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“Just Like Old Times”

Strelnikov

4th Level Red Feather
Joined
May 7, 2001
Messages
1,820
Points
0
By Strelnikov
Copyright 2006 by the author



The puddle jumper landed at the Buffalo Airport a few minutes late – a published arrival time of, say, 9:47 should really be described as “ten-ish”. Regional airlines didn’t attract the best pilots. The landing was rough, almost like being shot down. Kelly McGuire shifted in her seat as the plane rolled out. The insurance company won again, she thought.

She got off the plane, looking for directions to Baggage Claim. She got plenty of attention from the guys in the concourse – she had been a teen model before a road trip adventure with friends earlier in the year had changed the trajectory of her life. She was just 18, tall and drop-dead gorgeous, with long coppery red hair, a beautiful face, and that perfect skin only redheads have. Her eyes were deep blue, almost indigo. She wore a low-neckline sleeveless top in a shade of lavender only a redhead could wear, a short white summer skirt, and white platform flip-flops that added a good 3” to her already considerable height.

“Hold it right there!”

Kelly turned – saw a uniformed woman–

“Sis! I thought I was gonna have to call you!” Kelly said.

“Saved you the trouble,” her sister replied. “C’mere, Little Sis – hug!”

Molly McGuire was 21, a Coastie serving at the Coast Guard station in Buffalo, 3 yrs into a 4 yr enlistment. She was an example of the dark sort of Irishwoman: dark wavy hair cut short for convenience, dark brows and lashes, bright blue eyes, very fair skin. She was the same physical type as her sister, and just as beautiful. Working outdoors in the sun was hard on her skin – she tended to freckle and burn despite the industrial strength sun block she used. She liked Buffalo, because there were just two seasons, winter and the 4th of July. Her USCG summer uniform had been designed for a man – open-collar white shirt with epaulets and short sleeves, metal PO3 rank badges on the collar points, navy trousers, black boondocker shoes – but it looked good on Molly. Well, everything except the hat. Designed in the 1940’s by someone who hated women, it looked like an inverted bedpan.

“You gonna travel in uniform?” Kelly asked.

“Nah, not while I’m on leave,” Molly said. “I just wore it to get past Security so I could meet you at the gate – I’ll change before we leave. C’mon, let’s get your gear.”

Their destination was their grandparents’ summer cottage in the Lake Country north of Toronto. Canada’s national health system is tax supported, and thus occasionally subject to budget constraints. The girls’ mother had graduated from nursing school into a hiring freeze. Diane Stansfield had moved to the States to find work, figuring to move back home in a few years. Instead, she had married Mike McGuire, and decided that she was home. The family had taken summer vacations at the cottage when the girls were younger, but the move to Tieson City had pretty much put an end to that. They hadn’t been there in 5 yrs.

Their first stop was a fast food place near the airport. While Kelly ordered, Molly took a gym bag into the ladies room to change. She emerged dressed like Kelly, with a white top and gray skirt, her bag and hat in hand.

“Wish the hell the Coast Guard would issue a beret like the Army,” Molly remarked on their way out to the car. “Or a dixie cup like the guys used to wear.” She waved the hat. “This freakin’ thing looks bad on everybody.”

They took the Mainline Thruway to the Youngman Expressway, then north on the Niagara Thruway Section to Lewiston. They crossed into Canada and picked up the Queen Elizabeth Way. Kelly kicked off her sandals, propped her feet up and went right to sleep.

Kelly let out a burst of ticklish laughter and woke up. She felt fingernails flick her bare soles and put her feet down fast. Molly grinned at her. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” she said. “Kidney stop.”

They were at a rest stop 30 miles north of Toronto. Because this was a Canadian rest stop, even the public rest rooms were clean and attractive. The picnic grove was deserted on a weekday mid-afternoon. They were in no hurry, so they walked around for a while to work out the stiffness. They came to a picnic table – Kelly perched on the end, feet dangling. “Want me to drive, sis?” she asked.

Molly stifled a yawn. “Yah, I’m wiped out. Highway hypnosis – I was having trouble staying awake. How about you – sure you’re awake now?”

“A little groggy still,” Kelly admitted. “Didn’t sleep too well last night – anticipation, I guess.”

“I can fix that,” Molly said. She lunged, scooped up Kelly’s ankles in an arm lock and flipped off her sister’s sandals.

“Hey! What’re you– ” Kelly started. “OH NOOO! Hehehe! Sta– haha! –ap! HAHAHA! HAHA-HAHA-HAHAHAHAHA!” She squirmed and struggled, trying desperately to escape Molly’s tickling fingers.

Molly held on tight. She tickled the balls of Kelly’s feet, then slowly down both arches while Kelly laughed and laughed. She gave Kelly’s heels a good minute or so of tickle torture, then slowly back up to the ticklish soles. Kelly lost it – her toes twitched and curled as she laughed like mad. She collapsed onto her back, her strength sucked away by the tickling.

Molly let her catch a breath, then teased with her nail tips. “Ple– hehe! –ease!” Kelly begged and giggled. “Quit! Haha-hehe! Stopitstopitstopit! Hehehe!” But she really didn’t mind being tickled – her road trip adventure had changed her. It was actually kinda fun – she only protested because Molly expected it. Molly always loved tickling me, Kelly thought – let her enjoy herself.

Which she did. “Time to laugh, Little Sis,” Molly said, and made a claw of her right hand. Kelly laughed with wild abandon as Molly raked her nails down the right foot, drawing four parallel zig-zag lines and applying just enough pressure to tickle unbearably. Molly repeated the tickle half a dozen times or so, then did the same to Kelly’s left foot, forcing wave after wave of helpless laughter. Tears of laughter ran down Kelly’s cheeks as she struggled and squirmed and laughed.

Molly flicked her nails on the soles of both trapped feet, tickling side to side. Those were the sweet spots, where Kelly was insanely ticklish – Kelly went wild, laughing at the top of her lungs. Then arches, heels, soles again, over and over – Kelly’s laughter was off the scale, she was right on the edge. Molly put on a burst of speed, tickling the sweet spots mercilessly, and tickled Kelly into red-faced silent laughter.

“You awake now, sis?” Molly asked sweetly.

Kelly sat up and brushed away tears. “I sure am,” she said, a little short of breath. “Woo! That really tickled!”

“It was supposed to,” Molly said, grinning and making tickling motions. Growing up, she had discovered that tickling was the ideal chastisement for her pesky little sister – it left no marks, and nobody took it serious. Unfortunately for her, it was also the ideal way for Kelly to get back at her bossy older sister. Neither girl had liked being tickled, but both of them had enjoyed making the other laugh her head off. Molly was older, and so had always been bigger and stronger. But she was maybe just a little more ticklish, so it all evened out.

But that was then. Being tickled is fun, thought Kelly, and not just because it gives me an excuse to retaliate. Molly doesen’t think so. That’s gonna give me the edge in a tickle fight, and I plan to take full advantage.

Kelly found her sandals. “Let’s go – we’re burnin’ daylight,” she said.

On the road again, Molly kicked off her sandals, propped her feet up and went to sleep. Good thing I’m driving now, Kelly thought.

An hour’s drive took them to the outskirts of Orillia, on the northern end of Lake Simcoe. They continued north for another 20 minutes, running parallel to Lake Couchiching. The trees were a mix of northern temperate forest and boreal forest species, hardwoods giving way to pine and silver birch. The soil was thin, scraped away in places by glaciers 10,000 years ago, exposing the black-figured pink granite of the Canadian Shield.

