NovemberTickle
Registered User
- Joined
- May 2, 2023
- Messages
- 3
- Points
- 3
Katie Cheung took off her beaten air force ones, and I fought not to turn my head and alert her to my interest. As usual, all I caught were glimpses, one perfectly rounded heel, a flash of a pink sole, before her feet were tucked away into their usual position underneath her. Seated as close to her as I was, there was just no way I could look without giving away the game - a rookie mistake, and I was no rookie.
“Ok, how about this one then. Me-ch-an-o-sen-sa-tion” She said, each syllable stumbling like a newborn foal.
“Mechanosensation.” I repeated. “It’s the fancy biology textbook term describing our sense of touch. Or I guess if we wanted to sound smart, our response to mechanical stimuli.”
“Mechanosensation. Mechanosensation.” She spoke softly, absentmindedly.
I flipped our textbook to the next page, and pointed.
“See in this diagram, every inch of skin is filled with neurons that are highly specialized to sense different kinds of touch. Proteins in these neurons, called touch receptors, open and close in response to pressure. The guy who discovered them just won the Nobel Prize actually.”
She squinted slightly and leaned closer to see the diagram I had indicated, and I noticed a flash of pink in my peripheral vision as she all too briefly exposed the undersides of her feet next to me before settling back into the library couch. I took a deep breath and continued my lesson.
“Look at these ones, these are supposed to only respond to skin deflection.”
“Deflection?”
“Yeah, like what happens if something presses down into your skin”
“Like this?”
Katie playfully poked me in my shoulder, leaving a hot tingling sensation long after she had retracted her finger.
“C’mon, focus.” I said, exasperated.
“Ok, then what do these ones do?”
“These ones…. sense stroking.”
“But not poking?” She asked, poking me again, this time in the chest. I cleared my throat.
“Not poking. Like I said, all these nerves are highly specialized for specific types of touch. If they all responded to everything, then our brains would probably get confused.”
“Ok, just stroking then.” She stroked one hand across the palm of another, and I noticed how soft and perfectly formed her hands looked. At this time in my life I had a theory, that people with nice hands almost invariably had nice feet. Probably the same developmental processes that grew hands also grew feet as well, or so the logic went.
“And these?” Katie indicated.
“Technically these aren’t mechanoreceptors, they sense pain. Nociception, it’s called, although usually pain comes with touch so I’m not convinced by the distinction.”
“No-ci-cep-tion” Katie raised a hand, and predicting that she would again demonstrate the concept I raised my eyebrows pointedly until she lowered it, though her mischievous smile only grew.
“C’mon Katie, this is going to be 30% of the test.”
“Ok ok.” She made a show of refocusing, tucking her silken black hair to show me one rounded ear. Pretty ears are another predictor of pretty feet - another theory of mine.
“Then tell me.” She began. “Which nerves sense… tickles!”
Before I could react, she nimbly stuck a hand past my arm to drill into the side of my stomach. It tickled a bit, but I managed not to flinch. Clearly she didn’t grow up with siblings, because her technique left a little to be desired. Disappointed, and probably slightly embarrassed, she withdrew her hand.
“I can’t believe you’re not ticklish. Everybody’s ticklish.”
“You done?”
“I- Fine.” She pouted.
“To answer your question, nobody knows. No one’s really done the experiments to find out.”
“How come? If you could invent a medicine that could cure ticklishness it would make a fortune. I’d buy that, no matter the cost.”
I tried and failed to ignore the implication of her words, and I felt blood slowly draining from my brain toward other regions. I tried to talk myself down. Girls love to say how “so extremely ticklish they are” but in my experience few really were. Or so I told myself.
“I guess most graduate students would rather cure cancer than spend 7 years tickling rats” I replied after a moment. “And I’m not sure who would fund that kind of research anyway.”
“Well, when I win the lottery I know how I’m spending the money…” Katie trailed off.
Doggedly, I soldiered on with the lesson.
“Some parts of the skin are more sensitive than others, right?” I said. Uh oh, this textbook wasn’t taking me into safer territory. “Thats because these regions are more densely covered by mechanosensitive nerves.”
“Oh I know about this one. Like the homunculus right?” Katie replied. “I learnt about that last semester. It has big hands because the hands are super sensitive to touch.”
“Yep, and not just the hands. See this diagram here.” As I pointed, Katie leaned forward to get a better angle, and once again I saw her pink soles revealed in my peripheral vision.
