OldEnglish
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Apr 21, 2001
- Messages
- 235
- Points
- 18
First, a little peek into my thought process here… I admittedly went back and forth about a couple of things regarding this story before I posted it. First was should I even post it. Like no doubt many of you here, I always have this paranoia that the subject of any of my true tickling tales will somehow read the story and piece everything together and realize who is the man behind the OldEnglish moniker. So I usually then take a few liberties with the story - changing the names, of course, and embellishing/altering a detail here and there. But then I wonder whether the story should then stay in the True Story section. I ultimately left it in the True Story section since this is a story based on real events and it was just ancillary details that were edited/embellished, but if anyone objects to its placement, I would not argue against its transfer.
So now also a little backstory. This story focuses on two of my sisters-in-law. I’ve spoken to some in private about them before, as there is a bit of a history with them, but for those unfamiliar with the backstory, I’ll explain in a moment. First, though, some descriptions…
DESCRIPTIONS
My wife is the lone sister in a large family, so she has a number of brothers. These brothers are now all married. The two sisters-in-law that this tale focuses on are “Erica” and “Morgan”. Erica and Morgan are an interesting duo in that at the same time they are both incredibly similar while also being polar opposites of each other. Erica is fairly conservative; Morgan is a ‘wild-child’. Erica is a planner; Morgan is a free spirit. Erica is more of an introvert; Morgan is without a doubt an extrovert. Erica to this day rarely even swears; Morgan, on the other hand, has had a few minor run-ins with the law (more on that later). Despite those differences, they both are similar in the sense that they both have an insatiable thirst for control. Now, I want to be careful how I make these descriptions because I wouldn’t necessarily say that either are controlling, per se, despite my previous sentence. But they both yearn for the day where they can host holiday events at their house. They both jockey to see whose charcuterie board the rest of the family favors. They both look to add their own little wrinkles to established family traditions (“Well, what if we did this instead?”). That sort of thing.
It’s all an exercise in futility because no one is trumping my wife in any of those areas. But I digress…
Both women are in their early 30s. Erica, as mentioned, is the more conservative type. She is shorter and though certainly not fat by any means - one might just say curvy at this point? She’s certainly someone one would consider pretty even today, but I recently saw some pictures of her from when she was in college, and I am sure she made a few heads turn back in the day. Her medium length brown hair is always done up neatly. Morgan, again, is the polar opposite. Morgan is taller, though in fairness, I’d say of average height; she seems taller when juxtaposed to the shorter Erica. Morgan is someone that many would likely consider a knock-out even today - which is how she has been able to escape any trouble during those run-ins with the law (speeding, etc - nothing major). She was an athlete in college and her body has kept in shape in the years since. She has long, wavy red hair that is usually hastily put together in some pony tail or something of the sort. Style-wise, again, both are polar opposites. Erica opts for the more conservative style - leggings, jeans, sweaters, flats, etc. - whereas Morgan still dresses as though she were in college - short skirts, belly shirts in the summer, heels, etc.
I also feel I should state that they’re both wonderful people. I know I have painted a picture of two very different people, but that’s not to say one is a “nice one” and the other is the “evil one” by any means.
PREFACES
As someone who loves the written word, this story turned out to be a lot longer than I anticipated. It took me the better part of two days to write, and I am sure it will take you a couple of minutes to read. Both of those times are far longer than the timeline of the actual events you are about to read. All three combined instances totaled, I mean, maybe three minutes - and that is with the talking included. If a story is worth telling, though, it is worth telling right, so it ended up being lengthy. For that, I apologize.
BACKSTORY
So this backstory of this happened, gosh, maybe a year or even two years ago at this time - certainly not longer than that (it’s been a wild few years and timelines are starting to blur together). The family was gathered around for likely either a holiday or a birthday of some kind and things were starting to wind down a bit. Now, as I have mentioned before when discussing my wife’s family, they are all very heavy drinkers, though they can - for the most part - hold their liquor well. What usually ends up is some crazy antics that were no doubt fueled by the alcohol, but not something one would call a “drunk fest” or anything like that.
On this particular day, Erica and her husband were sitting together on the couch when out of the blue, Erica’s husband grabbed a hold of her foot and started tickling. Erica lost it. I mean, instant hysterical laughter. It wasn’t a prolonged tickle attack. The tickle itself wouldn’t go down in my Top 10 witnessed tickles of my lifetime were it not for the fallout that came from it. More on that in a bit, as well, though. But as casual as the tickle may have been, it had caught the attention of everyone in the room - if for no other reason than Erica’s hysterical laughter filling the entire room and drowning out other conversations.
When it happened,I remember being amazed that Erica was as ticklish as she seemed. I mean, sure, everyone is ticklish, but Erica just always seemed like someone who would will herself into not being ticklish anymore. And I only ever thought that more because of her penchant for being able to control situations than anything else. She actually has that bubbly, sweet personality that I personally tend to think of when I think of someone who is especially ticklish. But she just screamed to me as someone who had probably been tickled so much in her youth that she had outgrown it. But nope. Unfortunately for poor Erica, she had not outgrown being ticklish in the least. Now of course as a frequenter of the TMF, the sight of poor Erica losing her mind laughing was something that caught my eye. But as it turns out, I wasn’t the only one in the room paying close attention to the scene unfolding on the couch.