A mile past Severn Bridge, Kelly turned off on a numbered two-lane blacktop regional road. The road ran west, dairy farms giving way to cottages and summer homes where the road turned south parallel to the Severn River. A mile further on, they turned west and crossed an old concrete bridge. The road on this side was South Sparrow Lake Road – narrower, rougher, without a center stripe.

They paralleled the Canadian National Railroad tracks, heading northwest. Northeastward across the tracks was the Collishaw House Resort, a big complex of white clapboard buildings, and beyond them Sparrow Lake. The road crossed the tracks and headed northward. A quarter-mile later, they turned right onto a narrow graveled road marked with two mailboxes and a painted wooden sign: Lakeshore Lodge. The gravel was extremely fine, almost a very coarse sand, with calcium chloride mixed in to lay the dust.

The gravel road went through woods for 50 yards before crossing a marshy stream bed on a raised earthen causeway with a culvert in the middle. On the near side of the causeway, a narrow driveway went to the right toward the lake – there was a cottage with a car parked behind it. The woods closed in again just past the stream bed. Kelly turned into the driveway and parked beside the other car. She reached out and tickled Molly’s feet. Molly squeaked and woke up in a hurry.

The cottage was nothing fancy, board-and-batten construction on stone piers laid directly on the granite bedrock a few feet below the surface. The floors, ceilings and interior wall finish was painted planks. It had electricity, a phone, indoor plumbing and an LPG water heater and stove. There was a kitchen/dining room, a living room with French doors opening onto the screened porch that faced the lake, three small bedrooms. There was a fireplace in the living room, but the place was uninhabitable in the winter – no insulation, no heat, and the topsoil was too shallow to dig the pipes down below the frost line. Grandpa and Grandma had bought it in the 1950’s – like all Canadians, they tried to cram as much summer as possible into the short time span between Victoria Day and Labour Day.

“Glad you could make it,” a male voice called out. “You’re just in time for supper.”

“Hi, Grandpa,” Molly said. “Where’s Grandma?”

“Chopping cabbage for slaw,” he answered. “Let me help you with your bags.”

George Stansfield was a wiry, wrinkled, silver-haired old man in khaki work pants, t-shirt and ratty sneakers. Like most men of his generation, he was a World War II veteran. He had been badly wounded – his rebuilt left leg was fully an inch shorter than the right. But he didn’t limp – he had decided that he wasn’t a cripple, so by God he wouldn’t walk like one.

A siren blew, someplace off to the north. That was the supper call for the guests at Lakeshore Lodge, a mom-n-pop family resort a little further up the gravel road, Kelly knew. She checked her watch: 6 PM on the dot.

“Hi, Grandma!” Kelly said as they entered the kitchen. “What’s for supper?”

“Fish,” she answered. “Largemouth bass – your grandpa caught them this morning. It’s grand to see you again.” Audrey Stansfield was a Depression baby, a little younger than her husband, with silvery curls and gray-green eyes behind bifocal glasses. She was a tiny woman – the girls hadn’t gotten their size from her. She wore an apron over bermuda shorts and a collared blouse.

They brought their gear indoors and unpacked. Years ago, the girls and their cousins had slept on the screened porch while their parents and aunt and uncle had the extra bedrooms. Each got a room of her own this time.

The supper was just as good as Kelly expected: crisp fried fish, fried potatoes, slaw, buttered rolls hot out of the oven, good Canadian lager. Afterward, the girls walked down to the lake. They didn’t bother with their shoes.

The property was shaded by big old maple trees, with a few pines mixed in – the smell of sun-heated pine needles always evoked images of this place in Kelly’s mind. Silver birch grew near the lake – that species didn’t mind having wet feet. The marshy stream emptied into the lake not far from the cottage. The opposite side was shallow, carpeted with water lilies. On the near side was an upthrust of bedrock, its top maybe 4 ft above the water. Spring snow melt had scoured a deeper channel here, so there were no water lilies. To the west, on the side away from the lake, the rock sloped down to a wooden dock with a small boat tied up to it.

The girls sat on the rock, bare feet dangling over the water. Molly considerately sat downwind. She had a guilty secret – she was a smoker. She lit up.

“Needed that,” Molly said, and blew a smoke ring. “I stocked up before we left. How can people who make such good beer make such crappy cigarettes?”

“Give ‘em up, sis,” Kelly advised. “Bad for your wind.”

Molly sighed. “I know. Never should’ve started.” She took another draw and flicked ashes. “I’m glad we came,” she said quietly. “Grandma’s still OK, but notice how Grandpa’s slowing down? Next year might’ve been too late.”

“That’s a grim thought,” Kelly said. “But you’re right, I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

“Planning this visit got me thinking about what it means to be a family,” Molly said. She paused, then went on. “Seems to me that a family is like a net made of inter-woven threads, all of them load-bearing. New ones are woven in, others break and unravel. Make the net big enough, with enough threads, and it’s a safety net. A broken thread – even several – won’t affect its strength.”

“Where are you going with this?” Kelly asked.

“Be patient,” Molly said. “Grandma and Grandpa grew up with a safety net like that. They were the last – since then, we’ve had the triumph of the autonomous individual. Oh, Mom and Dad keep in touch with our aunts and uncles. But when’s the last time we did? We have cousins our age – when’s the last time we saw them?”

“Been a while,” Kelly allowed. “To be honest, I haven’t really felt the urge. Don’t suppose they have, either.”

“And that’s a shame,” Molly said. “So far, we’ve all been lucky – we haven’t needed a safety net. A good thing too, because we don’t have one. Instead, it’s a cat’s cradle – break one thread, and the whole thing comes apart.”

She’s right again, thought Kelly. Bummer. She slapped a mosquito and stood up. “Well, at least the four of us have a chance to reconnect,” she said.

“Let’s take advantage of it,” Molly said. She stood, field-stripped the cigarette butt and put it in her pocket. “C’mon, let’s go in before they eat us alive.”

***

Kelly woke up to the sound of bagpipes. She sat up and shivered – the morning was chilly. To the east, the sky was pale, just starting to shade toward red.

She had slept in old gym shorts and an oversize t-shirt. She found Grandma in the kitchen as expected, already starting breakfast. Kelly grabbed a cup of coffee, threw a light jacket over her shoulders on her way outside. The stone felt cool and rough under her bare feet. The lake surface was glassy smooth, shimmering in the morning twilight.

Grandpa stood on the rock next to the stream, playing and marking time with his foot. He wasn’t a professional piper, but sounded pretty good anyway. He knew to stop blowing in the last measure of the tune, instead maintaining air to the pipes by arm pressure on the bag. When he finished, he released pressure – the instrument stopped without a squeak. Piping is physically demanding – he was sweating despite the chill of the morning. He hadn’t seen her yet.

“Morning, Grandpa,” Kelly said. “Been a long time since I heard you play.”

“Could’ve waited longer,” Molly said from behind her – she was dressed like Kelly. Kelly knew that Molly was teasing – she liked the pipes too, another guilty secret. “Grandma says breakfast’ll be ready as soon as the biscuits come out of the oven.”

Grandpa was long retired from the big steel mill in Hamilton, but Grandma still cooked like a mill worker’s wife. Breakfast was scrambled eggs with thick-cut Canadian bacon, fried potatoes, biscuits and coffee. It was sinfully delicious, and there was plenty of it – if I ate like this all the time, I’d be big as a bus, Kelly thought.

