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Hunting Wild Knees (F/M)

Wade

TMF Master
Joined
Sep 6, 2005
Messages
753
Points
18
Emily and I didn't date for all that long, for mostly logistical reasons; there came a time when she had to leave town to take a job across the country and I had to stay behind, and we made the decision to loosen our mutual hold and see if we wound up together or not. We didn't. But she was -- probably still is -- a delightful person: warm, smart, good-natured, politically engaged, ruthlessly ethical. And she's gorgeous -- a pretty heart-shaped face with a brilliant smile; long glossy brown hair; a lean, lovely body; slender, smooth and elegant arms that were alabaster in the winter and coppery in the summer; shapely, expressive hands and long fingers. She's by far a better person than I, and I was lucky she was foolish enough to date me.

Emily was a relentlessly compassionate person; she was politically committed to relieving the suffering of strangers, and when she found a bug or a spider in the house she would painstakingly transport it outside. And she tended to apply that kindness to her interpersonal relations, attentive to others' well-being.

This probably had something to do with why she wasn't a big tickler. If you date me, it's not hard to figure out that I'm ticklish; trailing fingertips along my side or a mouth applied tenderly to my stomach or collarbone is invariably met with flinching muscles and suppressed giggles. And whenever Emily's affectionate caresses or erotic attentions elicited such involuntary twitchiness, she always smiled warmly, maybe snickered a little, and modified her approach to mitigate my sensitivity. And unlike most women I've dated, including my spouse, she didn't tend to file that information away and deploy it to my disadvantage at a later date. My ticklishness was a weakness, and she was disinclined to exploit the weakness of the guy she loved.

With one seemingly random exception.

One day as we were talking I said something she found funny; she threw her head back and gave this loud throaty laugh of hers that I loved, and she reached over and gripped my knee in her hand and squeezed. This maneuver of course sent urgently ticklish impulses jolting through my entire body and I spasmed accordingly, every part of my anatomy jerking and writhing, a helpless yelping laugh leaping from my mouth.

She raised those expressive eyebrows of hers and her hazel eyes flashed with amusement. "Oh, my," she said, and she reached over again -- this time with both hands -- and squeezed the tops of both my knees, causing my legs to whip back and forth as I wriggled in my seat and grabbed desperately at her wrists, trying to pry her hands away from my knees, emitting a staccato series of giggles all the while.

She stopped, grinning broadly. When Emily smiled really big, not only did her dimples deepen but a vein popped out on that lovely high forehead of hers. That's how you could tell she was really entertained by something. And there was that vein.

"Those knees are wild!" she said. "We're gonna have to tame those wild knees!"

I braced for another assault but she didn't attack again -- she gave me a cute, loving, wrinkly-nosed smile and took a swig of her drink.

But intermittently thereafter, whenever I was seated and it occurred to her, often when we were alone but sometimes, embarrassingly, when we had an audience, she would announce, "I'm going to hunt wild knees."

Or "Uh-oh, it's time to hunt wild knees."

Sometimes she'd pretend to be hosting a nature program: "Today we're making our way through the natural habitat of the elusive wild knees, looking for specimens of these notoriously skittish creatures."

Whenever she said something like that, I'd go into evasive mode. Sometimes I'd be seated next to her in a restaurant booth or a coffee shop chair up against a wall or window and my options would be limited -- grinning involuntarily, my hands would fly into defensive mode, hovering readily over my knees, trying to intercept her hands, my knees swinging pointlessly from side to side. In these scenarios, her victory was assured -- I couldn't go anywhere -- the skittish wild knees that were her prey were sitting ducks. I'd try to block and stop her but her hands would dart and advance and retreat and regroup and sooner or later she'd be gripping both my knees and I'd be convulsing in my chair, whooping laughter goosed by anticipatory hysteria tumbling out of me.

