Tickle Street Chapter 26 – “A Day in the Life”

by tummyticklish01 and Strelnikov
Copyright 2002, 2004 by the authors


This story is a complete rewrite of an earlier story, “Brittany’s Ticklish Day”. That story started off as tummyticklish01’s episodic “Choose Your Own Tickle Street”. When tummyticklish01 disappeared from this board, she left “Choose” hanging. I wanted to know how it ended, so I finished it, the first Tickle Street story I ever wrote. The story is mostly hers up to Alex’s arrival, the rest is mine. Both earlier stories are on the “Post Stories” forum, if you want to look for them.

Like all first efforts, “Brittany’s Ticklish Day” was terrible. Still, it did get a few positive responses, and that encouraged me to continue. Member Haltickling provided a critique (thanks, Hal!) but is in no way responsible for any remaining faults.


Strelnikov



Dramatis Personae (in order of appearance)

Brittany Righetti
Brittany is 18, almost 19, and has lived on Tickle Street all her life. She has long dark hair and brown eyes, a beautiful Italian face and features, curves in all the right places. She has a bit of an attitude, but it can quickly be destroyed if she's tickled. She's super-ticklish, and her twin older sisters Vicky and Veronica always take advantage of that.

Vicky and Veronica Righetti
They’re “mirror twins” – identical, but Vicky, the leader, is a lefty (Latin “sinister”) and Veronica is right handed. They’re two years older than Brittany, medium height, with very trim and fit figures that they maintain by martial arts. They have wavy dark brown hair worn shoulder length, dark brows and lashes, brown eyes. They’re extremely ticklish, but since they’re a team, they don’t get tickled much.

Anne Kincaid
She’s 19 years old, has a great body, light brown hair, long lashes and dazzling hazel eyes. She lives with her parents, grandfather and two brothers, Josh and Jim. No one talks about why they moved to Tieson City. Anne has a heavenly southern accent and is extremely ticklish. Needless to say, her brothers take full advantage. She once had the typical southern girl innocence… But she got over it long ago.

Alex Budanov
She still thinks of herself as Aleksandra Budanova – she was 15 years old when her family left Russia to come to America. She has just finished her Freshman year at Commonwealth University. Alex is new to Tickle Street. Long, silvery blonde hair, dark blue eyes, fair skin with a fit body and buxom figure. She HATES being tickled, and is by no means an enthusiastic tickler – at least, not yet. She lives with her parents and three younger sisters: Julie, Jenny and Katie.

Melissa Gabreski
Melissa is attractive with great curves, dark hazel eyes, and long dark brown hair with blonde streaks. She’s 20 years old, has lived on Tickle Street her whole life but until recently had few friends outside of her parents and Michael, her younger brother. She's super ticklish, and thinks it’s weird to be so ticklish like she is. She used to be very shy – but the other girls cured that!

Julie Budanov
Yulia Budanova is Alex’s younger sister – she has just turned 18. Unlike her buxom blonde older sister, Julie is slender with long, bright coppery red hair. She has high cheekbones, exotic eyes inherited from a distant Tatar ancestor, and skin so fair that it seems almost translucent. Her eyes are that indeterminate shade that sometimes appears blue or gray, sometimes green or hazel. She’s left-handed. Russian folklore associates her physical type with witchcraft and malign spirits – her sisters are a little afraid of her, and even her parents are sometimes uneasy over this strange chick in their nest. She has the most ticklish feet in the neighborhood.

Candice Wade
A little beauty, 18 years old, with crystal blue eyes and ash blonde hair, and a very trim and shapely body. An extrovert and sensualist, she loves to be tickled and get in ticklish situations, but if the tickling goes too far, she's out of control. Her lust to be tickled has grown and grown over the past year, and now she'll do anything to get tickled. She's lived with her parents and sister on Tickle Street since she was five.

Sara Rosen
She’s an 18-year-old adrenaline junkie, a risk-taker who likes to…let’s just say bend…the law. She’s built like Dolly Parton, a small girl with a slender waist and amazing upper body development. She has long dark brown hair, beautiful green eyes, and a fit, toned body. She’s extremely ticklish. She’s an enthusiastic tickler, on the principle that it’s more blessed to give than to receive.

Meghan Meyer
The tiniest girl on Tickle Street, 18 years old, very small and petite, with strawberry blonde hair, blue eyes and freckled fair skin. Her father's job got transferred, so they ended up in Tieson City, on Tickle Street. She never knew that she had a nack for tickling… but she soon found out. For Meghan, Tickle Street is a target-rich environment, with plentiful opportunities to hone her skill.


Sadistic Siblings…

Anne’s Brothers
Josh Kincaid is 21 years old, Jim is 18. They’re into football (a religious sacrament in the South), cars, fishing, and tickling Anne and her friends – not necessarily in that order.

Melissa’s Brother
Michael Gabreski is two years younger, a head taller and outweighs his sister Melissa by 100 lbs. – “big sister/little brother” is a family joke. Melissa knows better than to let him get in tickle range of her feet, but sometimes… Well, shit happens.

Alex and Julie’s Little Sisters
Jenny Budanov – Evgenia Budanova – is 16 years old, blonde and blue eyed, a younger version of Alex. Katie Budanov – Ekaterina Budanova – is the youngest, age 13. She’ll look like Alex and Jenny when she fills out a little more.


Supporting Cast…

Brittany’s Mom: Doesen’t believe in corporal punishment. There are better ways.

Anne’s Mom: Does she know about all of the tickling that goes on? Don’t ask – don’t tell.

Melissa’s Dad: A man with a grievance.

Candice’s Mom: Pretty cool for an old gal.


********************


Here's a day in the life of Brittany, as seen from the inside...

Good morning, Brittany.

You wake up with a weight on your hips. The blankets are gone. Your wrists are pinned over your head. You feel fingernails resting on your tummy under your pajama top. More fingernails are just touching your bare soles. It’s Saturday morning, and like every Saturday morning for as far back as you can remember, you’re about to get tickled silly.

Your eyelids flutter open, and you shake your head to get your long dark hair out of your face. You’re laying on your back with your older sister Vicky straddling your waist, her right hand holding your wrists pinned above your head. Her shoulder-length, dark brown hair is tied back in a pony tail. Her brown eyes, so like your own, twinkle as she eyes you devilishly. You can’t see Vicky’s twin, Veronica, but you know that those are her fingernails touching the soles of your bare feet.

“No Vicky no!” you scream and beg, trying to get free, but you know how easily your sisters can overpower you – they’re a lot stronger than they look. You try kicking your legs but it has no effect on getting you freed, as Vicky slowly moves her left hand, her long, well-manicured fingernails sliding toward your sensitive side.

“Tickle tickle little sis!” Vicky says in a sing-song voice, and begins to dig her nails into your side, tickling under your shirt. You begin to scream and giggle crazily, as the fingers roam up and down your sensitive side. You try desperately to pull your arms away, but Vicky has a steel grip on your wrists. Veronica’s nails are flicking your soles, tickling like crazy, and the tickling is sucking away your strength by the second. As you laugh at the top of your lungs, thinking it can't get worse, Vicky pulls up the bottom of your top, just enough to expose your well toned abs and sides. She now begins to lightly dance her nails up and down your tummy, watching your tummy muscles twitch and quiver beneath the ticklish touch.

“HAHAHAHAHAA-HEEEHEHE– VICKIEEEE! HEHEHE-HEHE-HEHEHEEE!” You try desperately to ask her to stop, but forming words is now on the list of impossible things to do.