The sun was up – just barely – when they finished breakfast. The girls did the dishes, ignoring Grandma’s protests that she would never be able to find anything after they put it away. They heard the Lakeshore Lodge siren again – 8 AM, time for the guests’ breakfast.

“What d’you want to do today?” Grandpa asked.

Molly looked out at the sky. “Too late to go fishing,” she said. “We need to buy licenses anyway – we can’t fish for free like we did when we were kids.”

“Collishaw’s General Store still sells licenses – it’s open by now,” Grandpa said. “Take the boat.”

The girls changed into shorts, t-shirts and flip-flops. The old outboard motor started on the first pull. The sense of smell is the most evocative of all – Kelly had another flash of childhood memories from the mixed odors of disturbed lake water and outboard motor exhaust.

This wasn’t a big lake, just 2-1/2 miles long and maybe a mile wide at its widest point. The surface was disturbed, starting to get choppy – boat and jet-ski traffic was picking up after breakfast. They crossed the lake and then motored north 20 yards offshore, so they wouldn’t get run over.

Sparrow Lake and the Severn River were part of a 19th Century canal system that ran from Lake Ontario near Toronto to Georgian Bay on Lake Huron. The Collishaw family were among the first settlers hereabouts – the post office was next to their store, north of the resort complex and northeastward across the lake from the cottage. Both buildings were 1880’s construction – they predated the railroad. The girls tied up to the gas dock behind the store and went to buy their licenses. As non-residents of Ontario, they paid a lot extra, but the cheaper Canadian dollar took much of the sting out of that.

Back at the cottage, the girls changed into swim suits and went back down to the dock. They spread a blanket on the rocky shelf and coated each other with 1,000,000 SPF sunblock. Molly had a sailor’s tan on her face, neck and lower arms, but she was glow-in-the-dark white everywhere else. Kelly was so fair that she didn’t tan at all, just freckled up and then burned.

This end of the lake was shallow, with a peat bottom – the beaches at the Sparrow Lake resorts were all artificial, built with trucked-in sand. The water was warm, maybe 5 ft deep next to the rock, too shallow for diving but just right for swimming. The stream had scoured a patch of lake bottom down to bedrock – stay on the near side of the stream bed, and it wasn’t muddy at all. The girls played in the lake for an hour or so, enjoying the water and the sunny day.

Kelly shivered – this was Canada, the water wasn’t that warm. She climbed out and toweled off, then laid down on the blanket to get some sun.

Molly joined her. “Better not fall asleep,” she said. “You’ll burn to a crisp.”

“Ain’t that the truth!” Kelly said – she knew all about sunburn from the inside. She rolled onto her back, sat up and started smearing goop on the places she could reach. “Time to marinade ourselves again. Do me, and I’ll return the favor.”

Molly took the bottle from her and did the same. Afterward, Kelly flopped down on her tummy while Molly coated her back and the backs of her legs. Then Molly’s turn – she swapped places with her sister.

Kelly did Molly’s back and moved on down the legs to the ankles. She took hold of a foot and started to spread more lotion.

“Quit!” Molly said, pulling loose. “What are you doing?”

“I put some on the bottoms of my feet too,” Kelly said. “I’ve gotten burned there – so have you, remember? Hurts like mischief.”

Molly rolled up on one elbow. “You’re gonna tickle me, aren’t you?”

Kelly pasted a look of wounded innocence on her face. “You have a nasty, suspicious mind, sis,” she said.

“Even paranoids have enemies,” Molly said. “Well, OK, I’ll take your word for it.”

She’s got to know I’m lying – of course I’m lying – just like when we were kids, thought Kelly. But Molly laid back down on her tummy anyway, a triumph of hope over experience. Kelly lotioned the right foot, taking care not to tickle, then the left. But instead of turning loose, she kept her hold and swung her leg across Molly like mounting a horse. She ended up facing aft, the trapped foot still in her grasp.

“Hey!” Molly protested. “You said you wouldn’t tickle me!”

“I lied,” Kelly replied, and dug in. Molly squirmed like a worm and laughed at the top of her lungs. She bucked and kicked with the free foot. Kelly grabbed the ankle on the upswing and shifted position, trapping both legs in the figure-four leg lock. Molly was hosed – both feet were perfectly positioned for tickling – and Kelly took full advantage. Her road trip adventure had changed her in another way – she had discovered she had a nack for tickling.

Molly’s feet were extremely ticklish all over, but the soles and balls of her feet were the worst. Kelly tickled Molly’s soles, watching the toes twitch and curl while Molly laughed with wild abandon. She drew figure-eight’s, circles, squares, and other tickling shapes in the arches. She scratched and scrabbled on the heels. Molly laughed and laughed, wildly, helplessly. She was no longer capable of resistance, or even coherent thought – it had been tickled completely away.

Kelly tickled down Molly’s arches, flicking with her nail tips, enjoying Molly’s helpless laughter. She switched to drawing figure-eight’s, then a motion like chording a guitar. She saved the best for last – tickling the sole creases and the balls of Molly’s feet, just behind the big toes, fast as she could. Molly laughed her head off at the top of her lungs. She was helpless, unresisting, all she could do was lay there and laugh. Kelly speeded up and tickled Molly’s breath away.

Kelly released the leg lock, dismounted and sat back on her heels. She was grinning ear to ear. “Wasn’t that fun?” she asked.

Molly laid there gasping, tears running down her cheeks. “You are so gonna get it!” she threatened good-naturedly.

“Have to catch me first!” Kelly said, and did a cannonball off the rock. Molly jumped in after her, and it turned into a water fight – splashing, tussling and lots of girlish laughter. Kelly was faster, but Molly was stronger. She submerged, got hold of Kelly’s ankles and heaved. Kelly went under, and surfaced spluttering and blowing.

“You win,” Kelly said when she had her breath back. She looked at the position of the sun – close to noon. “Let’s see what’s for lunch,” she said. “My stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.”

The afternoon was more sun and lake water, pretty much like the morning, minus the tickling. They had had an early start and an active day – both girls found themselves yawning an hour after supper. In these latitudes, the summer sundown comes around 9 PM, and it isn’t full dark until nearly 10 PM. They went to bed with the sun, and were fast asleep before the stars came out.

***

Kelly giggled in her sleep. She giggled again and woke up. Fingernails flicked her bare sole – she giggled, pulled away and sat up.

Molly was bent over the end of the bed, one hand under the covers – she straightened up and grinned. “Lash up and stow, Little Sis,” she said. The room was still dark – like milking cows, in order to do any serious fishing, you have to get up early.

The girls and their grandfather were in the boat and underway by sunrise. They motored north along the west shore, then westward around a rocky promontory into a bay. The water was shallow here, with plenty of weed growth. That made it a good place to fish for two reasons – it was perfect bass habitat, and the weeds discouraged boaters and water skiers.

Grandpa and Molly rigged wounded-minnow lures. Kelly dredged up an old memory, and used an artificial crayfish with some split shot on the line to hold it down. She caught a young bass on the first cast – pure luck, and too small to keep, but it showed her she was on the right track.

“How’d you know to use that lure?” Molly asked.

“Remember how Grandpa used to open the guts after he cleaned fish, to see what they were eating?”

Molly nodded.

“He always found crayfish when we caught ‘em here.”

Grandpa laughed. “I taught you pretty well,” he said.