Sometimes she'd be across the room and I'd be seated at a table or on the sofa; this gave me time to try to escape, though that just added an extra element of giddy dread to the proceedings. She'd step inexorably toward me, her strong and pretty fingers clawed at the ready in front of her, as I leapt to my feet and retreated from her, giggling helplessly in anticipation, saying "No no don't," looking for an escape route while Emily's eyes focused zealously on my knees, she bending slightly at the waist as she targeted my knees. You'd think I could get away but there was something incapacitating about having someone focused with laserlike attention on one of your vulnerable spots, so utterly committed to getting you there, defeat felt inevitable, Emily picking up speed as she herded me toward the staircase or into a corner or up against a bookcase or the back of a sofa, me swatting at her hands until finally she lunged and those maddening fingers of hers found their target and I sank writhing to the floor, begging incoherently through frantic laughter.

The fact that any of these scenarios always involved a period of pursuit during which I managed to evade or prevent Emily's hands from making contact meant she had time to play with her playful narrative, which may have been her favorite part of this game. It's funny that Emily was positioning herself as a hunter, since she was a vigilant anti-cruelty vegetarian, but she also grew up with parents who never let her watch any TV except for educational nature programs, so she had the patter down:

"Sightings of wild knees are rare given their shy and flighty nature, but you can see them here in the underbrush engaging in their characteristic jumpy and darting movements. Wild knees typically travel in pairs and can be identified by their distinctive yelping call, a high-pitched and ear-splitting howl that some compare to the noises of hyenas or certain tropical birds. And there it is, Marlon, there's that sound we've heard so much about, that's the cry of the wild knee in its natural habitat, this is a rare treat..."

She never tortured me for too long; the pleasure for her was in the idiosyncratic conceit of her pursuit and the involuntary helplessness of my response to the stimuli. But it became an intermittent shared joke of our relationship, and when she started talking in public about the behavioral tendencies of wild knees our mutual friends would grin knowingly, fully aware of what was coming.

Once -- this was late in our relationship; we already knew Emily would be moving away soon -- we were at a coffee shop meeting a couple of old friends of hers from college who were in town, just talking about stuff, and Emily shifted her wry gaze in my direction and started saying "Do you hear that? I think that's the sound of a pair of wild knees moving through the tall grass." I placed my hands over my knees under the table and implored her not to follow through; I didn't get up and flee because that seemed embarrassing, although in retrospect it would have been no more embarrassing than what happened instead.

Delivering her usual running commentary -- "we don't usually see wild knees in open spaces like this, these wild knees must be lost, let's listen for their famous cries" -- Emily's hands evaded mine under the table and seized my knees, delivering me into my usual paroxysms of protesting shrieks and wriggles. Then she stopped and kissed me on the cheek, and then suddenly something surprising happened --

Emily started shrieking herself. Her pale pretty face flushed bright red and that forehead vein popped out as she laughed and thrashed. Her college friend Brian, seated across from her, had reached under the table across to her and was squeezing her knees, saying "Uh-oh, there's another pair of wild knees, I think we've got more wild knees there, Emily, we must have stumbled on a herd."

How did I get this far into my relationship with Emily without discovering that her knees were almost as ticklish as mine were? Because I'm not fundamentally a tickler, I guess, and possibly an idiot, but I admit that watching her friend force that frantic mirth from her consumed me with a hot, ugly jealousy.

Shortly thereafter, Emily moved, and we each moved on. So I don't know how this new revelation of parity might have affected our knee-hunting play in the long run. But if my knowing her knees were ticklish would have dissuaded her from attacking me, I'll admit that I'm glad I didn't find out sooner.
 
Seems like I might regret that...

Nah! I'm what they call an "expert"! You would enjoy it whether you wanted to or not! :p Plus, I would have you securely restrained, so what choice would you have but to lay there and enjoy it? :thumbsup: :laughhard: :rowfull: :tickle: :3poke: :tickling:
 
Wade, I hope you do some writing in your "other" life, too. Your story made me care about Emily and you as people (not just "tickle people"). However, knee tickling IS a favorite of mine, so that hooked me, too!
 
That's a really cute story Wade :) Also a useful one cause me and Sadi now know where to get you bad!
 
Wade, I hope you do some writing in your "other" life, too. Your story made me care about Emily and you as people (not just "tickle people"). However, knee tickling IS a favorite of mine, so that hooked me, too!

That's extremely nice of you to say. Glad you enjoyed it. I retain a particular retrospective fondness for Emily as a person, so I suspect some of that comes through in the retelling.

That's a really cute story Wade :) Also a useful one cause me and Sadi now know where to get you bad!

