote, finishing her sentence. ‘But I pretty much wear nylons every single day,’ Amber wrote, addressing her friend’s question. ‘So while I do regret dropping my shoe and getting stuck in this chair, I don’t regret the nylons.’
This time, the note stayed with the person behind Amber a little longer, for she was the one now reading and re-reading Amber’s last statement.
‘You wear nylons every day?’ the note asked. ‘And how ticklish do you think I’m saying I am?’
‘Every single day,’ responded Amber, realizing now that while she had originally set out to tease Katy a bit today, she might be teasing this mystery girl behind her a bit, too. ‘You should wear them, too’ she wrote, adding yet another winkie face in the note. ‘And I don’t know,’ Amber added. ‘Why don’t you tell me how ticklish you are? It’s only fair.’
‘I may have to sit behind you more often,’ the note wrote back. ‘It would definitely make these lectures more interesting if you’re always in nylons,’ it added. ‘And fine,’ it went on, ‘but only in the interest of fairness: I admit I’m pretty much deathly ticklish,’ the note wrote, drawing a small picture of a tombstone with the inscription “RIP” next to it. ‘I would totally be going berserk if I were you right now,” it concluded.
Despite having no means whatsoever of retaliating, knowing that her tormenter herself was so ticklish was delightful news to Amber. The two definitely had some rapport, and if they ever were to become friends, knowing this might come in handy at some point.
‘I AM going berserk,’ wrote Amber back. ‘My feet are my most ticklish spot,’ she wrote, something that she might otherwise not have admitted were it not so obvious already; besides, she hoped that that admission might draw more information out of her tormentor. ‘And believe me, I am never going to put my feet through this hole again,’ added Amber.
‘You’ll mess up again sometime,’ the note wrote back, and Amber knew that would be true. ‘Yeah, my feet are my weak spot, too,’ admitted the note. ‘Which is why I left my shoes on,’ it added.
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ wrote Amber back. ‘You better hope I never find you wearing nylons because you’ve got some serious payback coming your way,” she wrote, adding, ‘That is, if I knew who you were. My name is Amber by the way,” she wrote, hoping that her new friend would also reveal her name so that Amber might know who she had been dealing with all this time.
‘Melissa,” replied the note, though Amber wasn’t able to find any Melissa in her mental Rolodex or friends in this class. If Melissa was telling the truth, then this really might have been a chance encounter and not one of her friends setting her up. ‘And yeah, I probably deserve it,’ admitted the note, adding, ‘but you’d have to catch me in nylons first.’
‘You’ll mess up,’ echoed Amber in her response. ‘In all honesty, try it one day. You’d be amazed how much warmer they make you with all of this cold weather we’ve been having.’
‘That actually makes a lot of sense,’ admitted the note. ‘But there is no way I’d ever wear them around you now,’ the note added.
‘And why is that?’ asked Amber in response, getting the note back from Melissa quickly.
‘Because you’d do this,” Melissa had written, and as she was sure Amber was reading it, Melissa began lightly dragging the tip of one of her fingernails down Amber’s foot, which not only so caught Amber by surprise but tickled so much that Amber jumped in her seat, bumping into the table that was holding her in and dropping her water bottle to the ground.
“Young lady in the back,” the professor admonished. “You in the blueish plaid shirt. I don’t want to have to talk to you again,” he said, clearly visibly annoyed at Amber’s inability to remain still.
‘So not cool,’ wrote Amber. ‘You’re going to get me kicked out.’
‘Sorry, not sorry,’ replied Melissa. ‘Stop making so much noise and you’ll have nothing to worry about,’ she added.
‘Stop tickling my foot and I won’t make so much noise,’ Amber replied, adding in ‘Duh!’ for effect.
‘OK,’ Melissa replied in the note. ‘Fingernails might be too much. I’ll go back to what I was doing before,’ as she began brushing against Amber’s foot while she read the note.
Amber could hardly concentrate to write a response as she needed almost all of her focus to be spent on trying to block out the tickly sensations of whatever was brushing against her foot. ‘What IS that?’ wrote Amber back in the note. ‘It’s so ticklish,’ she admitted.
‘Just a little feather I had on my backpack,’ wrote Melissa, finally revealing her instrument of destruction. ‘Must be torture with nylons on, huh?’ she asked, adding yet another winkie face to her note.
Again, she returned the feather to Amber’s foot as Amber read her response, very lightly brushing the tip of the feather along Amber’s ankle, over the top of her foot, and down over her toes as Amber squirmed and fidgeted and did anything she could to hold tough.
‘YES’, Amber wrote in big letters as she tried to get the note back in Melissa’s hands to get a break from the tickling. ‘You know it is!’ she wrote, tossing the note behind her. Despite wanting to write more, Amber knew that the only break she received from the tickling was when Melissa was reading and responding to the note.
The note came back quickly again, this time reading ‘I haven’t even started on the bottom of your foot yet.’ Amber’s eyes bugged out of her head, and she again tried to pull her trapped legs free to no avail.
‘Please,’ begged Amber in the note. ‘That’s too much. There’s no way I could hold it in.’ She passed the note back, happy to have gone a round without feeling the feather.
‘Are you admitting that you’re too ticklish to handle it?’ asked Melissa in her response.
‘YES,’ Amber wrote again in capital letters. She hated to admit it, but if admitting it meant the feather would stay off of her foot, she’d admit anything Melissa wanted to hear. ‘Yes yes yes,’ Amber repeated. ‘A million times yes,’ she finished, though she opened the note up one more time to add more. ‘I have nylons on and you’re tickling my foot with a feather. Yes, I am way way way too ticklish to handle that,’ she finished, passing the note back.
‘LOL,’ wrote Melissa back in the note. ‘I’m actually kind of shocked you haven’t lost it yet. I think I would have folded a long time ago,’ she wrote, handing the note back to Amber.
‘Haha,’ wrote Amber back. ‘You have no idea how close I’ve come but I can’t afford to be kicked out of this class,’ she reasoned. ‘No more tickling?’ Amber asked, adding a smiley face at the end hoping this signal of truce would bring an end to her torture.
‘I make no promises,’ Melissa replied, again running the feather on the bottom of Amber’s foot at she read the note. Again, Amber jumped, and she hid her face in the sleeve of her shirt as quickly as she could so as not to draw the ire of the professor. This was the worst. Amber clenched her eyes closed, unable to even respond to the note, trying hard to hold it together. The feather lightly dragging along the bottom of Amber’s foot was more than she could handle. Sure, it had tickled when Melissa was doing it to Amber’s ankle, but that was mostly because Amber had nylons on. The bottom of her foot, though? This would tickle even if Amber had thick socks on! Even with her eyes clenched shut, Amber could picture the feather, lazily drawing a line down the middle of the bottom of Amber’s foot, the nylons offering no resistance to the feather’s path as it crossed down over her heel into the arch area and up to the ball of her foot. Amber reached down with her left arm and tried to blindly swat Melissa’s hand away, but each swing came up empty. At last, the feather had reached Amber’s toes where it was now gliding across the top of each toe like a pianist playing its instrument, before Melissa returned it to her lap and Amber could come up for breath.