They did OK, caught half a dozen bass big enough to keep. Kelly had been to Florida, and knew that fishermen there would sneer at fish this small. But they were good eating size, and somehow the slow-growing cold-water bass just tasted better. They only saw one other boat – two middle-aged guys fishing – but they kept their distance.

They gave it up at 9:30 – none of them had caught anything for half an hour, and the lake was getting crowded and choppy again. They headed back south along the west shore, past the Lakeshore Lodge resort, tree-shaded white clapboard buildings with red shingle roofs. On the north end of the property, twenty yards offshore, was a partially submerged flat-topped boulder, about 10 ft long and 7 ft wide, with a few water lilies growing around it. Kelly saw two dark-haired girls about her own age in bikinis, sitting on the edge with their feet dangling in the lake. One of them waved – Grandpa waved back.

Her perception shifted. Lakeshore Lodge had a resident summer staff of eight college-age girls. Guests used the beach at the south end of the site – those girls were staff taking a break. Years ago, Kelly had thought of their predecessors as “ladies”, later as “teenagers”. The Lakeshore girls were her peers now. I wonder what it’s like to work there, she thought.

“Who’s that?” Molly asked. “D’you have a girlfriend, Grandpa?”

He laughed. “Nope, just a music lover,” he said. “She paid us a visit because she heard me playing – paddled up in a canoe. Her name’s Meghan.”

The first order of business was cleaning the fish – they did it outdoors on an old wooden table, hosed it off afterward. Neither girl wanted to go swimming just yet. They took books out onto the screened porch, lightweight summer fluff, and settled in to read.

Kelly finished her book and went inside. “Need anything from the store, Grandma?” she asked. “I’m gonna see if they’ve got anything to read, might as well do your shopping while I’m there.”

“Get a dozen eggs,” Grandma said. “That’ll do for now.”

“Gas up the boat while you’re at it,” Grandpa said.

Kelly went by herself – Molly wasn’t interested. She crossed the lake to the Collishaws’ gas dock behind the general store. The store clerk gave her the key to the pump and directed her to a young guy cutting bait in the bait shop near the gas dock.

“Hello!” Kelly called out.

“Help you?” the guy asked. He was tanned, fit-looking, with brown hair and blue eyes. He wore an apron over a wife-beater shirt and cargo shorts, and a pair of ratty sneakers.

“Need some gas,” Kelly said.

“Coming right up.” He wiped his hands and led her outside.

He looked familiar. Another perception shift – a skinny teen with acne, all knees and elbows, with hands and feet too big for the rest of him. Now, at age 20 or so…

“Gordon McKenzie!” Kelly said.

“That’s me,” he agreed. “Do I know you?”

“I’m Kelly McGuire,” she said. No wonder he hadn’t recognized her after 5 yrs. She had been a gawky adolescent then, tall for her age and rail-thin, with a sunburn, no boobs, and a mouth full of railroad tracks.

He checked her out, and liked what he saw. “Haven’t seen you in a while,” he said. “You’ve changed.”

No shit, thought Kelly. “Why are you working here?” she asked. “Why not your family’s place?” His family owned Lakeshore Lodge.

“My folks traded me off to the Collishaws for the summer,” he answered. “Remember Ashley Collishaw? She’s working at Lakeshore.”

She paid for the gas and the bottle of 2-cycle oil that was mixed with it. “Got any plans for tonight?” he asked. “I get off at 5:00.”

“My sister’s here too,” Kelly said.

“Not a problem,” he said, looking around. He spotted another young guy. “Yo! Marc! HEY MARC! Over here!” he shouted.

Gordon introduced them. “Marc Laurier, my room mate at college,” he said. Marc was tanned and athletic-looking, with hazel eyes and brown hair with a few lighter sun streaks. He was clean-shaven, but Kelly saw dark beard under the tan. The name was québécois, but he was obviously a native English speaker, with a New England accent.

“Mom’s from Maine,” Marc explained. “I’m from a Québéc border town, with relatives on both sides of the border. All of us grow up speaking both languages.”

Gordon was local – his family lived at the north end of the Lakeshore site – and like most people with lakeside homes, they had a boat. Kelly and the guys agreed on a trip up the Severn River Canal to Lake Couchiching, and then check out the Casino Rama, halfway down the east shore of the lake. Gordon said that he and Marc would pick them up at 6 PM.

The girls wore the skirts and tops they had worn on the trip up, and brought sweat shirts for the trip back. Gordon and Marc showed up at the cottage dock in an inboard-outboard ski boat right at 6 PM – the girls tossed their flip-flops into the boat and climbed in. “Meet my sister Molly,” Kelly said to Marc.

“Molly McGuire? You’re kidding!” Marc said.

“Faith an’ begorra, an’ a foine day it is,” Molly said in an exaggerated brogue. “An’ would ye be showin’ me th’ way t’ th’ police station? I’ll be by way o’ blowin’ it up.”

Everybody laughed. Molly continued in standard American: “I get that a lot. I think Mom and Dad got into the poteen before they named me.”

Gordon paired off with Molly, which surprised Kelly not at all. He had had the teenage hots for Molly – she had been 16 yrs old and gorgeous their last time here. Kelly noticed Marc checking out her bare feet. Hmm…

The canal had wake restrictions, but this boat had a planing hull and actually made less wake at higher speed. They lost 15 minutes or so at a canal lock, but it could have been worse if Gordon hadn’t sweet-talked the lock attendant – an old woman, 70 yrs old if she was a day. He had gone to high school with her grandchildren. This region attracted hordes of vacationers, but the year-round population was like a small town.

They still made the 7-mile trip to the canal mouth in well under an hour. Out on Lake Couchiching, Gordon turned south, opened the throttle and covered the remaining 5 miles in 8 minutes flat.

They were old enough to get into the casino, but Kelly was a year short of legal drinking age. No matter – she and Marc got Cokes and wandered around, taking in the sights. The people playing the slots had plastic buckets of tokens, and grimly shoved them into the machines, over and over – they didn’t look like they were having much fun. The craps tables and roulette wheels were more interesting. Marc even played a few hands of blackjack, and lost $20.00. Kelly thought of Brittany Righetti back home, who had once been on her way to winning serious money at an Indian casino before they tossed her out for counting cards.

The guys had to be at work in the morning, and their trip back would be faster if they could do it before full dark. Kelly and Marc met up with Molly and Gordon at 9 PM for the trip back. Kelly could smell second-hand cigarette smoke in her own hair and clothes, but Molly’s were full of it – she must have been smoking again. She and Gordon had been drinking the casino’s free booze too, and it showed. “Maybe I better drive,” Marc said. “Kelly, come up front with me.”

The wind and the engine noise made it hard to talk. Kelly looked back – Molly and Gordon had their heads together, talking and laughing. She turned around to give them what privacy she could.

They stopped again at the canal lock. The same attendant was there – she must live nearby, Kelly thought. “You just barely made it,” the woman told them.

“Sorry we’re so late, Mrs. Adams,” Gordon said. “Time got away from us.”

“You’ve been drinking, haven’t you?” she asked him. “No, Gordon, don’t tell me, I can see for myself. Well, another 10 minutes, and I’m gonna shut down for the night. I’ll lock you through then.”

Marc killed the engine. “We’ve got some time to kill. What should we– ”

“Eep! Oh shit!” Molly yelled. “HAHAHA! HAHA-HAHA! HAHAHAHAHA!” She was sprawled backward in her seat, feet up and gravity working against her. Gordon had her ankles in an arm lock – she laughed like mad as he tickled her feet with skill and enthusiasm.