Veronica is tickling between your toes by now, and it’s driving you crazy! Vicky continues to rake her nails across your tummy, going from one side to the other, and when reaching a side, giving it several pokes to emit loud squeals from you. She tickles along the bottom of your ribcage, down your side, back across above the panty line, back up the other side, then across to the navel and starts circling it with one fingernail. You’re laughing like mad, trying to buck her off, but it’s hopeless, and you know from experience that she’ll start on your ribs next. You wish that you had never waked up this morning, but that wouldn't have helped, they always surprise you while you are still asleep, and tickle torture you anyway. You giggle insanely, when you hear a faint voice.

“Giiiirls! Is that you?”

It's your mother! You're saved, or are you? Vicky and Veronica both freeze, the room is silent save your heavy breathing. You hear Mom's footsteps coming closer.

Veronica and Vicky listen intently on Mom’s footsteps. They seem to totally forget about your vulnerable, extremely ticklish body. But heck, enough of the tickling, here's your chance! You take a deep breath, and buck Vicky off, freeing yourself from their grasp and running out of your room. You don't make it far until you run smack-dab into Mom, her hair up in curlers and donning her white fluffy robe.

“Hey Mom!” you say with a startled tone in your voice.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry, Brittany?” Mom asks.

“Uuuhhh...I'm going for a walk!” you lie, and a little smile forms on your face, quite pleased with your little fib.

“In your pajamas? A likely story! Come with me, young lady,” Mom says in a different tone, and drags you into the kitchen.

You wonder what is going on until you reach the kitchen, and see your mother's just-made chocolate cake for the Food Festival this weekend, except it doesn't look like much of a chocolate cake anymore. Pieces and crumbs of the cake are scattered all over the tiled kitchen, and chocolate frosting is smeared all over the counters and floor. But in the middle of the whole mess is the cause, your dog Spanky, with chocolate cake smeared across his face.

“Why are you showing me Spanky's mess?” you ask innocently.

“You know why, Brittany. You were the one who was supposed to take Spanky to his dog house last night. But for some reason he stayed inside all night, and ate my chocolate cake!”

“Oooh, I'm soooo sorry, mommy.” You face her, trying to put on the best puppy-face you can muster.

“That won't work this time young lady, to the couch!”

You freeze in shock, you know all too well what that means as you drag yourself over to the family room couch, as the fear of tickling overcomes you.

Mom sits at the right side of the couch, raises her left knee, her foot resting on the cushion. You sit sideways on the opposite side of the couch from your angry mother, and slide your bare, defenseless, and extremely ticklish feet under her raised knee, resting your ankles on her right thigh. Mom lowers her leg across your ankles, locking your bare feet completely immobile in her lap.

“Now how many minutes do you think you deserve, Brittany?” Mom asks you as she smiles slyly.

“One?” you answer, already knowing it won't work.

“I think ten minutes will work just fine,” she replies.

“Ten minutes! Mom, I can't take that much foot tickling!” You beg, putting on the puppy-face again, but to no avail.

“Starting....now!” You cringe as you lay back on the couch, closing your eyes, but opening them again, not sure if you want to watch the tickling or not.

Mom starts off slowly like she always does, just lightly teasing your soles. You start giggling, your feet twich and squirm a bit as she lightly strokes from heel to arch, then covering the entire sole.

“Tickle tickle, little Brittany,” Mom teases you, as the stroking gets faster.

Now your giggles get more rapid, with little time to breathe between each set, as you grip a pillow in your hands, trying to focus on something, anything else!

Mom's long, well-manicured nails lightly graze your baby-soft soles, making quick, light contact, tickling like crazy. The nails soon began breaking from straight lines, and making little circles and other designs on your feet, making your giggles turn to all-out laughter.

The tickling invades your mind, the laughter is nonstop. Your chest is heaving like crazy as you squirm like a worm on the couch, digging into the pillow with all your might. But Mom takes no notice, and begins scratching both arches, just in front of your heels, with two little nails each. That’s the sweet spot, where it really, really tickles – your laughter is going out of control, you’re completely helpless. You bounce like mad on the couch, laughing your head off, trying to beg Mom to stop, but not able to form the words.

“Your time’s up,” Mom says simply, and leaves you alone on the couch to clean up the kitchen.

You lay there unmoving, breathing strainingly to get your heart-rate back to normal. The thought occurs to you (not for the first time) that just about all of the female members of your family are tickle fiends – it’s been obvious for years.

Your cousins Joanna and Jamie Shaw live at the other end of Tickle Street. Mom and Aunt Karen are identical twins too – it runs in the family. They were stay-at-home moms when the girls were little, and the two women, then in their 20’s, had spent a lot of time together. Tickling ran in the family, then as now – their tickle fights featured in some of your earliest memories.

The two women have calmed down considerably, but there’s still a lot of rib poking and tummy tickling when they get together. Dad and Uncle Bill just didn’t understand, but you do – all too well. Oh well, you think – at least my sisters and me came by it honestly.

As soon as you breathe normally again, and have regained most of your strength, you head for the kitchen. With the cleanup complete, you wonder what to do. That walk that you lied about seems like a great idea now. You quickly change into a cute little outfit. A yellowish flower print sleeveless top with tiny, thin straps, tight-fitting dark blue jean shorts, and a pair of comfy sandals without socks. You sneak out the door and head outside.

It's surprisingly cool for summer, with rain-clouds hanging impendingly over your head. Luckily Anne doesen’t live far away, and you decide to go check up on her.

You make it to her house just as a few raindrops began to pitter-patter on the dry concrete. You ring her doorbell, and wait a few seconds before Anne's mother opens the door.

“Hey Brittany,” she greets you warmly with a huge smile.

“Hi,” you reply with an equally warm smile.

“You’re probably looking for Anne,” she says as you enter the house. “She's down in the basement with her brothers, you can just go down there,” she tells you and goes back to the kitchen.

So you politely take your sandals off at the door, as to not get their wooden floors wet, and make your way down to their basement. Odd that they would be in the basement, you think – there’s nothing there but old furniture.

You open up the door, and walk down the slightly spiralling staircase which leads to their unfurnished basement. The stairs slightly creak as you walk down them, and you suddenly hear a burst of shrill giggles. It must be Anne! You now start lightly jogging down the stairs. You finally get to the end of the stairs, and to your surprise you see...

Anne pinned to the floor, with her older brother Josh straddling her hips, and her younger brother Jim holding her arms above her head.

“Tickle tickle tickle!” Josh taunts, as he wiggles his fingers into her tummy again, tickling her flat abs through her sleeveless red shirt.

“Hehehehehe!” Anne bursts into girlish giggles, trying to thrash around, but being only able to kick. As Jim holds her arms up, he sneaks a tickle in on her bare, smooth armpits, making her giggles double.

“S-stoop it! Heheheheheee– Jooosshhh!” Anne begs, but keeps giggling as her older brother's fingers go crazy on her abs.

But all of a sudden Josh stops, and Anne is silent, as all three look at you, standing there with your mouth gaping open. As the three stare at you blankly, thoughts of tickling twirl through your mind, until you finally open your mouth.

“Need an extra hand, guys?”

They both smile knowingly back at you, and Anne starts screaming again as they pin her back to the floor and you walk closer.

“No Brittany, don't do this! Pleaseeee!” Anne begs in her rich southern accent.

“Sorry Anne, but I'd much rather be the giver than the receiver,” you slightly giggle to yourself, and approach the tickling scene.

“Looks like you boys forgot Anne's widdle cute feet,” you say in a baby-voice, now bending down at her bare feet, held pretty much immobile from Josh's weight on her waist.

“No, Brittany!” Anne cries out.

You put both ankles into an arm lock. Both of her feet are slightly kicking, and her little toes are wiggling. You start by lightly scratching your nails from arch to heel of her left foot. Anne reacts quickly, softly giggling and squealing.

“L-let me– hehehe! goooo g-guyss!” Anne giggles out, trying to get free but to no avail.