‘I’m going to kill you,’ wrote Amber once she had regained her composure. ‘You win,’ she admitted. ‘I give up. Please. I’ll do anything,’ Amber said, fully realizing the desperation in her tone. She was desperate. Sure, tickling was something that she had come to love over the last few weeks, but not here… Not in front of this professor… Not in a way that could get her kicked out of class… ‘You name it. Just please no more tickling.’
‘You’ll do anything huh?’ Melissa asked, returning the note to Amber without giving her any time to respond, instead placing the feather back on the tips of Amber’s toes where it had ended its journey before, now re-tracing its steps backwards. Amber almost dropped the note as she jumped from the tickly touch, her teeth now clenched closed to hold in the mass of giggles that were welling up inside of her. Amber clutched onto the arm rests of the chair as the feather found its way down over the balls of her foot again. Melissa was doing this more slowly, more deliberately this time, leaving no spot on Amber’s foot untouched as it made its way closer to the arch.
‘NO!’ Amber thought to herself, realizing how thorough Melissa was being and how close the feather was to Amber’s instep, the weakness that Katy had uncovered just the other day. Amber panicked. How would she be able to hold it together once the feather reached the instep? Would she even be able to? Truth be told, the back and forth flirting between the two girls had left Amber with goosebumps already, as she delighted in reading Melissa admit her ticklish weaknesses to her. Surely a feather along her instep would push her right over the edge; the mere thought of it was almost enough.
But Melissa stopped the feather’s pursuit just shy of the arch, giving Amber a break.
‘You HAVE to stop,’ warned Amber in her note. ‘I’m going to crack. Please,’ she wrote. ‘I’m literally begging. I will seriously do anything you want if you just stop tickling.’
She handed the note back to Melissa knowing full well this was her last chance. There was no way she’d last through even an accidental tickle again. The constant light tickling of the feather had weakened her to a state where she would not be able to mount any defense to another tickle. She was broken. The tap on the shoulder came again and Amber closed her eyes hoping to see an end.
‘Anything?’ Melissa wrote again. ‘I am kind of hungry… I don’t suppose you’d want to grab some lunch after class?’
That was it? She wanted lunch? ‘Totally!’ agreed Amber. ‘My treat. Your choice. Just please… No more tickling?’
‘No more tickling,’ agreed Melissa in her note back. ‘I was going to stop anyways. You looked like you were going to lose your mind there,” she added.
‘My God I was!’ admitted Amber. ‘You have no idea how much that tickled.’
‘Oh believe me,’ responded Melissa. ‘I know how much it tickles,” she said, adding ‘By the way, I have your shoe if you’re looking for it.
Unbeknownst to either Amber or Melissa, the presentation had concluded, and the professor was now turning the lights to the classroom on once again, allowing the students a moment to stand. For the first time, Melissa and Amber would be able to see each other face-to-face.
Presenting... Episode 12!
This one kind of took off on its own in a way. I had an idea of what I wanted to write, and I was able to finish all of it in about a day. I enjoyed writing this one; I believe it is actually the longest episode to date. It's admittedly a little light on hardcore tickling, but it presents itself as a more realistic scenario --- in my mind at least. I'm curious how you guys feel.
This episode does not contain Nicki or Katy, and features Amber with a newly introduced character. I'm trying to make sure everyone "has something to do" so the series doesn't become stale.
As always, feedback is appreciated!
Happy reading,
OldEnglish
Katy & Amber - Episode 1: The Discovery (f/f, nylons)
Katy & Amber - Episode 2: Later That Evening (f/f, nylons)
Katy & Amber featuring Nicki - Episode 3: The After Party (ff/f, nylons)
Katy & Amber featuring Nicki - Episode 4: Tickle-Text Messaging (f/f tickle talk)
Katy & Amber featuring Nicki - Episode 5: Netflix & Pizza (f/f, nylons)
Katy & Amber - Episode 6: The Blanket Burrito (f/f, nylons)
Katy & Amber featuring Nicki - Episode 7: Two for the Price of One (f/ff, nylons)
Katy & Amber featuring Nicki - Episode 8: Origins & Destinies (f/f, nylons)
Katy & Amber featuring Nicki - Episode 9: The Show at the Movies: The First Challenge (f/f, nylons)
Katy & Amber featuring Nicki - Episode 10: Do Not Do Unto Others (f/f, ff/f, nylons)
Katy & Amber - Episode 11: A Different Kind of Tickle Fight (f/f, nylons)
Katy & Amber - Episode 12: The Lecture That Went Unheard (f/f, nylons)
Amber scurried down the hallway towards the lecture hall, the site of her next class. She hated being late for anything, but she especially hated being late for this lecture. She had considered herself fortunate that she was able to enroll in the lecture at all, for despite the professor’s reputation as a bit of a martinet, the class was always one of the first to fill up, and usually with a number of students on the waitlist, as well.
When Amber entered the room, she saw that her premonitions were correct; the lecture hall appeared to be packed, save for the last couple of rows at the very top of the stadium-style seating. Usually, most students would gravitate toward the back row, but this was no ordinary lecture; the professor demanded complete attention from his pupils and was known to kick out of class anyone who was either not paying attention or being distracting in any way, and he usually focused his attention on the back rows of the class to find the culprits. It was well-known that he associated the back rows of class with troublemakers; many a student had taken the walk of shame out the door from the top rows after being beckoned by the professor's pointing finger, never to be seen in the class again. It was a fate no one wanted to endure.
And yet, here was Amber, with no other option; sure, there was an empty seat or two in the middle of some aisles, but they would all require her walking over students to reach the seat, an act far too distracting to pass muster with the professor. No, the safest path, Amber decided, was to walk to the top rows and remain on her best behavior.
As expected, the top rows were sparsely populated, with only a handful of students occupying seats, none of whom were near Amber, who had settled into a seat in the second-to-last row, hoping that that would be enough to keep her out of the professor’s cross-hairs.
Amber settled in her seat, a couple of seats in from the aisle and a couple of seats away from anyone even in the third-to-last row, either. Those few souls who were resigned to sit in the back rows generally tried to keep some distance between themselves so as to appear more like isolated individuals than a group of students looking to chitchat or cause other mischief. After pulling out her textbook and her notebook, Amber placed her purse and school bag on the empty chair to her right and got as comfortable as she could in the chair, crossing her right leg over her left in the process and trying to present herself as the most serious type of student she could in case the professor’s eyes found her.