Oh, if I ever found myself in the same room as you and Sadi I'm sure my fate was already sealed; if only my knees were my only -- or my worst -- weak spot!
 
Ahhh the Bees Knees, a great spot! Good, for clamping the tops, spidering the knee caps and don't forget the back!!!
 
yep - it sounds like the college friend may have tested out her knees at least one time prior to the one you described ..... and probably liked it.
 
That's a really cute story Wade :) Also a useful one cause me and Sadi now know where to get you bad!

Oh, don't worry, Fran. Thanks for the offer though; readily take you up on it! :D
I'm heading for the underarms and feet myself. You can have the knees if you want though.



:devilish:

Another great story by the ignominious Wade! Always a pleasure to read of how you often were humiliated by others (also love your writing style! It's like you actually think before you write stuff down [mine's more word vomit, but hey, it works... ish :p]).

Keep up the humiliation- err... thrilling reading I mean! He he. :innocent:
 
Many thanks to everyone for the kind words. Emily is an extraordinary person, very serious about important things but also capable of great playfulness, so I'm glad that comes through in the writing.

I'm heading for the underarms and feet myself. You can have the knees if you want though.

You really are destined to be the agent of my destruction, aren't you?

Another great story by the ignominious Wade! Always a pleasure to read of how you often were humiliated by others (also love your writing style! It's like you actually think before you write stuff down [mine's more word vomit, but hey, it works... ish :p]).

Keep up the humiliation- err... thrilling reading I mean! He he. :innocent:

You're both very kind and very very wicked. It's confusing. I'm a helpless sucker for praise of my writing, but then you're also celebrating my recurrent humiliation, which is itself, err, a little bit humiliating. I DON'T KNOW HOW TO FEEL!!

In other news, though. I'm legally having my name changed to The Ignominious Wade. It just sounds so good.
 
I envy the ticklish female attention you garner

Sent from my Robin using Tapatalk
 
Emily and I reconnected some years later, mostly over social media but we also talked infrequently on the phone; not surprisingly, she continued to do very well, be very happy, to be endlessly outraged at injustices and to make the world a much better place than I've ever managed to do. She's frequently single, which is inexplicable to me. But at any rate, it's always pleasant to catch up with her.

One time on the phone I told her the news that my now-wife and I were planning on getting married. She was so happy for me and asked all about Amanda. And then she asked, so naturally and innocently, "Does she hunt?"

I honestly didn't know what she was getting at. I knew Emily was a big animal-rights person so I didn't know what she meant by hunting; I thought maybe I'd misheard her. "Does she what?"

"Does she hunt," Emily repeated, matter-of-factly.

"Does she hunt?" I was clueless.

"You know," Emily said, her smile audible in her voice. I could just picture her lifting her long smooth fingers to her chin as she played with me. "Has she ever gone hunting? For wild knees?"

I felt mild heat rushing to my cheeks. "No," I said. "Absolutely not." (Which was true, anyway; obviously Amanda had never played Emily's hunting game with me, but also -- for all the ticklings she'd inflicted on me -- she'd never really targeted my knees.)

"You should suggest it," Emily said. "It's such a fun pastime."

"I don't think so," I said.

"Maybe I should suggest it," Emily said, enjoying my squirming from afar. "What's her email?"

"Don't you even think about it," I said.

"Oh, or she's probably on Facebook, right?" Emily was clearly loving the experience of dangling this possibility in front of me, the possibility of nudging my fiancee into turning the torturing of my knees into a hobby.

"You wouldn't," I said.

"No, I probably wouldn't," Emily admitted cheerfully. "But it's not my fault if you're adorable."

"Nope, that's all on me," I said.

Our conversation was winding down, but before she hung up, she said, "I really do think she'd enjoy hunting wild knees, though."
 
A couple years thereafter, when I found myself chatting with Emily -- again, long-distance, over social media -- we were getting caught up with each other's lives and she asked, out of nowhere, "So has your wife tried hunting yet?"

"Stop it," I replied. "Just stop it right now."

She threw me a smiley emoji and said "I just enjoy making you squirm."
 
Thanks! I neither claim nor aspire to cuteness, but I think sometimes I absorb it second-hand from the women I have the privilege of associating with.
 
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