You now began softly stroking her left sole with your soft fingertips, just grazing the adorably-soft skin. Anne's toes start to scrunch up and wiggle like crazy.

You look up from the tickling, and see Josh and Jim staring at you smiling.

“You guys can join in anytime,” you wink back at them.

They get the hint, and turn back to their ticklish victim.

“NOOO! No more!” Anne manages to scream out before Josh's rough fingers began to rub thoroughly up and down her ribcage through her light shirt. Anne begins laughing like a madwoman. Josh has a little trouble still straddling her, but luckily he holds on. His fingers feel all over her delicate ribcage, getting on and between each ticklish rib. Meanwhile, as Jim tries to hold her arms down, every now and then he pokes one of her bare, soft underarms, eliciting a scream from his older sister, or once in awhile strokes the soft, smooth skin.

But you’re completely merciless. You dig your nails into both defenseless soles, stroking back and forth, side to side, in circles and other random tickling shapes. Anne is laughing hysterically now, having no power to utter a single word, just a never-ending flow of laughter escaping her lips. Her light brown hair whips to and fro like a rainstorm, and her cheeks are getting red from the laughter.

Just after you paid a good minute of tickle torture on Anne's very ticklish heels, you crane your neck down and lightly lick one of Anne's big toes This causes an especially loud shriek from her as she falls back to normal rated laughter.

This full-body tickling goes on for a solid five more minutes, until finally you find some mercy in your heart, and the three of you stop for her to breathe.

"T-that tickled s-so much." Anne says breathlessly.

You smile back at her.

“But now, it's your turn!” Anne says grimly as she gets up, and holds out a piece of long, thick rope.

Without even uttering a single word, you spring to your feet, ready to run for the basement door. But Josh's mind was one step ahead, and he firmly grabs your right ankle, causing you to trip as you make a run for it.

“Aaaawww, what's the matter, Brittany – too ticklish for a little bit of fun?” Anne smiles widely, knowing her revenge will be much sweeter than the tickling she earlier endured.

“C'mon Anne, it was just a bit of fun, you understand?” you beg as Josh grabs your other ankle, and you lay flat on your back on the floor, as Anne hovers above you holding the rope.

“Anne!” you shriek out before all three of them pile on. Josh holds down your flailing legs. Jim pins your arms above your head, as Anne works quickly on tying your wrists together. She continues the hand-knot onto the bottom leg of the old couch, restraining your hands around the leg of the couch. She then helps Josh out with your lower half, as he quickly ties your ankles together with a big, fat knot. But since there's nothing to connect the ankle's knot to, they simply leave Josh sitting on your legs, leaving your little feet practically immobile.

“Ready for a bit of tickle-torture, Brittany?” Anne taunts you as she straddles your nicely curved hips.

“Pleease Anne, anything but tickling!” you cry out one last time, knowing it won't change her mind, but giving it a shot anyway.

Anne now has straddled your hips, and your hands are tied to the bottom of the couch. You still tug to the end of your energy, but it does no good except to egg Anne on.

“Tickle tickle tickle!” Anne teases, wiggling her fingers and long, well-manicured nails in the air.

“Nooooo!” you scream out as Josh can no longer be patient, and he starts lightly stroking your soft soles.

“Heeeheheheheheee!” You immediately burst into girlish titters, giggling like a 5 year old.

Anne quickly joins her older brother in the tickling party, by pushing up your shirt just enough to bare your whole, flat, tanned belly. She then starts by lightly walking her nails across your toned tummy muscles, watching them twitch as you giggle and squeal. Anne's eyes are glued to your abs, paying close attention to her precise and well-techniqued tickling.

Meanwhile Jim focuses his greedy eyes on your bare armpits, left unprotected by your skimpy tank-top. He sits there for about a minute, just glaring down at your soft, smooth underarms, not yet even getting ready to tickle. But suddenly a loud squeal wakes him up, caused by Anne wiggling a finger into your bellybutton.

He then gets into full tickle-action, first by stiffening both index fingers, then by poking your armpits with one of each. Your laughter immediately gets louder as your highly-sensitive armpits are playfully tickled. Anne has had no mercy on your midsection in the meantime, as she now grips your vulnerable sides and squeezes to her delight, getting a louder shriek from you each time. Josh has been working hard on your bare feet as well, as he now playfully flutters his fingers over your toes, making little contact but tickling like crazy!

You think your about to burst from the overload of tickling, when suddenly you hear loud footsteps coming down the stairs. You try to crane your neck to see who's coming down but it's in vain, Anne's body fully blocks your view. She now moves the tickling to your ribcage, softly digging into the spaces between each rib. You arch your back and laugh like mad.

“Anne! Josh! Jim!” A stern voice shouts, and the tickling stops as quickly as it had started.

Anne gets off your waist like dismounting from a horse and stands up. You blink away tears of laughter and see that Alex has paused at the bottom of the stairs. She’s wearing a navy-and-white Moscow Dynamo soccer jersey, denim shorts and backless white sneakers without socks. Her silvery blonde hair is done up in a pony tail.

“Your mom said that Brittany was down here with you,” says Alex in a heavy Russian accent. “She said I should come down and join fun. FUN! Is everyone here tickle maniac?”

“Pretty much,” says Anne. You notice that the guys have quietly moved around behind Alex and cut her off from the stairs. Should you warn her? Nah... let her take the same chances you did.

“How... nekulturno!” says Alex.

“Buttinski!” says Jim. “Get her!”

Josh expertly pins Alex’s arms behind her. Anne ties her hands behind her back. Jim brings over two old ladder-back kitchen chairs and sets them facing each other. The guys put Alex in one, tie her to it around her waist and shoulders. Jim puts Alex’s feet through the back of the second chair, Josh ties her ankles together and to one of the horizontal slats. Anne flips off her shoes, ties her big toes together with heavy-duty string, and grins evilly. The whole evolution is executed flawlessly, with zero waste motion – this is obviously not their first rodeo.

“What now?” asks Josh.

“Tickling contest,” says Anne. “Get the other chairs. We’ll tie Brittany up the same way and see who breaks first. I'll challenge you both – you tickle Brittany and I’ll tickle Alex.”

“Yob tvoyu mat’!” shouts Alex, furious, struggling against her bonds.

“Oooh! That sounds nasty! You'll pay for that,” says Anne, and begins tickling Alex’s ribs.

“Otstan!” Alex begs. “Hehehe! HAHAHA-HAHAHAHAHA! Nyet! HEEHEE-HEEHEEHEEE-HAHAHAHAHA!”

Josh sets two more kitchen chairs next to Alex. Jim rolls you onto your tummy and re-ties your hands behind you. They pick you up, tie you to a chair and tie your bound ankles to the other, with your bare feet sticking through. Another piece of string ties your big toes together.

You see that Anne has moved her tickling effort down to Alex's sides and tummy. She’s laughing uncontrollably now, squirming to escape the tickling. Her pony tail whips back and forth as she struggles against the ropes.

“OK, Jim, we have to catch up,” says Josh. “You start at the top, I’ll tickle her feet.”

“Nooo! Please don’t!” you beg. “Heh-heh-heh-heh!” as Jim starts in on your ribs. Josh still has the ball of string. “Ah-hahaha-hahahaha!” you giggle as he slips the string between your toes and starts pulling it back and forth. “HAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHA-HAHAHAHA!” as Josh abandons the string and spider-walks his fingers over your soft soles. Jim moves down to your sides, and both of them set to work in earnest.

Jim works his way down to your tummy, then your hips, then your thighs, and finally your knees. All the while, Josh is tickling your feet. Through your ticklish agony, you see that Anne is now tickling Alex’s knee with one hand and tickling her feet with the other.