There were still about three or four minutes until the lecture officially started, and consistent with his penchant for quirks, the professor was known to enter the classroom only at the precise moment the class started, never a minute earlier or later. Amber checked her phone for the time and to check to see if she had any messages; she knew she’d have to put that phone away before the professor arrived.
Her phone safely in her purse, Amber took a moment to look herself over. After all, she had almost been late to class because she had spent some extra time getting herself ready this morning. Her suggestion that neither she nor Katy wear socks around each other had been met with approval, and neither girl had donned socks in the two days since their last fun. Today, though, Amber felt a bit mischievous and wanted to play the role of tease a bit to Katy. Nothing extreme, of course… She wasn’t trying to cross a line by any means. But it was pretty clear that both girls were well in-tune with the other’s footwear each day, nearly salivating in anticipation of the other girl finally removing her boots to reveal the nylons underneath. Katy wanted to change things up a bit today, though; why wear big clunky boots that hide your feet - and the nylons - when you could wear a cute pair of flats that highlight both? And that was exactly what Amber had done today, searching throughout her closet until she found a simple but cute pair of black flats that she wore over her suntan nylons. Amber had chosen skinny jeans to pair with them today; it was true that she often wore skinny jeans, but today she had chosen a pair that clung especially close to her ankle, all part of the play to make it as obvious as possible to Katy that she had nylons on. She rounded her outfit off with a white camisole top under a blue-ish plaid colored button-down top.
Amber knew that it was highly likely that Katy would, at some point, attempt to tickle her because of the outfit that she had chosen to wear today; again, it wasn’t flashy by any means, but it would certainly be flashy to Katy. It was a calculated risk, of course; although Amber could not wait to see the look on Katy’s face when Katy realized how vulnerable Amber was in those flats, she knew she’d have to be on her toes to strike just before it looked like Katy might strike her.
Amber’s inner monologue and all other conversations in the room ended the moment the clock struck 10 a.m. and the professor walked in. Wearing his usual three-piece suit and carrying his leather briefcase, the man oozed professionalism from every pore of his body. Indeed, Amber had likened his appearance to that of Professor Crawford in the Sean Connery flick “Finding Forrester”, often amusing herself during boring parts of the lecture by imagining the professor yelling “Punch the keys, God damn it!” to someone in class. After performing his trademark throat clearing, the professor launched into his lecture, and the students’ hands all began writing notes at a furious pace, a pace that was likely to remain constant throughout the two and half hour lecture.
Amber was never one to able to hold her attention all that long, of course. It wasn’t that she didn’t find the topic interesting; indeed, she was one of the first to sign up for this class despite the professor’s reputation. Amber was just someone who always seemed to be fidgeting in some way: twirling her hair with a finger, tapping the desk with her fingernails, lightly bobbing her head to the beat of a tune playing inside her mind. Today was no different, of course, as within five minutes of the lecture beginning, Amber had already subconsciously begun dangling the flat off of her right foot that swung by her left shin as she crossed her legs. Indeed, Amber did this often, usually subconsciously, and the shoes that she wore today were perfect for such an activity. Though she loved these shoes - she actually owned two pairs that she wore whenever the situation dictated - there was no denying that she would have been better served had she purchased a pair a half-size smaller, if not more. They didn’t necessarily fall off of her foot, as the saying goes, but the mere action of crossing her right leg over her left leg had resulted in the heel of her right foot popping out of the flat as it hung in the air. Maybe that was why Amber loved them as much as she did; they were indeed the perfect shoe to play with under the table. Of course, the nylons eliminated any friction that may have existed between the shoe and Amber’s foot, which only made the shoeplay all the easier.
The lecture continued for a while, as Amber and the rest of the students busily tried to keep up the professor’s pace in writing their notes. The ferocity with which Amber wrote her notes was matched only by the tempo at which her right foot bobbed up and down as it dangled her flat off her toes. Quite experienced at this, Amber never once dropped her shoe, always knowing just how far the shoe could dangle off of her big toe before falling off and making sure to enlist the aid of her other toes to pull the flat back on should it reach that point.
“Class, now we’re going to have a rare treat,” said the professor, turning his back to the chalkboard for once as he pressed the button to lower the projection screen. As the screen lowered, the professor noted that the class would now watch an hour-long video he had created that outlined the facts he had just gone over.
“As I spent a lot of time on this video,” the professor began, pushing his glasses up closer to his forehead as he spoke, “I expect nothing but your complete attention,” he ordered, emphasizing the word ‘complete’ as he spoke. “I will not put up with any distracting behavior.”
Her hand thankful to have a break from taking notes, Amber readjusted in her seat, getting herself in what she thought to be a comfortable position for the next hour. She started by bringing the chair’s table across so that it covered the front of her in its entirety. It was a little snug, but she was certain that she would need to rest her head on her hands at more than one point during this movie; the professor, while very knowledgeable, wasn’t necessarily the most interesting, and his monotone voice in the video coupled with the lights being off in the room would surely lull one to want to rest. Next, after pulling her flat back fully on her foot, Amber repositioned herself, tucking both of her legs off to her side so that her feet tucked behind her butt in the chair. It would have been a tight fit, but fortunately for Amber, she had selected one of the chairs in the lecture hall that had a hole cut out of it in the back, right where your behind met your back, so Amber was able to slot her feet into that opening to give herself a little more wiggle room. The operative word there was ‘little’, though, because combining the table top and her sitting position, Amber was effectively wedged into place for the next hour as the video began, for there was very little room for movement.
“Please make yourselves comfortable for the next hour,” said the professor, “for I do not expect there to be any interruptions.” A few students got up and moved seats to have better views as the professor went to shut the lights off. As he did, Amber heard someone walk into the last row behind her, taking a seat in what seemed to be the chair directly behind Amber.
‘Probably wants to take a nap without being noticed,’ thought Amber of the person behind her, though she was unable to make out the identity of the person both because of the darkness of the room and because the restrictive nature of her chair made it so that she couldn’t turn around. ‘Can’t say I blame them.’
As expected, the video presentation offered plenty of insight, but very little in the way of entertainment - just as the professor had designed. Within about five minutes, Amber again found herself fidgeting in the chair, restricted as she was. In short order, one of Amber’s flats found itself popping off of her heel as it poked out through the hole in the back of the chair. Truth be told, this wasn’t even Amber doing it subconsciously; rather, Amber had merely flexed her foot a tiny bit, but in doing so, the combination of the shoe being slightly too large and the nylons providing absolutely no friction whatsoever allowed Amber’s heel to pop out of the flats. This wasn’t a full dangle as Amber had been doing earlier, but it was certainly enough to satisfy Amber’s fidgeting need; flexing her foot back and forth allowed for her heel to pop in and out of the flat, the nylons allowing it to occur without any friction.