This time, it was like something inside of me that had been hanging on by a thread finally dislodged, and I was struck by the kind of stupid bravery that you are lucky to experience even once in a lifetime.
“Another part that is really sensitive to touch is the… feet!”
Katie must have seen me moving because she was squealing before I even touched her. My attack was haphazard. I dove for her ankles, placing myself in between her body and her feet so that she could not return them safely underneath her. Then with relish, I scribbled my fingers across the slender arches of both feet, which danced manically to protect each other from my nails.
“No! Please wait!” Katie squeaked through squeals of protest and helpless giggles. I could feel her panicked hands slapping my back ineffectually.
My theories were right once again. Like her hands, and her ears, Katie’s feet were perfectly formed. Her round heels were silken soft and led to milky white arches that were not too high, not too shallow, which creased and flexed as she desperately tried to evade my dancing fingers. Next I let my fingers glide across her feet, now covered in a slight sheen of sweat, to attack the point where the balls of her feet met the undersides of her slender toes. That must have been a spot of particularly exquisite ticklishness because as soon as I dug my nails under her toes Katie screamed and finally managed to wriggle her feet from my grasp.
“Oh my god, oh my god.” Katie was breathless and panting, a ticklish smile still on her face. “You’re such a fucking dick.”
“You’re so fucking ticklish. I’ve never seen anyone that bad before.” I couldn’t stop laughing.
“Oh, because you’ve tickled sooo many people” She replied sarcastically.
You have no idea, I thought.
“Ok, ok, I’m sorry I tickled you. I didn’t expect you to react like that ok? I thought it would just be a funny moment.”
Katie eyed me with suspicion as I patted the couch next to me.
“If you fucking tickle me again…” Katie reluctantly took a seat next to me, this time keeping her feet safely on the floor out of my reach, her toes clenched unconsciously. “I’ll kick you in the-”
“Watch it.” I reprimanded, and poked her stomach with my index finger, causing Katie to fall back onto the sofa with another ticklish squeal. Suddenly I found myself looming over her as she lay there, her eyes wide open and giggling uncontrollably in anticipation.
Before I could properly give her the punishment she deserved, I felt something draw me closer to her face instead, and I remembered the next fact I was supposed to teach.
“Another part of skin that is especially sensitive…”
Katie must have sensed the change in my mood, because she stopped laughing.
“Is the…”
“...Lips” Katie almost whispered.
And then, just like that, the empty library faded away around us.
“Ok, how about this one then. Me-ch-an-o-sen-sa-tion” She said, each syllable stumbling like a newborn foal.
“Mechanosensation.” I repeated. “It’s the fancy biology textbook term describing our sense of touch. Or I guess if we wanted to sound smart, our response to mechanical stimuli.”
“Mechanosensation. Mechanosensation.” She spoke softly, absentmindedly.
I flipped our textbook to the next page, and pointed.
“See in this diagram, every inch of skin is filled with neurons that are highly specialized to sense different kinds of touch. Proteins in these neurons, called touch receptors, open and close in response to pressure. The guy who discovered them just won the Nobel Prize actually.”
She squinted slightly and leaned closer to see the diagram I had indicated, and I noticed a flash of pink in my peripheral vision as she all too briefly exposed the undersides of her feet next to me before settling back into the library couch. I took a deep breath and continued my lesson.
“Look at these ones, these are supposed to only respond to skin deflection.”
“Deflection?”
“Yeah, like what happens if something presses down into your skin”
“Like this?”
Katie playfully poked me in my shoulder, leaving a hot tingling sensation long after she had retracted her finger.
“C’mon, focus.” I said, exasperated.
“Ok, then what do these ones do?”
“These ones…. sense stroking.”
“But not poking?” She asked, poking me again, this time in the chest. I cleared my throat.
“Not poking. Like I said, all these nerves are highly specialized for specific types of touch. If they all responded to everything, then our brains would probably get confused.”
“Ok, just stroking then.” She stroked one hand across the palm of another, and I noticed how soft and perfectly formed her hands looked. At this time in my life I had a theory, that people with nice hands almost invariably had nice feet. Probably the same developmental processes that grew hands also grew feet as well, or so the logic went.
“And these?” Katie indicated.
“Technically these aren’t mechanoreceptors, they sense pain. Nociception, it’s called, although usually pain comes with touch so I’m not convinced by the distinction.”