Molly laughed helplessly as Gordon flicked his nails on the soles of her trapped feet. He tickled Molly’s arches just behind the soles, then spider-walked his nails down her arches and scrabbled his nails on the heels. Molly laughed wildly as he drew circles, squares and other tickling shapes on her heels. Then tickling in the arches again, just in front of the heels, and Molly laughed her head off. Kelly watched the tickling with a practiced eye. He wasn’t trying for anything fancy, and he hadn’t found the sweet spot, but he was getting great reactions anyway.

Oops! Found it now! Gordon tickled the balls of Molly’s feet, and Molly squirmed like a worm, laughing her head off and trying desperately to escape. He tickled side to side across both soles, then slowly down both arches to the heels while Molly laughed and laughed, tears running down her cheeks.

Marc nudged Kelly. “Pretty ticklish, isn’t she?”

“Yup,” Kelly said. “He do this very often?” she asked, even though she knew the answer.

“Hobby of his,” Marc said. “Mine too. How about you?”

Whenever anybody tickled Molly, I always got it too, Kelly thought – why fight it now? She kicked off her flip-flops, turned sideways and put her feet in his lap. “Try me and find out,” she said, deliberately misinterpreting.

Marc grinned. “Haven’t had a better offer all day.” He trapped her ankles in a simple leg lock so that he could tickle with both hands. “Sure you’re up for this?”

Kelly looked over at the other two. Molly was helpless, unresisting, all she could do was laugh. “I’m sure,” she said. She got a firm grip on the sides of her boat seat. “Tickle my soles – it drives me wild!”

Marc held back Kelly’s toes, then flicked and scratched her stretched out soles. Kelly threw back her head and laughed at the top of her lungs.

Marc released Kelly’s toes and tickled two-handed, watching the toes twitch and curl. He traced tickling shapes in her arches, scrabbled his nails on the ticklish heels. He kept it up, fingers flying, flicking and scratching the heels, the arches, the soles while Kelly laughed and laughed. He scratched between Kelly’s toes, tickling between each pair and forcing more bursts of helpless laughter, then down the soles and arches to the heels again, tickling both at once.

“Hey!” Mrs. Adams called out. “Cut it out, you two! You’re gonna tickle ‘em to death!”

The ticklers paused. “That’s the idea,” Gordon called back. Both girls took long deep breaths, trying to get their breathing and heart rate normal again.

“Are you girls OK?” the woman persisted.

“We’re fine!” Kelly called back, heading Molly off. “Go for it, guys! HAHA! HAHAHA-HAHA-HAHAHAHA!” She blinked away tears, saw Molly laughing like mad. Do her good, thought Kelly. But Marc held Kelly’s toes back, made a Peace sign and scratched the balls of both feet at once, right behind the big toes, and Kelly’s laughter went off the scale.

Marc held Kelly on the edge, never letting her zone out, always letting her catch just enough breath to laugh. He tickled Kelly’s feet from toes to heels, bringing forth stream after stream of helpless laughter. He paid special attention to the sweet spots – he flicked the soles of both feet at once, covering the sensitive skin with unbearable tickling. Kelly laughed at the top of her lungs, tears of laughter streaming down her cheeks.

“You’re good to go,” Mrs. Adams called out. The guys stopped tickling, and the girls giggled weakly as the tickling sensation faded. They had been laughing too hard to notice the water level in the lock going down, or to hear the gates open. Kelly was pumped – Marc had really gotten her good!

“Hey Molly, did that tickle?” Gordon asked.

“Did it tickle!” Molly said indignantly. “Did it tickle! You know it did! You tickled the shit out of me!”

“I kinda liked it,” Kelly said. “Guess I’m used to it, right, sis?”

That shut Molly up – she didn’t much like being tickled, and probably felt a little guilty from the memories of tickle torturing Kelly. She doesen’t know the half of it, thought Kelly.

The guys dropped them off and motored away. It was almost 10:30 – the cottage was dark, Grandma and Grandpa were already asleep. They let themselves in quietly and got ready for bed.

Molly came into Kelly’s room afterward. “Gordon ambushed me tonight and tickled me silly,” she said. “I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised, he always did like to tickle me. But you asked Marc to tickle you. You used to hate it. What’s got into you? What happened on that road trip of yours?”

Kelly sighed. “You’d never believe it,” she said. “And there’s not a bit of proof. Oh, except Ashley’s certificate, but you can download those off the internet.”

Molly gave her a questioning look.

“My friend Ashley Curtis back home,” Kelly explained. “She decided to be a Coastie too, right after we got back – delayed enlistment program, she’s already taken the oath.”

“Well then, something good came of it anyway,” Molly said. “Maybe I ought to tickle it out of you, like I used to,” she said mischievously. “You never could keep a secret.”

Kelly smiled a secret smile. “Wouldn’t work. That’s another change.” She had a lot more endurance than she used to have. And besides, being tickled was no hardship – she liked to be tickled now.

“OK, sis, but remember that I’m always ready to listen,” Molly said. She yawned. “Let’s hit the rack. First dibs on the shower!”

***

The next morning, the girls decided that a low-impact day was in order. They spent the morning sunning themselves and playing in the lake. They helped Grandma with the lunch potato salad, made lemonade, peeled and sliced tomatoes and onions to go with the hamburgers. Close family, simple domestic chores and good conversation – it doesen’t get much better, thought Kelly. Like Molly said, there won’t be many more times like this. Grandma and Grandpa weren’t getting any younger.

After lunch, they changed into shorts and t-shirts – they didn’t bother with shoes. They cranked up the boat and took it out for a ramble, just to see the sights.

The lake hadn’t changed much in 5 yrs, Kelly decided. A few more cottages, some of the smaller ones had been replaced with bigger ones, and one of the older resort sites had time-share chalets on it now – this close to Toronto, any patch of dry land was worth plenty as a building site. But there were still bullfrogs in the marshy places and water birds on the rocky islands at the north end of the lake.

Near the church camp, they passed by a lakeshore cottage with a boathouse supported on posts over the water. There was a ski boat tied up to the dock, and another like their grandfather’s fishing boat drawn up on shore. They slowed down and came closer in to check it out. Years ago, the cottage had belonged to the Franusz family – the two boys were about the same age as the sisters. Kelly wondered if they still owned the place.

They did – two tanned, dark-haired young guys came down to the dock to investigate the strange boat idling just offshore. Both wore shades, swim suits and ratty t-shirts.

Pretty girls are always welcome visitors. One of the guys grinned. “Nice day, eh?” he called out.

Kelly looked him over – he was the older of the two, had changed less than his younger brother. “Hi, Alex,” she called back. “I wondered if you guys still owned this place. Remember us?”

Puzzlement, then recognition. “Molly McGuire!” the other brother said. Andy Franusz had changed a lot in 5 yrs – he was a big guy, taller than his brother, built like a football player. “And you must be Kelly – never would’ve known you. Hey, come on over here – then we won’t have to yell at each other.”

The girls idled over, tied up to the dock and came ashore to get reacquainted.

Alex Franusz was 21, Andy was 19. They were back from college for the summer, they said. Their home was still in Newmarket, a little over an hour’s drive away, but they spent a lot of time at the lake cottage, work schedules permitting. Molly told them about the Coast Guard – important work, she said, and not a bad life. She had a year to decide, but she was thinking about staying in. For her part, Kelly didn’t have much to tell. Well, her adventure, she supposed, but they’d think she was delusional. She settled for telling them about her brief career as a teen model.