After about a minute or so, Amber searched for another avenue to satisfy her need to fidget and, unable to do much, found that turning the act of dangling her shoes into a game would suffice. Though she still wasn’t able to dangle the flat fully off of her toes - or rather, she wouldn’t be able to put the flat back on had she done that - Amber began popping her heel out of her flat and seeing how far down she could slide her shoe without it coming off. She did this over and over again as the professor’s video played on in front of her.
Shortly, Amber found the limits to which she could comfortably dangle the flat off of her foot, leaving it there for some time before sliding her foot back in only to begin the process again. Amber flexed her foot, letting the flat slide down further than she had before, a small smile forming on her face as she had bested her personal record. Her heel was completely out of the flat, the back of the flat now closer to her arch than her heel as her toes gripped the flat to ensure it stayed on. Amber’s flat dangled precariously in the air behind her as Amber continued to watch the movie.
It was during this moment, though, that something brushed up against Amber’s ankle. It wasn’t anything big. Instead, it was more of a light touch, maybe something on the coat or backpack of the person sitting behind her brushing up against Amber’s ankle. Whatever it was, though, caught Amber by surprise. The light touch on her ankle through the nylons was enough to elicit a surprise tickle response from Amber, who jumped a bit in her seat. In jumping, though, Amber’s toes lost their grip on the flat that had been dangling, and the shoe fell to the floor behind her.
Amber tried to turn around in her seat to pick up her shoe, but the table and the fact that her feet were wedged into that hole restricted any sort of movement. On top of that, her chair squeaked as she turned from side to side, a fact that might not have mattered that much, but in this class…
“Let’s have less fidgeting in the back, please,” warned the professor as he looked up to the top rows. The soft glow from the presentation allowed Amber to see the professor to some degree, but that the lights were off meant that the professor couldn’t tell that it was Amber who was making the noise, though he certainly had an idea of where the noise was coming from and Amber and whoever was sitting behind her were the only ones in the area.
‘It’s not worth it,’ thought Amber to herself of the risk involved in trying to retrieve her shoe. Sure, she was a bit embarrassed to not have a shoe on one of her feet, but the room was dark and there really was only one person who would even notice that she didn’t have a shoe on, so Amber decided to wait until the movie was over and people were again allowed to adjust their seats to retrieve her shoe.
That plan was one with seemingly no flaws, as the professor had again turned his attention to the presentation and everyone else was either following along with the presentation or quietly drifting off. ‘This’ll be fine,’ thought Amber to herself.
No sooner had she completed that thought in her mind then she felt that same material brush up against her ankle one more time. Again, caught completely off-guard by it and defenseless in nylons, Amber jumped in ticklish surprise, catching herself before yelping out. Again, the material brushed against Amber’s ankle, and though her guard was now up, it was not enough to combat the ticklish feeling of whatever was brushing up against her ankle, and Amber fidgeted in the seat trying to avoid whatever it was that was doing this.
‘Christ, what IS that?’ Amber thought to herself, running through a mental Rolodex of possibilities: a feather hanging from someone’s backpack? someone’s hair as they bent down?
After a few short seconds, the feeling returned again, causing Amber to once again jump in her chair as much as the table allowed. It was never a prolonged feeling; rather, whatever the item was seemed to be simply brushing up against Amber’s ankle as it made its journey wherever it was going.
‘This HAS to stop,’ Amber worried in her mind, unsure of what it was that was brushing her ankle or why it seemed to be doing so repeatedly. ‘If I could only just not be ticklish for one moment in life,’ Amber cursed herself, quickly eliminating the thought when she realized how much would have been removed from the last few days were she not ticklish. ‘OK,’ Amber thought, conceding to her own self in her internal debate. ‘I just don’t need to be THIS ticklish,’ thought she knew full well that the nylons were doing her no favors at the present time.
The feeling returned one more time, again landing on the same spot on Amber’s ankle that the previous instances had hit. Amber was in a bind. Whatever it was did not seem to be stopping. It certainly seemed like something inconsequential; again, maybe a feather on someone’s backpack or even a shoelace from someone’s shoe as they crossed their legs… But whatever it was was proving to have too ticklish a touch for Amber to sit idly by, and she began pulling a piece of paper from her notebook, pausing initially as the sound of the paper tearing had drawn the professor’s attention before slowly - and quietly - pulling out the paper.
Amber wrote a few words on the paper and began folding it up. ‘I haven’t passed a note in school since middle school,’ she thought to herself, as she placed the note in her right hand, inconspicuously lowering her right hand so that it hung behind her chair and went as close as it could anatomically to the person sitting behind her, who took the note on cue.
“Could you please help me?” the note asked. “I dropped my shoe and I can’t really move around enough to see where it is without the prof seeing me.”
It was a short note and to the point. Amber had chosen her words carefully. Yes, the only reason that she so desperately needed her shoe back was to block whatever it was that was brushing against her ankle from tickling - though the design of the flat likely meant that Amber’s ankle wouldn’t be protected anyways. But that was something Amber clearly wasn’t about to admit to a total stranger. Wanting your shoe back in a public setting seemed natural. Telling a total stranger that something was tickling your foot did not.
Not to mention that Amber was loathing to have someone else know she was ticklish. Sure, she had enjoyed the events over the last few weeks with Katy and Nicki - possibly even a little too much. But that was different. She had been friends with Katy for some time and the girls knew each other and felt comfortable with each other, and though she had known Nicki less, it was clear that Nicki was made of the same cloth as Katy and Amber. It didn’t matter to Amber that Katy and Nicki knew she was ticklish. In fact, she sort of liked that they knew she was ticklish. But anyone else? Especially a total stranger? This was not something Amber was willing to admit to.
Amber heard some quiet rustling behind her - fortunately for both, the professor did not - as the still unidentified person behind presumably searched for Amber’s flat. After a moment or so, Amber felt the corner of the note paper lightly poking her shoulder, the person behind her returning her note to her.
‘Sorry,” the note began. ‘It’s too dark to see where it landed.’
This was NOT the response that Amber was hoping for. ‘How could the person not find the shoe?’ thought Amber to herself. ‘It’s dark but not THAT dark.’ At least Amber now at last had somewhat of a clue who was sitting behind her now. Though she still had no idea who it actually was, Amber was certain that the handwriting on the note could only reasonably come from another girl, a fact that provided Amber with some degree of comfort. For some reason, Amber felt relieved that it was another female and not a male that was behind her as she sat in such a restricted position.
Still, though, it did nothing to return her shoe, and the light touch brushing up against her ankle returned yet again. No matter how many times it happened or how ready for it Amber thought she was, she simply could not block out the ticklish feeling it produced. Now with no chance of retrieving her shoe and still about fifty minutes left in this presentation, Amber had to change tactics, and she added to the note.
‘This’ll sound weird but something keeps brushing up against my foot back there. Do you see what it is? Could you move whatever it is so it doesn’t keep happening?”