“No-ci-cep-tion” Katie raised a hand, and predicting that she would again demonstrate the concept I raised my eyebrows pointedly until she lowered it, though her mischievous smile only grew.
“C’mon Katie, this is going to be 30% of the test.”
“Ok ok.” She made a show of refocusing, tucking her silken black hair to show me one rounded ear. Pretty ears are another predictor of pretty feet - another theory of mine.
“Then tell me.” She began. “Which nerves sense… tickles!”
Before I could react, she nimbly stuck a hand past my arm to drill into the side of my stomach. It tickled a bit, but I managed not to flinch. Clearly she didn’t grow up with siblings, because her technique left a little to be desired. Disappointed, and probably slightly embarrassed, she withdrew her hand.
“I can’t believe you’re not ticklish. Everybody’s ticklish.”
“You done?”
“I- Fine.” She pouted.
“To answer your question, nobody knows. No one’s really done the experiments to find out.”
“How come? If you could invent a medicine that could cure ticklishness it would make a fortune. I’d buy that, no matter the cost.”
I tried and failed to ignore the implication of her words, and I felt blood slowly draining from my brain toward other regions. I tried to talk myself down. Girls love to say how “so extremely ticklish they are” but in my experience few really were. Or so I told myself.
“I guess most graduate students would rather cure cancer than spend 7 years tickling rats” I replied after a moment. “And I’m not sure who would fund that kind of research anyway.”
“Well, when I win the lottery I know how I’m spending the money…” Katie trailed off.
Doggedly, I soldiered on with the lesson.
“Some parts of the skin are more sensitive than others, right?” I said. Uh oh, this textbook wasn’t taking me into safer territory. “Thats because these regions are more densely covered by mechanosensitive nerves.”
“Oh I know about this one. Like the homunculus right?” Katie replied. “I learnt about that last semester. It has big hands because the hands are super sensitive to touch.”
“Yep, and not just the hands. See this diagram here.” As I pointed, Katie leaned forward to get a better angle, and once again I saw her pink soles revealed in my peripheral vision.
This time, it was like something inside of me that had been hanging on by a thread finally dislodged, and I was struck by the kind of stupid bravery that you are lucky to experience even once in a lifetime.
“Another part that is really sensitive to touch is the… feet!”
Katie must have seen me moving because she was squealing before I even touched her. My attack was haphazard. I dove for her ankles, placing myself in between her body and her feet so that she could not return them safely underneath her. Then with relish, I scribbled my fingers across the slender arches of both feet, which danced manically to protect each other from my nails.
“No! Please wait!” Katie squeaked through squeals of protest and helpless giggles. I could feel her panicked hands slapping my back ineffectually.
My theories were right once again. Like her hands, and her ears, Katie’s feet were perfectly formed. Her round heels were silken soft and led to milky white arches that were not too high, not too shallow, which creased and flexed as she desperately tried to evade my dancing fingers. Next I let my fingers glide across her feet, now covered in a slight sheen of sweat, to attack the point where the balls of her feet met the undersides of her slender toes. That must have been a spot of particularly exquisite ticklishness because as soon as I dug my nails under her toes Katie screamed and finally managed to wriggle her feet from my grasp.
“Oh my god, oh my god.” Katie was breathless and panting, a ticklish smile still on her face. “You’re such a fucking dick.”
“You’re so fucking ticklish. I’ve never seen anyone that bad before.” I couldn’t stop laughing.
“Oh, because you’ve tickled sooo many people” She replied sarcastically.
You have no idea, I thought.
“Ok, ok, I’m sorry I tickled you. I didn’t expect you to react like that ok? I thought it would just be a funny moment.”
Katie eyed me with suspicion as I patted the couch next to me.
“If you fucking tickle me again…” Katie reluctantly took a seat next to me, this time keeping her feet safely on the floor out of my reach, her toes clenched unconsciously. “I’ll kick you in the-”
“Watch it.” I reprimanded, and poked her stomach with my index finger, causing Katie to fall back onto the sofa with another ticklish squeal. Suddenly I found myself looming over her as she lay there, her eyes wide open and giggling uncontrollably in anticipation.
Before I could properly give her the punishment she deserved, I felt something draw me closer to her face instead, and I remembered the next fact I was supposed to teach.
“Another part of skin that is especially sensitive…”
Katie must have sensed the change in my mood, because she stopped laughing.
“Is the…”
“...Lips” Katie almost whispered.
And then, just like that, the empty library faded away around us.