They were all young, and had too much energy to just sit around talking. Andy got a frisbee, and they spent half an hour tossing it back and forth. They took a break for Cokes and snacks. Alex suggested a different game afterward – frisbee touch football.

“Shirts versus Skins?” Molly asked, grinning. “With Kelly and me the Skins?”

They all laughed.

It wasn’t much like touch football, but it was fun anyway. The girls did OK – they were faster than the guys and more maneuverable. After 15 minutes, they were ahead 14 to 7.

The girls regained possession on an interception. Kelly went long – Molly threw a pass – Kelly snatched it out of the air and hit the ground running. Another touchdown coming up…

Andy grabbed Kelly, hooked her feet out from under her and plopped her on the ground on her tummy. He straddled her hips facing aft – not sitting on her, his weight was on his knees, he just had her pinned.

“Hey!” Kelly protested, squirming. “No fair tackling.”

He grinned, reached down and gathered up both of Kelly’s ankles in one big hand. “Wrong vowel,” he said.

“OH SHIT! NOT THAT!” Kelly yelled, struggling desperately to escape. The brothers had tickled both girls silly plenty of times when they were kids – even worse, there was no getting even, because neither guy was the least bit ticklish.

He made a show of inspecting Kelly’s soles. “Dirty feet – I think I’ll tickle ‘em clean.” He flicked his nails on both of Kelly’s heels. Kelly arched her back and laughed her head off.

Kelly laughed helplessly as Andy tickled her heels, then slowly up both arches to the soles. He tickled side to side across both soles – her toes twitched and curled as she laughed like mad. He flicked her arches with his nail tips, a motion like chording a guitar – it tickled horribly. He made a Peace sign and tickled her heels again, drawing circles and other tickling shapes. Then fast nail flicks in her arches, covering the sensitive skin with unbearable tickling.

“Doin’ OK, Kelly?” Andy asked, and speeded up, forcing out a solid stream of ticklish laughter.

“Must be,” Alex observed, grinning. “She’s not complaining.”

“Not complaining!” Molly said indignantly. “As if she could complain! Quit! You’re killing her!”

“Not hardly,” Alex said. “Never did before, anyway.”

Andy had Kelly in the zone, laughing like a madwoman, tears of laughter rolling down her cheeks. He tickled both feet at once, covering Kelly’s feet with nail flicks. He scratched the sensitive soles, then drew wavy lines, figure-eight’s and other tickling shapes in her arches. Kelly’s wild laughter filled the air as Andy tickled her heels again, then tickled back up the arches onto the ticklish soles. He concentrated his effort on the sole creases and the balls of her feet, and Kelly laughed at the top of her lungs.

“I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed tickling you,” Andy said. Kelly wasn’t resisting – the tickling had completely overcome her. She laughed her head off, red faced and sweaty, tears streaming down her cheeks. “It’s even more fun now. Still hangin’ in there?” But Kelly was still laughing much too hard to answer.

“That’s too much! Quit it!” Molly yelled, and kicked Andy in the butt. She was barefoot, so it didn’t do him any harm, but it got his attention. He released Kelly’s ankles and dismounted, dodging Molly’s next kick, and stood up. “Easy now!” he said.

“That was mean, Andy,” Molly said crossly. “You know how that drives her crazy!”

“Let it go, sis,” Kelly said, riding a tickle high. Better me than Molly, she thought – I’ve been tickled lots harder, for a lot longer. “What doesen’t kill you, makes you strong.” She rolled over, drew her legs up and shuffled her feet on the grass to get the tickle off. She sat up and winced – her abs were a little sore from laughing – then inspected a sole. “I think you tickled ‘em clean!”

“Gave it my best shot,” he said, and offered her a hand up. “Just like old times.”

“Hey, I don’t mind,” Kelly said. “It’s kinda like aerobic exercise – builds up the wind.” She noticed the guys were looking at Molly’s bare feet. Oops – time to get gone! She checked her watch. “It’s almost 4:30,” she said. “We ought to head back.”

Molly was still a little steamed. “Suits me,” she said. “Let’s go.”

“We’ll be here another week,” Kelly said. “Call me sometime, Andy. George Stansfield – the number’s in the book.”

They headed back south along the western shoreline, in no great hurry. After a few minutes, Molly throttled back to idle. “I can’t believe you asked Andy to call you,” she said. “He’ll just tickle the shit out of you again.”

“Like Gordon did to you,” Kelly said. “Didn’t kill either of us, did it? Be honest – you enjoyed it, didn’t you? At least a little? Looking forward to the next time too, I’ll bet, and maybe something else besides.”

Molly just scowled and goosed the motor hard.

They passed the church camp and yesterday’s fishing spot, then rounded the point north of the Lakeshore Lodge property. Kelly saw two of the Lakeshore staff, cute bikini-clad brunettes, tanning themselves on a blanket spread on their offshore rock. Housekeepers, she figured – this time of day, the kitchen and dining hall staff must be getting supper ready.

One of the Lakeshore girls was on her tummy, her long brown pony-tail pulled to one side. The other was on her back. She sat up – Kelly saw that she had curly hair, worn shoulder-length. Curly Top nudged her companion, and Pony Tail rolled over and sat up too. There was a short conversation, then Pony Tail laid back down on the blanket, arms at her sides. Curly Top rolled her up like a burrito, with just her head and feet sticking out, then sat cross-legged and trapped her friend’s ankles in a leg lock. Pony Tail was about to get tickled silly!

Kelly nudged Molly and pointed. Molly grinned and cut the motor – she wasn’t crazy about being tickled, but (her sister excepted) she had no objection to watching it happen to someone else. Wild ticklish laughter drifted out to them in the sudden silence. The afternoon breeze was off the lake toward shore – they let it drift the boat closer to the tickling scene.

Curly Top spread her victim’s toes apart two by two, tickling between each pair, and the girl laughed like mad. She held the toes back and scrabbled her nails on the soft skin underneath, then across both soles, side to side and back again. She tickled up and down the creases in the middle of the soles, and helpless laughter streamed out like a flood. Then two fingernails, drawing fast looping figure-eight’s around and onto the balls of both feet, and Pony Tail laughed at the top of her lungs.

Curly Top released the toes and tickled the soles two-handed, watching the toes twitch and curl as Pony Tail laughed like a crazy woman. She spider-walked her nails down both arches to the ticklish heels, drawing circles and other tickling shapes. Must be the sweet spots, Kelly figured – the girl went crazy, bucking and squirming, laughing like a madwoman as the tickling fingernails flicked and scratched.

Ticklish laughter poured out as Curly Top worked slowly back up the arches to the soles. She attacked the arches just behind the soles, then tickled down the arches to just in front of the heels. She saved the best for last, flicking the heels as fast as she could. Pony Tail laughed her head off and ran out of air. Curly Top had tickled her breathless.

“Good one!” Kelly called out.

Curly Top looked around, spotted the sisters for the first time. “How long have you been watching?” she called back.

“Long enough,” Molly said. “You really got her good.”

“Unroll me, Holly,” Pony Tail said. By the time she was free, the boat had drifted in. She looked closely at the sisters.

“You’re Molly McGuire,” the girl said. “And Kelly. Remember me? I’m Ashley – Ashley Collishaw. This is my best friend, Holly Nicholson.”