Amber passed the note back to the girl behind her. She had gone back and forth on how to word the note. She didn’t want to come off as rude in demanding that the person stop whatever she was doing, but… the person had to stop whatever she was doing. In short order, both the note and the tickly feeling returned.
‘Really? Sorry,’ the note read. I don’t see anything doing it. I’ll keep a look-out for it.’
Amber sighed. ‘Could this person be any less helpful?’ she wondered to herself as she added more to the note.
‘Whatever it was happened again as you handed me the note last time,’ she wrote. You don’t have to stop whatever you’re doing, but could you just do it so it doesn’t hit my foot?’
Amber passed the note back once again and hoped for the best. ‘That should do it,” she thought to herself, hoping that she was finally able to get through to whoever was sitting behind her, and without coming across as rude. Amber’s confidence waned, though, as she once again felt the feeling on her arch. Once. Twice. Three quick times this time. Amber’s foot flailed about behind her as it tried desperately to move itself from whatever was touching it. Amber felt the note once again tap her on her shoulder.
‘I’m sorry,’ it read. ‘I really don’t see what could be doing it. Does whatever it is hurt?’
‘UGH!’ thought Amber to herself reading the note. ‘Why is this so hard?’ Amber was doing her best to try to get whatever was happening to stop without actually admitting that she was ticklish, but she had tried seemingly every other way of asking the person to stop, and now the person was wondering if Amber was in pain. Amber furrowed her brows and returned the note.
‘No, no,’ she began. ‘It doesn’t hurt. It’s more of a tickly feeling,’ Amber wrote, adding a smiley face at the end in hoping that might eliminate any rudeness Amber’s words had reflected earlier.
That was a good way to describe it, Amber thought. Though it suggested that she was indeed ticklish, wasn’t everyone to some degree? And now having a good idea that she had been communicating with another girl, surely a fellow female would feel her pain, would understand how something could accidentally tickle. Weren’t college-aged females collectively the most ticklish group of people on the planet? Amber felt the tap on her shoulder again and hoped that this would bring a resolution to her situation, though her eyes widened as she read what the girl behind her had written.
‘LOL,’ it began. ‘Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry! You’re ticklish?’
Where was the “Yes, of course I’ll stop”? Where was the “Oh I’ll just move a seat over”? Why was THIS the response? Amber thought for a moment, unsure, really, of what to say back. Clearly, she was ticklish. Again, wasn’t everyone? And hadn’t she just admitted that whatever was touching her ankle was producing a tickly feeling? Admitting that she was ticklish was really the last thing that Amber wanted to do, but her hope of not coming off as rude won as she began to respond in the note.
‘LOL,’ she began, wanting to maintain the jovial tone of her “friend” behind her despite feeling the exact opposite. ‘I guess,’ she wrote, still not really wanting to pen the words that would explicitly state she was ticklish. ‘It’s just that whatever it is is brushing up against my ankle, so yeah, LOL, it kind of tickles.’
Amber passed the note back, angry at both herself for admitting to a stranger that she was ticklish and at the stranger for not just letting things be and ending whatever that movement was. That movement. There it was again. As much as Amber’s mood wanted to present a resting bitch face, whatever was brushing against her ankle always forced a smile to form on her face. ‘Christ,’ thought Amber to herself after jumping once again. ‘Whatever. Maybe now she’ll get it.’ The tap on her shoulder informed her of the note’s return.
‘Why are you wearing nylons if your feet are ticklish?’ the note read.
A pit formed in Amber’s stomach as she read the words over and over again. This interaction was not going the way Amber had hoped; in fact, it was going in the complete opposite direction she had hoped. Where she had earlier been relieved that it was a female sitting behind her, she now realized that any female who had worn nylons would likely be aware of the effects on ticklishness. And Amber had basically just flat out told this girl that she was, indeed, ticklish. Worse, she had also told the girl that she was stuck in her current position, her nyloned foot still shoeless and sticking out from behind her chair perfectly at the level of the girl sitting behind her. ‘Who IS this girl?’ Amber thought to herself, again turning as far as she could in her seat to catch a glimpse of the person.
‘A little less fidgeting in the back, AGAIN, please,” announced the professor with disdain in his voice, clearly upset that he again had to repeat his message.
Amber sat still for a moment, hoping that the feeling didn’t return immediately after the professor had asked her to remain still; there was no way she would be able to remain still if that feeling returned.
Relieved that the moment in the professor’s spotlight had passed, Amber returned to the note, trying to think of what to say, but finding it more and more difficult to NOT seem rude when she was becoming more and more agitated each second. Still, Amber recognized the potential disastrous situation she was in and penned as jovial a note as she could.
‘IDK,’ she wrote, not really wanting to get into the whole thing about nylons with a stranger. ‘Thought they’d be good for warmth,’ she added while trying to think of a way to get back to the matter at hand: stopping whatever it was that was touching her ankle. ‘Did you figure out what is brushing on my foot yet to get it to stop?’ Amber asked.
Butterflies filled Amber’s stomach as she awaited the response back. She wished she knew who was sitting behind her. Katy? Nicki? This was totally something that they would do, but it was impossible that it would be either of them; neither were enrolled in the class. Amber didn’t really know anyone in the class very well; sure, she spoke to a few students here and there waiting for the professor, but she wasn’t friendly enough with anyone to make someone stand out as a possible suspect. A poke to the shoulder again signaled the return of another note.
‘Nope,’ the note read. ‘Sorry. Haven’t figured out what’s tickling you yet. Isn’t it a little risky to be wearing nylons if your feet are ticklish? Do your friends know?’
‘WHO IS THIS PERSON?’ was all Amber could think of.
‘Who are you?’ wrote Amber in her return note, though she didn’t expect a response. ‘And yeah my friends know I’m ticklish,’ she added, hating that she had to write that out but realizing that the longer she played note-tag with this person, the less time the person had to do anything to her feet.
‘I don’t think we know each other,’ the note replied. ‘And if your friends know your feet are ticklish, isn’t it like ASKING them to tickle if you’re wearing nylons around them?’ the note asked.
As frustrated as she was, Amber knew the note-writer had a point and that it was pointless to say otherwise. She had already admitted way more than she wanted to to this unknown person, so she tried to steer the conversation back to its intent.
‘Maybe,’ said Amber, again not wanting to sound rude and give the note-writer any added incentive to take advantage of the situation that presented itself before her. ‘I guess I never thought of it. Have you found my shoe yet?’
‘No luck on your shoe,’ was the response, which Amber expected. ‘You never thought of it?’ the note went on. ‘If you saw a friend who you knew had ticklish feet was just sitting there in nylons, you wouldn’t be tempted to tickle her?’ the note asked bluntly.