They’re tickling you silly, and it seems to last forever. You lapse into ticklish delirium. Suddenly the tickling stops. “Hehehehehehe!” you giggle as you wind down and return to your senses.

“Damn!” says Josh. “Who woulda thought Anne could beat us at our own game?”

“She had a head start,” says Jim.

“Yeah, but there were two of us tickling Brittany.”

“Practice makes perfect, guys,” says Anne. Poor Alex is beyond speech – she has been well and truly tickled out. Her hair has come loose from her pony tail and hangs loosely around her shoulders.

“Josh,” says Jim, “this is fun and all, but we’re burning daylight. We can always come back and tickle ‘em later.”

“You’re right,” says Josh. “So long, girls! We’re gonna go shoot some hoops at the park.”

You hear Josh’s car crank up outside. “Alex, are you OK?” you ask.

“Da,” she says. “Untie me, Anne. Was really mean – you tickled so much!”

Anne moves a stool over next to the other girls’ feet. “Not so fast,” she says. You see that she has a paint brush in each hand. “This opportunity is too good to waste.”

She starts brushing your soles – side to side, then up and down. You try to resist. “Ple-hehe-ease! Sta-hahaha-ap!” you say. Alex is already giggling: “Hehehehe-hehehehehe!”

Anne starts brushing in circles. You lose it. “HAHAHAHA-HAHAHAHAHAHA-HAHAHAHA!”

You and Alex laugh and laugh. Anne is an artist with the brush. She flicks it back and forth across your toes and soles, up and down from toes to heels and back again, figure eight's on both feet, and then starts brushing in a circle covering both arches. The last is the worst, because once on every circle it gets THE SPOT. Through tears of laughter, you see Alex laughing beside you. Impressive – Anne is doing Alex the same way with the brush in her other hand. Every time Anne’s brush flicks the soles and balls of Alex’s feet, her laughter goes off the chart. Her face is red, streams of laughter pour out of her.

Then Anne grins at you, winks, and concentrates her efforts on THE SPOT, on both feet. The tickling bristles flick your arches and heels, side to side, up and down. You throw back your head and howl with forced mirth. You’re past being able to struggle, you can’t even form a coherent thought.

Finally Anne stops. “I need a break,” she says.

“YOU need a break!” you gasp.

“Listen,” says Anne. “I think Melissa could use a dose of misery. Let’s go tickle her for a while.”

You hesitate. Anne and Melissa have some sort of contest going, and you’re not sure you want to get involved.

Anne flicks her manicured nails up and down your sole. “HAHAHA-HAHAHA-HAHAHAHA! OK, OK, you win!”

“Alex?” says Anne, and gives her the same treatment

“WA-HAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHA-HAHAHAHAHAHA! Khorosho! Ne schekochi menya!”

“How’s that again?” says Anne, and scrabbles her fingernails across Alex’s arches and heels.

“Khvatit! HAHAHAHAHA! HAHA-HEEHEE-HAHAHAHA! Da, khorosho! Zdaylus! Khorosho!” shouts Alex, desperately nodding her head.

“Lost your English, have you?” says Anne, grinning. “Damn, I’m good!”

“Suka!” says Alex, angrily.

“It’s probably just as well that I didn’t understand that last part,” says Anne. She unties your wrists. “I figure you two would try to get even, so I’ll let you get your feet loose yourself and then untie Alex. I’ll meet you outside, where I can run for it if I have to.”

You start working yourself free of the ropes. You're sweaty, your hair is a mess, tears have been running down your cheeks, you desperately need a cold drink, and your lungs feel like you've run a distance race. But oddly enough, you feel great. Must be the endorphins released by the laughter.

But when you touch Alex, she flinches. “Please, Brittany, let me go home. Anne tickled so much! I can’t take any more tickling,” she says.

As you start untying her, you say “Alex, come with us. Don’t worry – I’ll get some reinforcements.” And as Alex goes upstairs, you make a fast call on your cell phone.

When you get outside, you see that the rain has blown over. Anne is waiting for you. She’s still wearing the red sleeveless top and khaki shorts she wore earlier. Her light brown hair is tied back in a pony tail. She has a backpack purse, and is wearing platform flip-flops that add a good three inches to her height. She’s ready to play some more.

You hear a commotion as you approach Melissa’s house – it’s coming from the back yard. It’s Melissa, laughing her head off. “HAHAHAHAHAHA! Nooo! Dad-deee-hehehehe! Sta-hahaha-ap! HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

You graduated from high school with Melissa’s younger brother Michael. He’s a big guy, a football player, who’s a head taller than Melissa and outweighs her by at least 100 lbs. You’ve known him for years – and you’re well aware that he’s an enthusiastic foot tickler. He’s been tickling Melissa ever since he got big enough to get away with it. More than once, he’s tickled your feet until you were raving, and he’s gotten the rest of the neighborhood girls too.

Now you discover that his size isn’t the only thing Michael inherited from his dad. You and the others circle around and peek around the corner of the house. Melissa is dressed in a bright canary yellow top and white shorts. She had been reclining in a lounge chair, reading. Now, her dad is standing over her. She’s sprawled on her back, struggling, with her bare feet in the air. He has both of her ankles gripped in one big hand. He’s tickling her feet with the other.

“Melissa,” he says in an exasperated tone, “how many times have I told you NOT to shave your legs with my razor?” You notice several bloody scraps of tissue stuck to his face.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Ple-hehehe-eease, Daddy!” from Melissa. She’s squirming and struggling, but his grip is too tight to escape. Her long hair, dark with blonde streaks, is in tangles from her struggles.

“Don’t remember? Guess I’ll have to tickle you as an aid to memory,” he said.

“NOOO! HAHA-HAHAHAHAHAHAHA-HAHAHAHA!” as his fingers fly over her ticklish soles.

Anne nudges you and grins. Alex just looks sour.

Watching him tickle Melissa, you realize that Mom could give him pointers on technique. Still, he gets the job done. His big hand can tickle both feet at the same time, and he’s merciless. He scrabbles his nails over Melissa’s soles, dances them down her arches, scratches her sensitive heels, then shifts his tickle target and keeps up a steady tickling of both arches and both heels. That’s the sweet spot – in the arches, just in front of the heels, just like yours. Melissa laughs and laughs, red faced, tears of laughter running down her cheeks.

Finally, he pauses and says, “OK, Melissa, have you learned your lesson?”

“Hehehehe! Yes, yes, I give up! I won’t do it again!”

“See that you don’t,” he says sternly, and starts tickling again. Melissa dissolves once more into helpless laughter. After a minute or so, he stops tickling and lets go of her ankles. She just lays there on the lounge, gasping for air.

You and the others fade back, then approach the house again, making more noise this time. The whap-whap-whap sound of Anne’s shoes follows you on your walk around the house. When you get there, you see that Michael has joined his father and sister.

“Hi, girls!” says Melissa’s dad. “Melissa and I were just having a, er, um… discussion, but we’re finished now.”

“Mom’s waiting for us in the car, Dad,” Michael says. “She said rustle your stumps – we’re gonna be late.”

“OK, we’re finished here anyway. Sure you don’t want to come with us, Melissa?”

“I’ll pass.”

You see Michael checking out your sandaled feet, and Anne’s too. “Maybe I’ll stay home too,” he says, grinning.

“You’ll disappoint your mother,” his dad said. “You can play with the girls some other time. Come on, let’s get going.”

“Bye, Daddy. Bye, Michael. See you tonight.” Then, “What brings you three over here?”

“We’ve come for a few laughs,” says Anne. “YOURS! Get her!”

You and Anne wrestle Melissa face down. Anne reaches into the backpack and produces a length of rope. The two of you hogtie Melissa. Alex stands by, looking slightly uneasy.

“Let me GO! I’ll get you for this!” shouts Melissa, struggling.