Kelly remembered them now – they must be Gordon’s age, 20 or so. Ashley was a pretty girl with straight light brown hair – it had come out of the pony tail while Holly was tickling her. She had blue eyes, a cute shape and a summer tan. Holly Nicholson was another cutie, not quite medium height, fit and trim looking, with curly shoulder-length brown hair, blue eyes and flawless fair skin.

“I remember,” Molly said. “Gordon told us about your summer job deal. We wondered if we’d get to see you.”

“You just saw another deal,” Ashley said, grinning. “We’ve had an agreement since we were kids,” she explained. “Holly can tickle me as much as she wants. In return, I get to tickle her any time I ask.”

“But… ” Kelly started.

“Think about what I just said,” Ashley said. “I love to be tickled, always have. She loves to make me laugh, so she tickles me a lot. But if I don’t think she’s doing it often enough, or hard enough… ”

“She tickles me silly to encourage me,” Holly finished.

They were doing that last time we were here, too, Kelly thought – Ashley had spent a lot of time laughing. Molly too, she recalled. Ashley and Holly had both been crushing on Gordon, but he paid no attention to them as long as beautiful Molly was around. Everybody hates the prom queen – sometimes they had ganged up on Molly and tickled her until she was raving. They tickled Kelly too when she tried to help.

But neither sister held it against them – it had been a long time ago. And Ashley’s jealousy was evidently a thing of the past. “We’re off work tomorrow,” she said. “We’re gonna water-ski. Want to join us?”

Holly looked sour – maybe she still held a grudge.

“Deal!” Molly said. “See you after breakfast.”

The suppertime conversation included a suitably edited account of the girls’ afternoon. Grandma made tea afterward, and they all took it out onto the porch. The evening sun reflected off little ripples – the lake was calm now, the vacationers’ boats tied up for the night.

The conversation was about family and times past – relatives long-deceased and known to the girls only by stories, summers here when Mom and Uncle Bill were kids, other summers when they started bringing their own young families here, that sort of thing. Sometimes the girls and their cousins had stayed on after their parents left – this cottage had been a good place to be a kid, with no real responsibilities and the whole golden summer before you. They had always taken one more swim just before they left for home, because it had to last them until next year. Kelly missed those times, and knew that Molly did too.

The sun dropped behind the ridge to the west, casting twilight shadows across the lake. Lights started coming on at Collishaw House. The resort had a bar with a dance floor and an outside patio overlooking the lake – laughter and conversation drifted over the water, the words too faint to make out. Kelly heard a boat, a long way off, a small one from the sound of it – probably somebody looking to do some night fishing.

It cooled off fast after sundown. Grandma shivered and stood up. “Too chilly for me,” she said. “Coming, George?”

Grandpa stood up too. “You warm-blooded youngsters can have the porch all to yourselves,” he said. “Getting on toward bedtime anyway. Your grandmother’s turning into a pumpkin – see how orange and ribley she’s getting?”

Grandma swatted him. “Oh, you! Shut up, George!” She wasn’t upset, it was the sort of exchange long-married couples sometimes have. “Good night, girls – see you in the morning.”

The girls left the porch light off. It grew chilly even for them – they were both barefoot, still wearing shorts and t-shirts. Molly fetched their sweat shirts. They sat for a while in companionable silence – neither girl was the sort who felt the urge to talk just to fill a void.

Finally, Molly lit a cigarette. “Y’know, we’ve both heard those old-time stories lots of times,” she said when she had it going. “Ever since we were kids. But it’s only been in the last couple of years that I’ve really listened to them.”

“What d’you mean?” Kelly asked.

The cigarette glowed brightly as Molly took a deep draw. “I’m 21, you’re only 18,” she said. “Those ancient relatives in those stories are just names and dates on gravestones to us. But listen to how Grandma and Grandpa talk about them. They’re still people, with personalities and habits, likes and dislikes, just like you and me. They’ll still be people until the last person who remembers them dies. That’s an existence of one sort or another for… what, maybe 150 yrs after they were born?”

“The ghosts in the memories,” Kelly said.

“Something like that,” Molly said, and took another hit off her cigarette. “I wonder who’s gonna remember us, 130 yrs from now?” she added, a little subdued.

“Thinking about cat’s cradles and broken threads again, sis?” Kelly asked.

Molly looked at the glowing end. “Yah,” she admitted. She took one last hit, dunked the butt in the dregs of her tea and field stripped it. “Let’s get some sleep.”

The girls headed in through the living room with Molly in the lead. Kelly followed behind. Molly’s too serious, she thought. It’s bringing her down, and me with her. I need to lighten up the mood. And I know just the way to do it...

She reached around Molly, grabbed the open neck of the sweat shirt just above the zipper. “You’ll remember this 130 yrs from now!” she said. She pulled outward, back and down. Molly’s sweat shirt bunched up around her elbows, pinning her arms to her sides.

“Hey!” Molly yelled. “Stop fooling around!”

Kelly held on, hooked Molly’s feet out from under her and plopped her down on her tummy on the couch. “Nope,” she said. “You need to lighten up – laugh a little.” She sat and trapped Molly’s ankles in a leg lock, bare soles upturned and perfectly positioned for tickling.

“You’ll wake up Grandma and Grandpa,” Molly protested.

“Grandpa doesen’t hear too well,” Kelly said. “And he snores like a chain saw, so Grandma’s used to noise. Kitchey-koo!” She scrabbled her nails on Molly’s soft upturned soles. Molly arched her back and laughed uncontrollably, ticklish laughter streaming out of her, squirming and struggling desperately to escape.

Kelly spread Molly’s right little toe apart from its neighbor and tickled in between, and Molly laughed like mad. Kelly tickled her way across, scratching between each pair of toes, getting a burst of ticklish laughter each time. She held Molly’s toes back and tickled under them, then down onto the stretched out soles. She drew fast, looping figure-eight’s around the balls of both feet – the loops got smaller, faster, covering the sensitive skin with unbearable tickling. Molly howled with forced mirth, the tickling sensation crowding out all coherent thought.

Kelly kept it up, tickling fiendishly and inventively. She scratched Molly’s heels, then flicked her fingernails in Molly’s arches, fast as she could. Then the soft skin under the toes while Molly laughed her head off. Toe tickles again – Kelly scratched between two toes, producing more helpless laughter, repeated it on the other toes, tickling between each pair. Then finally held Molly’s toes back and tickled the stretched-out soles, side to side across both feet, up and down the creases in the middle, around the balls. Molly lost it and laughed herself breathless.

“I always liked to see you girls doing things together,” Grandma said from the kitchen door. Her eyes twinkled. “Glad to see you still do – like old times, it is.” A pause. “I never did understand the tickling, though.”

Kelly looked up guiltily and released the leg lock. “Sorry, Grandma,” she said. “I didn’t think we’d wake you.”

“You didn’t,” Grandma said. “Too much tea. If I hadn’t got up, it would’ve been like a flood on an Indian reservation, drowning in my tea-pee.”

Molly groaned and blew a juicy raspberry, with tremolo.

“Disrespectful young skirt!” Grandma said with fake indignation. “Tickle her some more!”

Kelly laughed. “Now do you understand?” she asked.