Again, Amber’s shoulder shrugged, as she realized more and more that she was fighting a losing battle. Not only was the person making valid points against which Amber could not argue, but she was also not being helpful in any way. Still, Amber clung to the hope that the longer the note exchange went on, the less likely it would be that the person would tickle.
And again, just as before, as soon as Amber was beginning to feel some possible relief, she felt something else brush up against her foot, this time by her toes. Amber jumped and flexed her toes in response as whatever it was that had touched her toes vanished.
‘It just happened again,’ Amber wrote, clinging to some hope that the girl sitting behind her was doing this accidentally. ‘By my toes. And yeah - I guess you’re right. I would probably tickle.’ Amber passed the note back, hoping that admitting that she was of the same mindset would establish some form of camaraderie and the girl - if she was indeed doing this on purpose - would stop.
Meanwhile, the professor paused the presentation to deliver some more notes verbally, leaving the lights off as he did. Every second mattered to Amber, though. The sooner those lights turned on again and everyone was able to move, the sooner she could free her trapped foot. Again, the tap on the shoulder…
‘Sorry hun,’ the note began. ‘I didn’t see anything by your toes. I just know that if I saw someone who I knew had ticklish feet was just sitting there in nylons, I would totally mess with her with a little tickling.’
Was… Was that an admission? Was she really doing this on purpose? Was she saying this just to state a fact? Why were the responses so clouded? Amber had a feeling of dread well up within her. Even if the girl hadn’t been tickling Amber on purpose, she just admitted that it would be something that she would definitely do -- and no easier opportunity existed for her than what stood in front of her right now: Amber’s helpless foot. Amber had to know.
‘Who are you?’ she wrote again. ‘You haven’t been tickling my foot on purpose, have you?’
There. It was out there. A yes or no question that would finally - at the very least - let Amber know what she was up against here.
‘We don’t know each other,’ the note read back. ‘But what if I was tickling your foot on purpose?’ it asked, a winky face coming at the conclusion of the note.
‘ARE YOU?’ Amber wrote back in all caps, hoping that the inclusion of capital letters would signify the importance of the question.
‘You yourself said you would tickle someone,’ the note replied, using Amber’s own words against her.
‘Just please,’ Amber begged in her note. ‘Yes or no. Are you doing this on purpose?’
The tap on the shoulder signaled the note had returned. Amber held onto the note in its folded form for a moment, nervous about what it might say.
Amber opened up the note. No new words had been written, but the word “YES” had been circled with a smiley face. Amber had her answer. It was the answer that she had hoped she wouldn’t see. But at least she knew now. Amber went back to writing the response, hoping to craft words that would put an end to this.
‘LOL’, wrote Amber. ‘You got me pretty good,’ she admitted. ‘Now if we could be serious for a moment, we should prolly concentrate on this movie,’ Amber finished, hoping that a response like that - one that admitted defeat and suggested a conclusion - would end the back-and-forth. The tap on the shoulder returned.
‘You’re saying you don’t want me to tickle your foot anymore?’ the note asked, as something else brushed up against Amber’s ankle again, causing yet another jump.
‘LOL,’ wrote Amber, though she found nothing humorous about this. ‘That’s what I’m saying!’, adding a smiley face of her own at the end to hopefully win over the note-writer with kindness.
‘But whyyyyyyyy?’ was the response. ‘It’s so much fun messing with you.’
Amber actually did laugh - at least internally - at that response. Yes, she was frustrated with the situation she found herself in, but more because of the setting. She did NOT want the professor to ask her to leave, and there was no way she could handle someone messing with her feet like this. Truth be told, there was a lot of Katy and Nicki in this girl sitting behind her, so much so that at least part of her wondered if one of them had crashed the class.
‘Fun for YOU,’ wrote Amber, becoming more and more friendly with the note-writer as each note passed sans-tickle. ‘But imagine if you were in my spot,’ she wrote, adding a face with a frown on it for fun.
“Oh gosh,” the response read. ‘I would absolutely DIE if I were in your situation right now.’
A smile formed on Amber’s face as she read the last entry over and over again. ‘Ahhh,’ she wrote back. ‘So you’re ticklish too?’ She handed the note back, still smiling, realizing for the first time that she hadn’t asked the person to stop over the last few entries.
‘Oh yah,’ the note admitted. ‘But you’re the one whose feet are stuck right now. In nylons. Without your shoe.’
That sense of dread returned to Amber. Her new friend hadn’t forgotten how vulnerable Amber was right now, but at least she had hopefully stopped now that Amber had admitted it to her.
‘Fair point,’ conceded Amber in her response. ‘But we’d both get in trouble if you keep tickling me, so it’d be better if you cease and desist.’ Amber passed the note back again. Now feeling somewhat more comfortable with the person behind her, Amber allowed her hand to touch the hand of the girl behind her for the first time; up through this point, Amber had held the note at the tops of her fingertips in passing it back, but this time, their hands casually brushed against each other. In doing so, Amber confirmed something else that she had been dreading: this girl had nails.
‘How would we both get in trouble?’ asked the note.
‘Because I’m totally going to crack up if you don’t stop,’ Amber admitted, feeling a general sense of uneasiness in admitting that combined with some hope that her tormenter would realize the dangers for her herself.
‘That’s too cute,” wrote the note back. ‘Are you seriously THAT ticklish?’ it asked, capitalizing the word “that” and adding three underlines underneath it for emphasis. ‘I’m barely touching your foot,’ it added.
‘Yes I seriously am unfortunately THAT ticklish,’ replied Amber, mimicking her friend’s response by underlining and capitalizing the word “that”. ‘If you couldn’t tell by the fact that I’ve pretty much jumped out of my skin every time you’ve touched my foot,’ she added as evidence.
‘I can’t believe you’re wearing nylons if you’re THAT ticklish,’ the note responded, again with the effects on the word “that”. ‘WAY too much risk if you ask me.’
‘LOL,’ wrote Amber back. ‘Yeah the nylons do make it worse,’ Amber admitted, thinking it was fairly obvious that her friend already knew that and that she in the clear of any further tickling. ‘But to be fair,’ she added, “I wasn’t expecting anyone in class to find out I’m ticklish,” she wrote with a smiley face.
‘Good point,’ agreed the note-writer. ‘Still though… Friends, family... ‘
‘Oh my roomie is even worse,’ Amber wrote, butterflies filling her stomach as she thought about how ticklish Katy was.
‘Someone is more ticklish than you?’ the note asked. ‘I don’t believe it.
Amber laughed, again drawing the attention of the professor, though she was fortunate enough to make it seem like she was clearing her throat. ‘It’s true,’ she answered. ‘Seems like maybe you might be, too?’ Amber asked, adding a wink face to the end of the note. Was Amber flirting with this person? What was happening?
‘Let’s just say I know enough not to get my feet stuck in chairs when I have nylons on,’ the note replied, forcing yet another smile from Amber. The smile grew even larger when something again brushed against Amber’s toes, completely catching her off-guard as she was re-reading the note.