“Bold words,” says Anne. “Brittany, show Alex how to make Melissa sing.”

You motion for Alex to join you next to Melissa’s upturned feet. “Tickle here first – it drives her crazy,” you say, and demonstrate by flicking your fingernails in the sweet spots.

“NO! Hehehehe! Hahahahahaha! That TICKLES!”

“Is supposed to tickle,” says Alex, and spider-walks her nails over Melissa’s sweet spot.

“HAHAHAHAHA-HAHAHAHA!” Melissa laughs helplessly – the tickling tutorial you gave Alex last weekend is paying off. Alex, gratified by Melissa’s response, picks up the pace, and you join in, flicking and scratching the ticklish soles. Melissa arches her back and howls with forced mirth.

“Hey, this was my idea,” says Anne. “Move over, Brittany. I’ll show Alex how it’s done.”

You step aside. You know how good Anne is, and Alex’s technique isn’t bad – she must have been practicing on her sisters. They’re really into it now – Melissa’s laughter is non-stop, completely unrestrained. You ease out of the yard and meet your sisters coming up the walk. They’re right on time.

Vicky and Veronica have gone for the expedition look: khaki shirts with lots of pockets, khaki cargo shorts, heavy duty sandals with truck-tire soles. Their hair is clipped at the back of their necks.

Vicky says, “Hey, little sis…”

“…here we are…” Veronica continues.

“…and if you’re…”

“…shucking us…”

“…you’re gonna get it!” they finish in unison.

“I’m so not – can’t you hear Melissa laughing?” Geez Louise, they’d have to be deaf not to hear her. “Lose the shoes,” you say, kicking off your sandals. “We’re gonna have to chase Anne, and you can’t run in those.” And after they do, you tell them “OK – follow me.”

The three of you come around the house at a fast lope. “Garryowen! CHARGE!” you shout. Alex jumps back, alarmed. Anne springs up, tries to run, gets tangled up in her platform flip-flops and stumbles. Then you’re on her.

You and your sisters frog-march Anne back near Melissa and bulldog her down. Vicky produces a pair of old nylons from a pocket, and the twins hogtie Anne. “How’s that, sis?” asks Vicky.

“Just right,” you reply. “OK, Alex, we’re gonna get even with Anne. Veronica, give me a pen.”

Veronica produces one, tosses it. You hook it out of the air: a Bic ballpoint.

You grab Anne’s right foot, bend the toes back, and start writing – very small – on the sole.

“HAHA-HAHAHAHA! Hehehe! AH-HAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHA! That tickles so much! What is that?” asks Anne.

You dot the “i”s with little circles, to the accompaniment of more laughter, and hand Alex the pen. “We call these “foot notes.” See, I’ve written “I will not tickle Brittany any more” on Anne’s foot. Your turn – do you think we can write it 100 times each?”

“Maybe,” says Alex. “I will try. Perhaps I write “I must not tickle Aleksandra again.” And as she writes on Anne’s other foot, Anne dissolves into gales of laughter.

You look over to your sisters while Alex is writing.

Melissa says, “Boy, I’m sure glad you came. They were tickling me silly. Untie me, willya?”

Vicky winks at her twin. “Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?” asks Veronica.

“Orange.”

“Orange who?”

“Orange you gonna tickle Melissa?”

“Hey! No fair!” says Melissa.

Veronica says, “We sure had fun tickling her the last time. Let’s give her some more.”

“OH NO! HAHAHAHAHA-hehe-HAHAHA-HAHAHAHA!” as Veronica spreads Melissa’s toes and starts scratching lightly between them, forcing a stream of laughter. She’s the foot tickler of the pair, and she’s very, very good. She traces circles around the balls of Melissa’s feet, flicks her nails along the wrinkles on her soles – Melissa is laughing wildly now, straining against her bonds.

Veronica scratches lightly under Melissa’s toes. Then her tickling fingers drift slowly down to the ticklish heels, flicking and scratching. Finally, both hands, all over, toes to heels and back again, over and over. Vicky joins the fun for some four-handed tickling. Melissa laughs musically, helplessly, face red, tears streaming.

Anne’s laughter has stopped. Alex nudges you, hands back the pen. You give Anne another line of tickley notes. Her feet must be super-sensitized by the tickling, because she’s laughing harder now. You carefully underline the words you’ve just written, just for meanness, and because Anne is laughing so sweetly.

As Alex writes the next line, you tickle the exact same spot on the other foot with your nails, and Anne’s laughter goes off the scale. Alex does the same when you write, and so it goes. After about the 20th line, Anne stops struggling and just lays there laughing. You and Alex don’t quite manage 100 lines each, but you make a good attempt at it.

Your sisters are kneeling on either side of Melissa, still tickling away. They’re using brushes now – Vicky a hair brush with round plastic knobs on the ends of the bristles, Veronica an old badger-bristle shaving brush that had once belonged to Grandpa Tony. Melissa isn’t struggling either – the twins have tickled the resistance out of her, all she can manage is to laugh like mad.

Melissa needs a breather too, you think. You flick your nails down Veronica’s upturned bare sole. She squeaks, jumps, and both twins stop tickling.

Anne and Melissa are laying there, gasping. Anne’s hair has come out of its ponytail. Anne deserved this, but poor Melissa! She’s an innocent victim… No, she isn’t, you suddenly realize. All of the other girls on the street gang-tickled Vicky and Veronica a while back, and Melissa was part of it. Your sisters know all about payback – no wonder they agreed to this!

“We Russians know about revenge,” says Alex. “Nekulturno this may be, but I enjoyed it. It gives me idea. Sara, Meghan and Candice gave me dedovshchina… initiation… when I moved in. Khuligani, all of them. Maybe we could pay them visit.” The look on her face would have been familiar to guests of the State at No. 2 Dzerzhinskiy Square, back in the old days.

Good God! you think. I’ve created a monster! But she’s right – those three have been playing rough lately. They ganged up on you at the last two Vellatrices gatherings, and tickled you until you were raving.

“I like the way you think,” you reply. “We can leave these two in my sisters’ capable hands.”

“Look,” says Vicky, “there’s writing on Anne’s feet.”

Veronica produces an electric tooth brush from a cargo pocket, wordlessly hands it to her twin. Vicky turns it on – it buzzes menacingly. “Guess we’ll have to scrub all that ink off. I’ll go first – we can trade off later.”

“Please,” begs Anne. “No more… HAHAHA-HAHAHAHA-HAHAHAHAHA!” as Vicky applies the bristles to her sole.

Veronica retrieves a piece of twine from her pocket and threads it between Melissa’s toes. “Don’t worry, Melissa,” she says. “We’ll untie you when we leave. You can take it out on Anne.”

“WA-HAHAHA-AH-HAHAHA-HEEHEE-HAHAHAHA!” laughs Melissa as Veronica pulls the twine back and forth.

“We owe you, little sis,” calls Vicky. “We won’t tickle you any more today.”

“You get one free tickle on each of us,” adds Veronica, as Anne and Melissa laugh in two-part harmony.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you say. “Come on, Alex – let’s find my shoes, and then we’ll go visiting.”

“Dosvidanya, Anne,” says Alex. Anne doesen’t answer – she’s too busy laughing.

You decide to try Candice’s house first. To get there, you and Alex have to go past Alex’s house, and yours, right next door. As you’re walking past, her sister Julie comes pounding down the driveway at a run, red hair flying, and stops in front of Alex. She’s gone for a Goth look today – every day – black hair band, loose black t-shirt, black cargo pants, black suede Birkenstocks. Even her lipstick and nail polish. Her fair skin looks almost translucent by comparison.

“Alex! Come on!” she shouts. Alex freezes. Julie grabs her sister’s hand, pulls at Alex. “Hurry!” Her tilted hazel eyes are wide.