***

The girls were on the porch, wearing shorts and t-shirts over their bikinis, when Ashley and Holly showed up at the dock. The boat was an inboard-outboard like Gordon’s, but bigger and more powerful, plenty of room for everybody. Molly grabbed her gym bag – it held their towels and sunblock. The other girls were already down to their swim suits. Kelly and Molly shucked their outer clothes and stuffed them in the bag as Ashley motored away. Officially, the boat was one of the Collishaw House’s rentals, Ashley said – they didn’t have one of their own. Kelly figured that the arrangement was a way to write the family boat off as a business expense.

Kelly went first. She hadn’t done much water skiing – she had been pretty young back then. Ashley managed to get her up on two skis – the boat had enough power that Kelly popped up out of the water like a cork. They made two sedate, low-speed circuits before Kelly cast off.

Ashley went with a fast run on a single slalom ski when it was her turn – Holly took the wheel and opened the throttle. This wasn’t Ashley’s first rodeo – she jumped the wake, cracked the whip, did other things that Kelly wouldn’t dream of trying.

Molly had done a fair amount of skiing with Gordon – she decided to do like Ashley. Holly took her on one pass around the south end of the lake, then suddenly cut the throttle and immediately goosed it again. The tow line started to go slack. Molly held onto the yoke, threw both hands over her head to take up the initial slack, turned hard right to take up the rest and brought them down again. She didn’t even slow down. Kelly looked over at Holly – the girl looked like she had bit into something sour.

Holly’s turn. “Mind if I drive?” Molly asked.

“Ever driven a boat like this?” Ashley asked.

“A few times,” Molly said with masterful understatement. Molly was a graduate of the Coast Guard’s National Motor Lifeboat School at Cape Disappointment on the Oregon coast. The students learn to handle small boats in heavy surf – as one writer put it, they “learn to work calmly while instinct warns they’re about to die.”

Ashley didn’t question any further – this was a small lake, and the boat was just about unsinkable. “OK, Molly, take the wheel,” she said. “Over the side, Holly.”

Molly made one fast circuit, pulling Holly on the slalom ski. Starting into the second circuit, she yelled “Hold on tight!” She laid the boat on its side in a hard right turn, on its other side in a sharp 180, then another hard right to straighten out – the violent maneuver made Kelly feel like James Bond’s martini, shaken and not stirred. The tow line went slack, then popped tight and snatched Holly right out of the ski bindings. She let go of the yoke and hit the water with a splash.

Molly throttled back, came around and idled up to Holly. “You OK?” she asked.

“You did that on purpose!” Holly said furiously.

Molly got up. “Nope, just too much boat for me,” she said. “Maybe you and Ashley better do the driving.”

Holly handed the ski up to Ashley and followed it aboard. Kelly put the twin skis over the side and jumped in after them. She surfaced to the sound of Molly’s ticklish laughter and scrambled back aboard.

Molly was on her tummy on the cockpit deck, laughing like mad. Holly sat on her facing aft, with Molly’s legs trapped in the figure-four leg lock, tickling the upturned feet with verve and gusto.

Molly laughed at the top of her lungs as Holly’s tickling fingers explored her soles – Holly obviously remembered the sweet spots, and tickled them mercilessly. Holly eased off, light flicks on arches and heels with the tips of her fingernails, making little contact but tickling like crazy. Then heavier tickling again, and Molly laughed her head off while she struggled and squirmed and tried desperately to pull her feet away.

“Knock it off, Holly!” Kelly said. “You had that coming!”

“And she has this coming!” Holly said. She held Molly’s toes back and tickled under them, then down onto the stretched out soles. She flicked her nails on the balls of Molly’s feet, tickled side to side on the stretched out soles, then back to the balls of the feet again. Holly speeded up, tickling at warp speed – Molly’s laughter went off the charts, streams of helpless laughter pouring out of her.

Enough! Kelly jumped Holly and wrestled her off Molly. Molly came up on her knees, watched the struggling pair for a few seconds, then grabbed Holly’s foot and tickled. Holly let out a burst of helpless laughter and lost her hold, and it was all over. Molly hogtied her with the tow rope – Coasties know how to tie knots.

“Help!” Holly yelled. “Ash-lee! Get me out of this!”

Ashley considered. “Nope, that wasn’t too smart, what you did,” she said. “And there’s two of them to my one. Better relax and enjoy it, girlfriend.”

“Good advice,” Molly said. She kneeled facing Holly’s trapped feet from one side, motioned for Kelly to join her on the other. “Time for your singing lesson, Holly.”

“Oh NOOO! Please!” Holly yelled. “HAHAHA! HAHA-HAHA-HAHA! HAHAHAHA!”

Kelly and Molly tickled Holly’s feet, keeping pace with each other. They tickled her heels, up the arches, onto the soles. They spread her toes and tickled between them, held the toes back and tickled the soft skin underneath, then onto the stretched out soles. They tickled down the arches to the heels, and they found the sweet spots – in the arches, just in front of the heels. It wouldn’t do to tickle Holly out too soon – the sisters tickled up the arches and onto the soles, prolonging the tickle torture. Then back down to the heels again – over and over, while time expanded and the tickling filled Holly’s universe. Holly laughed and laughed, incapable of resistance, all the fight tickled out of her.

Molly tickled Holly’s soles, and Holly’s toes twitched and curled – reflex action, she was no longer capable of coordinated movement. Kelly drew circles, squares, figure-eight’s and other tickling shapes in Holly’s arches. They scratched and scrabbled in the back of the arches and onto the heels – Holly laughed with wild abandon from an overload of tickling. Then the finale, four-handed, fingernails flying on sensitive soles, covering every square inch with unbearable tickling. They finished on the sweet spots and tickled Holly breathless.

Holly laid there gasping, red-faced, tears running down her cheeks. “Oh ghod,” she gasped out. “That tickled so much!”

“It was supposed to,” Molly said. “You’ve got a great tickle laugh, you know that?”

“She sings pretty well,” Kelly agreed. She stood and gave Molly a hand up.

“Hey, aren’t you gonna untie me?” Holly asked plaintively. “We’re even now, aren’t we?”

“With them, right enough,” Ashley said. She kneeled behind Holly’s trapped feet, put a knee on either side of Holly’s to prevent a rollover. “But not with me. You haven’t tickled me yet today. Seems to me you need some encouragement.”

“NOOOO!” Holly wailed. “HAHA! HAHAHA! HAHA-HAHA-HAHAHA!” as Ashley covered her sensitive soles with tickling nail flicks.

Holly laughed her head off at the top of her lungs, and there was plenty more coming. She was in for some serious tickle torture – Ashley knew every ticklish spot, and how to get the best reactions. The sisters sat down to watch the show. It would be a good one, Kelly knew – just like old times.


***THE END***
 
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Dream Vacation

Strel,
What a lovely gift you've given to those of us not yet able to get away from
work and the city for summer fun! The McGuire sisters are simply to die for!
'Love their byplay and the subtle advantage Kelly holds over her older sister.
The way all the guys gave in immediately to mischief was hilarious! The two "'lee girls" were whipped cream on this sundae. And, your customary expert detailing of each flick and stroke on the girls' soles easily tranported me into feeling my fingers were doing the wicked.
Walt Disney World? Las Vegas? Jellystone Park? They're all fine vacation destinations, but for MY money, when I can get away, I'm headed for Lakeshore Lodge! :)
 
Wonderful, wonderful story, as always. I love your descriptions of f/f foot tickling. :D
 
Welcome back. You are my favorite author on here and I dearly missed your stories. I thought I would never read another one. I was very excited to see your name in the stories section yesterday.

Fantastic work, as always. Hope to read another great one soon!
 
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