‘You’re literally killing me right now,’ wrote Amber, adding an ‘LOL’ to her response. “Whatever you’re using is so ticklish,’ she wrote, sending the note back to her friend.
‘I haven’t even used my nails yet,’ replied the note, adding, ‘I’m curious: how much do you think you could take before you did crack?’
Amber’s eyes bugged out of her head when she read that. She had thought she was safe from further tickles, but it seemed like her new friend had another idea altogether. She would have to choose her words wisely.
‘Not much,’ admitted Amber. ‘You’ve got me pretty defenseless here,’ she added. ‘This would be the epitome of not fair,’ she wrote, adding, “so don’t get any ideas.’
Amber felt the note return quickly this time and opened it to see that it read simply: ‘Too late’. She didn’t even have time to process the meaning of the note when that feeling returned again, focusing on Amber’s heel this time, but not stopping like it had done before. Amber reacted to the initial touch by jumping in her seat, and when she felt that whatever it was was not stopping after brushing her heel once, she clenched her eyes tight to try to block out the unbelievably ticklish sensation that was being administered to her. She fidgeted in her seat, trying to find a way - anyway - that she could pull her foot from harm’s way, though she did not find any success. Her foot remained trapped, unable to move even a few inches to escape whatever it was that was brushing her heel right now.
‘No you have to stop,’ Amber wrote frantically. ‘I can’t!’ she added, tossing the note over her shoulder with reckless abandon, hoping to get the tickly feeling to stop. As the person behind her fished for the note, Amber did get the break that she needed.
‘You’ll have to come up with a convincing argument to get me to stop,’ the note-writer responded. ‘Because this is a whole lot more fun than watching that movie.’
The movie! Amber had been so concentrated on this that she hadn’t even been paying attention to the movie at all!
‘Just please,’ wrote Amber, not really knowing how to frame an argument to get someone to stop tickling you. ‘It’s way too ticklish,’ Amber added, pausing after writing the words to see if something better would come to mind. ‘And the nylons…’ she added, hoping that just those words would be enough to get her point across.
Amber had lost track of the time during all of this, and since taking her phone out from her purse was a big no-no in the class, she had no idea of knowing if they were 15 minutes into the movie or 30 minutes. It had seemed like this had been going on forever, but Amber knew very well that when it comes to tickling, ‘forever’ could simply mean 5 minutes.
‘The fact that you’re wearing nylons is only more reason for me to keep tickling,’ replied the note-writer. ‘Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same if you saw your roomie like this… Or me…?’ the note finished.
Was the note-writer flirting back now? ‘Fine,’ conceded Amber in her response. ‘I admit it. I totally would,’ she wrote, not sure if this was helping or harming her cause. ‘But it should be pretty clear that I can’t take it,’ she wrote.
‘Who can take it?’ asked the note rhetorically. ‘You should see me during pedicures. And there’s a reason my shoes always stay on when I am wearing nylons,” the note wrote, adding an ‘LOL’ before posing the following question: ‘Do you regret wearing nylons today?’
Amber again smiled reading the note. For some reason, she liked reading the note-writer admit her own ticklishness, even if it meant Amber had to do the same. Amber began to picture who this person could be and what they might look like. She knew that she had long fingernails, of course. And she knew that she had great taste in perfume, as Amber got a quick whiff every time the girl leaned forward to return the note. She was also clearly ticklish herself, having said as much, and Amber smiled picturing her tormenter at a party or some function and leaving her shoes on for as long as she could so no one had access to her feet.
‘If you’re as ticklish as you say you are,’ wrote Amber, trying to find the right combination of words that would draw a response, “then you should have some sympathy on me here,” she wrote, finishing her sentence. ‘But I pretty much wear nylons every single day,’ Amber wrote, addressing her friend’s question. ‘So while I do regret dropping my shoe and getting stuck in this chair, I don’t regret the nylons.’
This time, the note stayed with the person behind Amber a little longer, for she was the one now reading and re-reading Amber’s last statement.
‘You wear nylons every day?’ the note asked. ‘And how ticklish do you think I’m saying I am?’
‘Every single day,’ responded Amber, realizing now that while she had originally set out to tease Katy a bit today, she might be teasing this mystery girl behind her a bit, too. ‘You should wear them, too’ she wrote, adding yet another winkie face in the note. ‘And I don’t know,’ Amber added. ‘Why don’t you tell me how ticklish you are? It’s only fair.’
‘I may have to sit behind you more often,’ the note wrote back. ‘It would definitely make these lectures more interesting if you’re always in nylons,’ it added. ‘And fine,’ it went on, ‘but only in the interest of fairness: I admit I’m pretty much deathly ticklish,’ the note wrote, drawing a small picture of a tombstone with the inscription “RIP” next to it. ‘I would totally be going berserk if I were you right now,” it concluded.
Despite having no means whatsoever of retaliating, knowing that her tormenter herself was so ticklish was delightful news to Amber. The two definitely had some rapport, and if they ever were to become friends, knowing this might come in handy at some point.
‘I AM going berserk,’ wrote Amber back. ‘My feet are my most ticklish spot,’ she wrote, something that she might otherwise not have admitted were it not so obvious already; besides, she hoped that that admission might draw more information out of her tormentor. ‘And believe me, I am never going to put my feet through this hole again,’ added Amber.
‘You’ll mess up again sometime,’ the note wrote back, and Amber knew that would be true. ‘Yeah, my feet are my weak spot, too,’ admitted the note. ‘Which is why I left my shoes on,’ it added.
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ wrote Amber back. ‘You better hope I never find you wearing nylons because you’ve got some serious payback coming your way,” she wrote, adding, ‘That is, if I knew who you were. My name is Amber by the way,” she wrote, hoping that her new friend would also reveal her name so that Amber might know who she had been dealing with all this time.
‘Melissa,” replied the note, though Amber wasn’t able to find any Melissa in her mental Rolodex or friends in this class. If Melissa was telling the truth, then this really might have been a chance encounter and not one of her friends setting her up. ‘And yeah, I probably deserve it,’ admitted the note, adding, ‘but you’d have to catch me in nylons first.’
‘You’ll mess up,’ echoed Amber in her response. ‘In all honesty, try it one day. You’d be amazed how much warmer they make you with all of this cold weather we’ve been having.’
‘That actually makes a lot of sense,’ admitted the note. ‘But there is no way I’d ever wear them around you now,’ the note added.
‘And why is that?’ asked Amber in response, getting the note back from Melissa quickly.
‘Because you’d do this,” Melissa had written, and as she was sure Amber was reading it, Melissa began lightly dragging the tip of one of her fingernails down Amber’s foot, which not only so caught Amber by surprise but tickled so much that Amber jumped in her seat, bumping into the table that was holding her in and dropping her water bottle to the ground.