They leave you in the dust, running full tilt for the back yard. Your curiosity gets the better of you – you follow them, cautiously.

They disappear around the house. There’s a yell – a shriek – laughing! What in the world is going on?

To the back yard you go, and you stand there in astonishment. Here’s what you see: A struggling, shouting, giggling, squealing, laughing, wrestling pile of girls. Julie was a decoy! It was a tickle ambush!

You look closer. Alex and Julie are sitting on the ground. Alex is behind Julie, her legs wrapped around her sister’s waist – she has lost both shoes in the struggle. She gives a mighty heave and sends the younger girls tumbling. Julie has both knees raised, trying to rise, and starts tickling both of Alex’s feet. Alex retaliates, tickling Julie’s ribs mercilessly. Both girls are red-faced, laughing their heads off. It looks like an even match.

Hmmm…

“Watch and learn!” you say to the two younger girls. You whip off your belt, loop it around Julie’s ankles, pull it tight, kneel on the end. Julie has the most ticklish feet in the neighborhood – you saw (and heard!) the tickles she got from her sisters last weekend, on her 18th birthday. She tries to kick, but you’ve got her. You pull off her shoes – black toenail polish too – and dance your nails on the bottoms of both feet, fast as you can.

Julie loses it. Her laughter goes up several notches, she stops tickling Alex and tries to cover her feet with her hands. Alex leans back, still rib tickling. Julie arches her back and howls with laughter, helpless, eyes closed, tears streaming.

“Brittany! What are you doing here?” asks Alex.

“Tickling, of course! Couldn’t resist. Wow, she’s really ticklish, isn’t she?”

You stop tickling Julie and knee-walk closer to Alex. Suddenly, you start tickling a knee with one hand, and a foot with the other. “Hehehe! Brittaneee! HAHAHAHAHA-HAHAHAHAHA!” and she stops tickling Julie and collapses onto her back, laughing helplessly.

Julie untangles herself from Alex’s legs. Suddenly her arms wrap around you from behind! She starts tickling your sides with both hands, cross-draw style.

“Eep! Juliee-hehehe! HAHAHA-hehe-HAHAHAHAHAHA!” You curl into a ball, trying to protect your sides and tummy, taking Julie down with you – but that leaves your feet exposed. Alex rolls onto her knees, gets both of your ankles in an arm lock, flips off your sandals, and scrabbles her nails from toes to heels and back again. You’re had, and there’s nothing you can do about it but laugh – and laugh – and laugh some more.

Well, maybe there is, if you can just get back enough coordination to tickle Alex’s ribs. Julie has turned you loose and wriggled out from under. You lunge and land one good rib poke on Alex, bringing forth a squeal. But Julie kneels next to Alex, grabs one of your ankles. Alex shifts her grip, and the sisters stand up.

You’re lying there on your back, feet up, one ankle trapped by each of the other girls. “Hey! Good fight, let’s break for lunch,” you say.

“Nice try,” says Julie.

“Make wish,” says Alex.

“I wish we could tickle Brittany all day,” says Julie – and starts in on you again. Alex joins in, and now you’re helpless, laughing harder than before. They keep it up for a good five minutes – nothing fancy, just fast and furious flying fingernails on sensitive soles – until you’re gasping with silent laughter.

The tickling stops, and Alex and Julie flop down on the ground beside you. They’re grinning ear to ear, and so are you. How odd – Julie’s eyes are sky blue now. All of you are dirty, grass stained, with grass tangled in your hair.

“Wooo!” you say. “That was fun.”

“We should bring Julie on punitive expedition,” says Alex.

“Sure – we can always use more hands. But let’s clean up and eat first.”

You walk into the kitchen, nuke a slice of leftover pizza, wash it down with a Diet Coke to cancel out the calories. Then upstairs to the bathroom, toss your shorts and top into the laundry hamper. A shower? Nah… a washcloth will do the trick.

You pad into your room in bra and panties. Let’s see… another pair of jeans shorts, and… Yes! That t-shirt you bought at the beach a couple of years ago. Perfect!

Then back downstairs and out to the street. Alex and Julie are already waiting. Julie is still in black – does she own any other color clothes? Alex is wearing navy shorts and a t-shirt. The shirt has a Vallejo illo of a female warrior on the front – how appropriate.

“Brittany… shto…? ” says Alex as she sees the white pattern on your black T-shirt.

“Aarrrr! ‘Tis the Jolly Roger, me beauties!” you say in your best growling English Pirate brogue. “’Tis fitten for the work we’re goin’ ter do this day!”

Blank incomprehension – the Russian girls have never seen Treasure Island. Well, no matter – your intended victims have.

Suddenly Julie’s face lights up. “Razboiniki!” she says. “Bandits, yes?” Her Russian accent is much less pronounced than her sister’s, but still very noticeable.

“Well… sort of. Come on – let’s be about it.”

“Julie,” you say as you’re walking, “why do you dress like that? You’re so pretty. Why black?”

“When we were little, Babushka… Grandma… told us many old stories. All witches and evil spirits looked like me. I am just acting part. MUAHAHAHA!”

Her eyes are hazel again. What a strange girl she is!

Candice’s mom lets you all in. “She’s in her room, playing with Sara,” she says with a wink. She knows all about Candice’s “hobby”, and she’s cool with it. Pretty open-minded for an ancient Boomer mom.

You climb the stairs and knock on the closed door. Then you knock again, louder, because the high decibel laughter in the room drowned out your first effort.

Sara opens the door. She’s in a bright pink t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, khaki shorts, barefoot, with her long dark hair piled and pinned on top of her head. Behind her, in bra and panties, Candice is on her bed – wrists tied to the bedposts, ankles tied together and tied off to the top rail of the footboard. She’s breathing hard, her ash blonde hair disheveled, blue eyes wide.

Sara looks at you and your companions, and her green eyes narrow with suspicion. “To what do we owe the honor?” she asks you.

“Aarrrr! Shiver me timbers!” You push into Candice’s room, with the others behind. “We was under weigh, and reckoned ter drop anchor here.”

“Jeez, Brittany, what have you been smoking? What’s with the Long Jane Silver act?”

“Enough talk,” says Alex, closing the door behind you.

“Time to do our business,” says Julie. Her eyes are hard gray, the color of a winter sea.

“Make it so,” you say, mixing metaphors.

Alex and Julie jump Sara and force her, struggling, into the swivel chair near Candice’s computer. Alex ties her wrists behind her back with a soft scarf. Julie links two belts together, wraps them around Sara and the chair back, makes them fast. You swing the chair around, grab Sara’s ankles, tie them together with another scarf, then tie them to the near bedpost.

“OK, gang,” you say. “I’ll start on Candice. You two tickle Sara.”

“I’ll get you for this, Brittany!” shouts Sara.

“Poschekochi yey pyatki,” says Alex.

Khorosho. Give me brush,” Julie replies, pointing to the hair brush on the dresser. Alex hands it to her, and Julie sits next to Sara’s bound feet and flicks the bristles lightly across her bare soles.

“Hehe! HAHAHAHA! Nooo! Sta-hahaha-ap!”

Alex reaches up under Sara’s shirt and digs in, tickling each rib and the sensitive spaces in between. “Ple-hehe-eease! Hahaha! Stopitstopit! Hehe-HAHAHAHAHA-HAHAHAHA!” Sara’s laughter fills the room, then goes up another notch as Julie scrubs the brush bristles up and down her soles. Alex tickles down to Sara’s sides and tummy. Sara goes wild, bouncing and struggling to get away from the tickling, laughing her head off.

You kick off your sandals – no sense in getting the bedspread dirty – and straddle Candice’s hips. She cringes as you lightly tickle her bare tummy. “Why are you doing this?” she asks.