“Young lady in the back,” the professor admonished. “You in the blueish plaid shirt. I don’t want to have to talk to you again,” he said, clearly visibly annoyed at Amber’s inability to remain still.
‘So not cool,’ wrote Amber. ‘You’re going to get me kicked out.’
‘Sorry, not sorry,’ replied Melissa. ‘Stop making so much noise and you’ll have nothing to worry about,’ she added.
‘Stop tickling my foot and I won’t make so much noise,’ Amber replied, adding in ‘Duh!’ for effect.
‘OK,’ Melissa replied in the note. ‘Fingernails might be too much. I’ll go back to what I was doing before,’ as she began brushing against Amber’s foot while she read the note.
Amber could hardly concentrate to write a response as she needed almost all of her focus to be spent on trying to block out the tickly sensations of whatever was brushing against her foot. ‘What IS that?’ wrote Amber back in the note. ‘It’s so ticklish,’ she admitted.
‘Just a little feather I had on my backpack,’ wrote Melissa, finally revealing her instrument of destruction. ‘Must be torture with nylons on, huh?’ she asked, adding yet another winkie face to her note.
Again, she returned the feather to Amber’s foot as Amber read her response, very lightly brushing the tip of the feather along Amber’s ankle, over the top of her foot, and down over her toes as Amber squirmed and fidgeted and did anything she could to hold tough.
‘YES’, Amber wrote in big letters as she tried to get the note back in Melissa’s hands to get a break from the tickling. ‘You know it is!’ she wrote, tossing the note behind her. Despite wanting to write more, Amber knew that the only break she received from the tickling was when Melissa was reading and responding to the note.
The note came back quickly again, this time reading ‘I haven’t even started on the bottom of your foot yet.’ Amber’s eyes bugged out of her head, and she again tried to pull her trapped legs free to no avail.
‘Please,’ begged Amber in the note. ‘That’s too much. There’s no way I could hold it in.’ She passed the note back, happy to have gone a round without feeling the feather.
‘Are you admitting that you’re too ticklish to handle it?’ asked Melissa in her response.
‘YES,’ Amber wrote again in capital letters. She hated to admit it, but if admitting it meant the feather would stay off of her foot, she’d admit anything Melissa wanted to hear. ‘Yes yes yes,’ Amber repeated. ‘A million times yes,’ she finished, though she opened the note up one more time to add more. ‘I have nylons on and you’re tickling my foot with a feather. Yes, I am way way way too ticklish to handle that,’ she finished, passing the note back.
‘LOL,’ wrote Melissa back in the note. ‘I’m actually kind of shocked you haven’t lost it yet. I think I would have folded a long time ago,’ she wrote, handing the note back to Amber.
‘Haha,’ wrote Amber back. ‘You have no idea how close I’ve come but I can’t afford to be kicked out of this class,’ she reasoned. ‘No more tickling?’ Amber asked, adding a smiley face at the end hoping this signal of truce would bring an end to her torture.
‘I make no promises,’ Melissa replied, again running the feather on the bottom of Amber’s foot at she read the note. Again, Amber jumped, and she hid her face in the sleeve of her shirt as quickly as she could so as not to draw the ire of the professor. This was the worst. Amber clenched her eyes closed, unable to even respond to the note, trying hard to hold it together. The feather lightly dragging along the bottom of Amber’s foot was more than she could handle. Sure, it had tickled when Melissa was doing it to Amber’s ankle, but that was mostly because Amber had nylons on. The bottom of her foot, though? This would tickle even if Amber had thick socks on! Even with her eyes clenched shut, Amber could picture the feather, lazily drawing a line down the middle of the bottom of Amber’s foot, the nylons offering no resistance to the feather’s path as it crossed down over her heel into the arch area and up to the ball of her foot. Amber reached down with her left arm and tried to blindly swat Melissa’s hand away, but each swing came up empty. At last, the feather had reached Amber’s toes where it was now gliding across the top of each toe like a pianist playing its instrument, before Melissa returned it to her lap and Amber could come up for breath.
‘I’m going to kill you,’ wrote Amber once she had regained her composure. ‘You win,’ she admitted. ‘I give up. Please. I’ll do anything,’ Amber said, fully realizing the desperation in her tone. She was desperate. Sure, tickling was something that she had come to love over the last few weeks, but not here… Not in front of this professor… Not in a way that could get her kicked out of class… ‘You name it. Just please no more tickling.’
‘You’ll do anything huh?’ Melissa asked, returning the note to Amber without giving her any time to respond, instead placing the feather back on the tips of Amber’s toes where it had ended its journey before, now re-tracing its steps backwards. Amber almost dropped the note as she jumped from the tickly touch, her teeth now clenched closed to hold in the mass of giggles that were welling up inside of her. Amber clutched onto the arm rests of the chair as the feather found its way down over the balls of her foot again. Melissa was doing this more slowly, more deliberately this time, leaving no spot on Amber’s foot untouched as it made its way closer to the arch.
‘NO!’ Amber thought to herself, realizing how thorough Melissa was being and how close the feather was to Amber’s instep, the weakness that Katy had uncovered just the other day. Amber panicked. How would she be able to hold it together once the feather reached the instep? Would she even be able to? Truth be told, the back and forth flirting between the two girls had left Amber with goosebumps already, as she delighted in reading Melissa admit her ticklish weaknesses to her. Surely a feather along her instep would push her right over the edge; the mere thought of it was almost enough.
But Melissa stopped the feather’s pursuit just shy of the arch, giving Amber a break.
‘You HAVE to stop,’ warned Amber in her note. ‘I’m going to crack. Please,’ she wrote. ‘I’m literally begging. I will seriously do anything you want if you just stop tickling.’
She handed the note back to Melissa knowing full well this was her last chance. There was no way she’d last through even an accidental tickle again. The constant light tickling of the feather had weakened her to a state where she would not be able to mount any defense to another tickle. She was broken. The tap on the shoulder came again and Amber closed her eyes hoping to see an end.
‘Anything?’ Melissa wrote again. ‘I am kind of hungry… I don’t suppose you’d want to grab some lunch after class?’
That was it? She wanted lunch? ‘Totally!’ agreed Amber. ‘My treat. Your choice. Just please… No more tickling?’
‘No more tickling,’ agreed Melissa in her note back. ‘I was going to stop anyways. You looked like you were going to lose your mind there,” she added.
‘My God I was!’ admitted Amber. ‘You have no idea how much that tickled.’
‘Oh believe me,’ responded Melissa. ‘I know how much it tickles,” she said, adding ‘By the way, I have your shoe if you’re looking for it.
Unbeknownst to either Amber or Melissa, the presentation had concluded, and the professor was now turning the lights to the classroom on once again, allowing the students a moment to stand. For the first time, Melissa and Amber would be able to see each other face-to-face.