“Oh, come off it, Candice! You LOVE this! You’re just gonna get a little more than you bargained for. And Sara deserves it.”

“Brittaneeee! Hehehehe! Hahaha! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” as you poke and prod and wiggle your nails over her ticklish tummy. You circle her belly button with a fingernail, and she goes wild, howling with laughter, straining against her bonds, trying to buck you off.

You give Candice a dozen rib pokes for variety, flick your fingers in her ticklish armpits, tickle back down her ribs and sides, then back to the tummy. You’re using Vicky’s technique now: start on Candice’s sides, then one hand tickling her tummy along the bottom of the rib cage, the other along the panty line, crossing over one side to the other and back, and ending on her sides again. Candice is red-faced, laughing hard, tears streaming. Her struggles are getting weaker – time for some foot tickling. You dismount, still tickling, and tickle down Candice’s legs to her ticklish feet. Candice’s laughter goes off the scale.

You look over to Sara, laughing just as hard, and see that Alex is sitting on the end of the bed with a look of concentration on her face, holding Sara’s toes back and using the hair brush in the other to tickle the soles and balls of both feet. Julie is sitting beside her, tickling Sara’s arches and heels. Sara laughs at the top of her lungs – she isn’t struggling either, the Russian girls have tickled all resistance out of her.

Candice and Sara are both laughing silently now, gasping for air. “Time for a breather,” you say. “Five minutes.”

Candice recovers quickly – she’s had lots of practice. Not so Sara, sitting there with her head down, tears streaming down her face. She’s not so cocky any more.

Julie sits quietly, relaxed, her face in repose. Her eyes are a dreamy blue, unfocused.

“We have these two, and we will trade after their rest,” says Alex. “But how will we catch third hooligan? Surely these two will warn her when we leave.”

“Don’t call me Shirley,” you say. “No, she’ll come to us. I have just the bait to bring her.” You poke Sara’s tummy – she squeals. “Sara, you’re gonna talk to Meghan on the phone and convince her to come over here for our little tickle party.”

“W-why should I?” she gasps.

“There’s three of us and only two of you. If Meghan is here, it’s one-on-one. Otherwise, we’re gonna go one-on Candice, and double-team you. Your choice.”

“That tickled so much! I’ll do it – please don’t tickle me like that again!” You’ve broken her.

“Now to set the stage. Julie, off with your shoes, and sit on the bed next to Candice. Alex, when I give the signal, tickle her feet.”

Julie sits and kicks off her shoes, while Alex takes a seat near her feet. Then Julie puts a hand over Candice’s mouth and both feet in Alex’s lap, closes her eyes and waits. You dial Meghan’s number, hold the phone next to Sara’s head, move in close so you can hear both sides of the conversation. “You had better be convincing,” you growl, and hold up your free hand.

Meghan picks up. “Hello…”

You drop your hand. Alex starts tickling. “HAHAHAHA-HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” laughs Julie.

“Meghan, this is Sara…”

“What? Sara? What’s all that noise? Do I hear laughing?”

“We’re having a tickling party at Candice’s place. That’s Julie, Alex’s sister – the redhead – getting it. Want to join us?”

“Is a bear Catholic? Does the Pope crap in the woods? Of course I do! Be there in five.” She rings off.

You draw your thumb across your throat. Alex stops tickling, to Julie’s great relief.

“You did good, Sara,” you say. You gently wipe her face with a tissue, give her a drink of ice water from a glass on the nightstand. “We won’t start back on you until Meghan gets here. Julie, tickle Candice for a while, we don’t want Meghan to suspect anything’s wrong when she gets here. Try her tummy, she’s really ticklish there.”

“I am foot tickler,” says Julie.

“Well, yah, so am I – but variety is nice too. Go ahead – try it!”

Khorosho… OK.” Julie assumes your former position, and soon has Candice whooping with ticklish laughter.

A knock on the door. “Candice! Sara!”

You yank the door open. Little strawberry-blonde Meghan, in matching powder blue tank top, shorts and flip-flops. Alex grabs her, the two of you muscle her into the room. You kick the door shut behind you. Julie keeps on tickling Candice, flicking her nails across Candice’s tummy side to side. Candice is out of control now, straining against her bonds as she tries to buck Julie off, laughter pouring out of her.

Meghan squirms in your grip, looks around, blue eyes wide with bewilderment. “Hey! What is this?”

“We are running out of places,” says Alex.

“Hogtie,” you say. “In the corner.”

Meghan’s face goes pale under the freckles. “Brittany? Sara? What’s going on?” she says with an edge of panic in her voice.

“I’m sorry, Meghan,” says Sara. “They MADE me call you – at tickle point!”

“Oh no! Brittany! Don’t!” she begs as you and Alex wrestle her down and hogtie her with a pair of Candice’s nylons. You flip off her sandals and tie her big toes together with a hair ribbon.

Alex rummages around in the litter on top of the dresser, produces another Bic ball point. “Her feet are small. We made 87 lines on Anne’s feet. Maybe 70 or 75 on this one.”

“Go for it,” you say.

Alex kicks off her shoes, kneels by Meghan’s feet, sits back against her heels. She grabs a foot, and in a careful, precise script, begins to write.

“Noooo!” yells Meghan. “HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! HAHA-HAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHA!”

“WAH-HAHAHAHA-HEEHEEHEE-HAHAHAHA!” laughs Candice – Julie has dismounted and started tickling her thighs and knees. Julie crab-claws the thighs, reaches under to tickle the backs of both knees, then crab-claws the top of one knee and flicks fingernails on the back of the other.

As you watch, Julie shifts down to Candice’s feet and begins drawing tickley shapes on the soles with her nails, then scrabbles her fingers all over the bottoms of Candice’s feet, bringing forth gales of laughter. Julie’s lips are parted, breathing rapidly, face flushed – she’s really getting off on this. Her eyes are brilliant green. Remarkable!

Let’s make it unanimous. “OK, Sara, your choice – ribs or feet.”

“Ribs! Please! Not my FEET!”

“Feet it is,” you say, picking up the hairbrush.

“Pleeease! Hahahaha! Brittaneee-hehehe!” from Sara. “HAHAHA-HAHA-HAHAHAHA!”

“We’ll trade again in 10 minutes,” you call to the others. “Let ‘em have it!”

Candice, Meghan and Sara laugh like maniacs. This day looks to be shaping up just fine, you think. We can keep this up for hours. Good thing Candice’s mom is cool.

***

“Goodbye, Brittany,” says Alex as you turn toward your front door. “Thank you for helping us to teach those hooligans a lesson. The three of us, and your two sisters – together, we would be unbeatable.”

I really have created a monster! What next, world domination?

“I suppose they’ve gotten loose by now,” you say. “I cut Candice loose before we left.”

“I think Candice enjoyed our little party,” says Alex. “She is not so bad. Her mother is nice woman. We must visit again.”

Julie is still fired up – she still wants to play. “Alex – Brittany – scissors-paper-stone, for ten minutes tickling,” she says, green eyes flashing.

“Uh… No, I don’t think so,” you say. “Haven’t you had enough?”

Alex rolls her eyes. “Khorosho,” she says. “You be referee, Brittany. Give us count.”

“OK, on three,” you say. “One-two-three… Paper wraps stone. Alex wins.”

“Ebat’-kobat’!” says Julie, with feeling – the game has backfired on her. “Desat miynut?”

“Da. Poydyom!” says Alex, walking toward her back yard. Julie follows – she lost a fair game, and she’s a good sport about it.

Vicky and Veronica come strolling up. “Hi, little sis! We just left Melissa’s place,” says Vicky.

“Melissa’s got her knickers in a twist, for some reason,” adds Veronica. “Anne’s really getting it now.”

“We just have time before supper for that free tickle you promised me,” you say. “Back yard, poolside, right now.”

You hear Alex, taunting Julie in the yard next door. “MUAHAHAHA! Ya poschekochu tebe pyatki!”

And Julie, who couldn’t quit while she was ahead. Her giggling turns into wild uncontrolled ticklish laughter: “Hehehehe-HAHAHAHA! HAHAHA-HAHAHAHAHA!”

You look over the fence. Julie is face down on a lounge chair, the back laid down flat. Alex is sitting on her, with Julie’s legs trapped in the figure-four leg lock – Vicky and Veronica taught her that, last weekend. She’s using her fingernails to tickle both feet. Julie’s laughter fills the air – her fair skin is turning pink from laughing. Is it the name? What is it about this street?

Vicky and Veronica kick off their sandals and empty their pockets onto the umbrella table. It’s an impressive pile of implements. They toss two foam mats behind one of the wrought-iron chairs, lay down side by side behind it, put their legs up along the back. You grab two pairs of old nylons off the pile and tie their ankles together, then to the top bar of the chair. They link their fingers together – Vicky’s right, Veronica’s left – holding hands.

“Tickle our soles…” Vicky begins.

“…in the middle…” adds Veronica.

“…near the arch…”

“…and under the toes…”

“…those are our worst spots!” they finish together.

You put an extra cushion on the chair seat, choose your weapons, and kneel on the chair facing your sisters. They look back at you, expectantly.

“Hmmm… Electric tooth brush on Vicky and shaving brush on Veronica, to start. You’re really gonna get it!” you taunt them. “Hey, whose tooth brush is this, anyway?”

“Yours,” they say together.

“Grrrr! OK, you asked for it!”

You know better than to follow their tickling directions – their SPOT is the same as yours. You run the tooth brush in a circle in Vicky’s sweet spot – Vicky laughs at the top of her lungs. But you’re not ignoring Veronica. You flick the bristles in her SPOT too, and now she’s laughing as hard as her twin.

You run the toothbrush in a figure-eight around the balls of Vicky’s feet. Up and down the wrinkle in the middle, into the space between the big and second toes, then to the other foot and repeat. You dust Veronica’s ticklish feet with the brush, side to side across both soles. Then toes to heels and back again, and again, and again. Then circles on both heels, across the arch and then back up near the toes.

Neither twin is resisting, or trying to hold back her laughter. They’re both laughing their heads off, sometimes in phase, sometimes not. You tickle your way down their arches to their heels, then back up onto THE SPOT. You concentrate your efforts there, and now they’re out of control, laughing like maniacs. They’re still holding hands, the knuckles white from the strength of their grip as they laugh and laugh and laugh.

“Brittany! Vicky! Veronica! What are you doing?” calls Mom.

“I’m tickling Vicky and Veronica,” you call back loudly, over the laughter.

“That’s nice,” says Mom. “I like it when you girls do things together. Supper in fifteen minutes!”

And I’ll make the most of it, you think. Hey, they’re as ticklish as you are! They’re singing a sweet ticklish duet, faces red, laughter pouring out of them. You play them like harps. You vary your technique, take them to the point of gasping silent laughter, switch implements while they catch their breath, then at them again. You’re merciless. All those times they tickled you – they DESERVE this! Tooth brush, hair brush, shaving brush, fingernails – they get it all.

“Girls! Supper!” calls Mom and, reluctantly, you quit.

“Hehehehehe!” they giggle in stereo as they return from tickle hell. Rats! You never made them beg. Guess they didn’t want to give you the satisfaction.

You drop the tools on the table. Vicky’s balisong is there. You flick it open and cut them loose. They lie there, gasping.

They sit up, shakily, arms crossed over their tummies. Their ribs and abs must ache from all of the laughing they did.

“You got us good...” says Vicky.

“…we thought…” adds Veronica.

“…that you…”

“…were gonna…”

“…tickle us to death!” they finish together.

They’re back in control of themselves now. They rise lithely to their feet. “Come on, sis. Supper time.”

Later that night, you’re cuddled on the family room couch between your sisters, all three in pajamas, watching a chick flick on DVD. When it ends, you get up, yawn and stretch, and toddle off to bed. “Goodnight, all!” you call as you close the door. It’s been a busy day. You’re asleep as soon as your head touches the pillow.

You wake up in the dark with a weight on your hips. The blankets are gone. Your wrists are pinned over your head. You feel fingernails resting on your tummy under your pajama top. More fingernails are just touching your bare soles.

“Oh nooo! Vicky! You promised!” you call out.

“I’m Vicky,” comes a voice from at your feet. “We decided to swap.”

From her mounted position, Veronica says, “Look at the clock, little sis!”

12:01.

“It’s a new day, little sis!” says Vicky from the foot of the bed. “Tickle tickle!”

“Nooo! HAHAHAHA-haha-HAHAHA-HAHAHAHAHA!” you laugh as Veronica flicks her nails over your twitching abs and Vicky dances her nails up and down your sensitive soles. Veronica rakes her nails across your tummy, going from side to side. She tickles along the bottom of your ribcage, down your side, back across above the panty line, back up the other side, then across to the navel and starts circling it with one fingernail. Vicky is holding back your toes and tickling the soft skin under them. You howl with ticklish laughter, helpless, knowing they won’t stop until you’re a quivering wreck.

Help! Mom! you think, even though forming the words is beyond your ability. But Mom sleeps with ear plugs, you remember despairingly, because Dad snores like a chain saw. And you couldn’t wake Dad with a drum-and-bugle corps.

The tickling has sucked your strength away. Veronica doesen’t need to pin your hands any more – your coordination is gone, you’re defenseless. “Pick up the pace, Vicky,” says Veronica as she switches to your ribs, using both hands now, tickling each rib and the sensitive spaces between them. Vicky’s flying fingers scrabble down your soles to the ticklish heels, and then…

OH GHOD! Not THE SPOT! Please, please, not THE SPOT!

Your ticklish laughter fills the room. The tickling fills your universe, and your ticklish day ends as it began.

Good night, Brittany.


***THE END***



Afterword…

My grandparents were young adults when they got off the boat at Ellis Island in 1910. They learned English by speaking it. Their speech patterns are the model for Alex and Julie.

No. 2 Dzerzhinskiy Square is the Moscow street address of KGB Headquarters.

Russian uses the Cyrillic alphabet, so spelling in the Latin alphabet is necessarily phonetic. In most cases, the meanings of the Russian words and phrases I’ve used should be obvious from context. For those who want to know the details, a glossary follows.

Strelnikov



Babuschka = grandmother
Da = yes
Dedovshchina = abusive hazing initiation
Desat miynut = ten minutes
Dosvidanya = farewell
Ebat’-kobat’!” = untranslatable – roughly equivalent to “oh, shit!”
Khorosho = OK, all right (agreement)
Khuligan (pl. khuligani) = a shady citizen – American cops would say “goblin” (literally, “hooligan”)
Khvatit! = Enough!
Ne schekochi menya! = Don’t tickle me!
Nekulturno = uncultured, low class
Nyet = no
Otstan! = Leave me alone!
Poschekochi yey pyatki = tickle her feet (Now, here’s a useful phrase, friends and neighbors!)
Poydyom! = Let’s go!
Razboinik (pl. razboiniki) = highwayman, bandit (literally, “robber”)
Shto? = What?
Suka = bitch
Ya poschekochu tebe pyatki = I’m going to tickle your feet (Another useful phrase!)
Zdaylus! = I give up!
Yob tvoyu mat’! = the all-purpose coarse Russian curse (Literally, “I fuck your mother!” In this context, “You motherfuckers!”)




Edited 5 June 2004: Many thanks to TMF member Starfires for assistance with Russian words, phrases and phonetic spelling in the Latin alphabet.

Strelnikov


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