Morgan was paying close attention to what she was witnessing. Though she was on the opposite side of the great room, she stood up from her chair to get a better look, a smile spreading across her face as she watched her brother-in-law torturing his wife. Yes, we were all watching and yes, most of us had a smile on our face at the general silliness of the incident, but Morgan’s smile was bigger, wider… Her eyes were more locked in on what was going on before her. Finally, she spoke.
“Oh my word, Erica,” she said loudly so she could be heard. “You’re ticklish??”
It was a question that didn’t need answering, since everyone in the room could already come to that conclusion. Not that Erica could even answer it if she wanted to. Nothing but pure laughter, with the occasional “No” or “Stop” or “Please”, was coming from her mouth at this time.
Morgan continued to watch, as if she were licking her chops as she watched her pseudo-rival finally show a flaw.
Finally, the mother-in-law, perhaps both feeling pity for her daughter-in-law and also wanting to earn some brownie points with her as well, called her son off the attack. When he relented, Erica pulled her feet up to safety, away from his tickling fingers, and lay on the couch trying to compose herself.
The mother-in-law turned to Morgan and said, “Boy, he really found her weakness there, huh?” with a laugh. An innocuous statement otherwise, one the mother-in-law no doubt said only to break the silence in the room. But it produced another huge smile on Morgan’s face.
“I’d say,” Morgan said, agreeing with her mother-in-law, before saying slightly louder - I’m sure for Erica to hear - “Who knew Erica had such a glaring weakness? I never knew she was that ticklish.”
“Now you know,” Erica’s husband said as he walked over to Morgan and, more specifically, to the food on the table near Morgan.
“And knowing is half the battle,” another brother chimed in, mimicking the old GI Joe messages at the end of their cartoons and diverting the brothers off to some other tomfoolery.
Morgan got up, though, and sat next to Erica, who was still trying to compose herself. It was clear that Morgan wasn’t going to let this end so quickly.
“Oh my gosh, you poor thing,” Morgan said. “That looked like it tickled so much,” she said.
“It did,” Erica answered, clearly a little uneasy about having to discuss with people about how ticklish she was.
BACKSTORY AFTERMATH
I mentioned the fallout that came from this backstory. It’s more a subtle fallout, though part of the psychology of tickling that I find incredibly fascinating. Prior to this incident, Erica was someone who would almost constantly be barefoot when inside. Summertime meant flip flops or sandals of some kind, which were always removed once she entered a house. Fall and winter and more formal events meant either a flat or a low heel or some other type of shoe that didn’t require socks. The few times that she would wear socks - usually a pair of the no-show socks or PED socks when she’d wear a bootie - she would more often than not remove the socks when she would take her shoes off, stuffing the socks inside the shoe for when she had to leave.
After that point, though, Erica completely changed. I’m sure it wasn’t noticed by anyone else; only a true TMFer would spot such a change in behavior. Yes, the flip flops and the sandals remained, but when they were worn, Erica would carry within her purse a pair of socks that she would place on her feet when she would take them off. Gradually, too, I noticed that the summertime flip flops and sandals were being replaced with canvas sneakers on those days when she knew Morgan was going to be there, as well. Even still, though, on those days where she would arrive wearing a pair of white canvas Keds with no socks, were she to remove the Keds that day, she would always pull out a pair of socks from her purse. It was as if Erica was going out of her way to avoid being in a vulnerable position again, to avoid someone seeing her barefoot and the memory of Erica being ticklish being reignited in their minds.
I also noticed Morgan seemingly more acutely aware of this, as well. I feel I should preface this paragraph by saying that by no means do I think Morgan has any sort of interest in any of this. Paranoid though I may be, I don’t actually believe Morgan is on the TMF anywhere reading this. I simply chalk it up to Morgan finding a weakness in her friendly rival and just simply never forgetting about it. It was little things - again, things that no one else probably even noticed. Morgan would always seem to look down at Erica’s feet when Erica would arrive - as if seeing what Erica was wearing that day. Morgan would comment about Erica’s shoes - “Oh, those are super cute” or “What size are they?” - things like that. I never went so far as to wish-cast and believe that Morgan definitely wanted to tickle Erica, but I don’t think it’s much of a stretch that Morgan wanted SOMEONE to tickle Erica again - just like a “Hey guys - remember how ticklish she is?” kind of thing. And the reason I never really mentioned any of this before is because I just assumed I was looking for something that wasn’t actually there, wishing that perhaps one of those TMF Stories might finally come true. And that was never the case, until recently…
THE LATEST INCIDENT
As I mentioned, I was thinking more and more that I was making something out of nothing - that all of my “analysis” of the situation was simply the result of reading - and writing - too many stories on the TMF. The plot line usually always worked out in those stories, but very rarely ever came to fruition in real life. But as the old saying goes, where there’s smoke, there’s usually fire, and this latest incident was all the proof I needed to know I wasn’t imagining things.
It actually occurred at Erica’s house this time. She and her husband had had me and my wife (and the kids) and Morgan and her husband over to their house for some pizza and to play some games. Nothing super fancy. Just a casual Saturday night.
We arrived and pleasantries were exchanged all around. Erica had been outside with the dogs when we arrived and we walked inside. She was dressed in black leggings with what seemed to be thick wool socks that were pulled over the legs of her leggings and, for the moment, a pair of ankle booties, which were quickly removed when we walked in the door. She also wore either a camisole or a tank top underneath a white long sleeve top that was also under a cardigan sweater. Her hair, as always, was neatly in place.
Morgan, of course, was way over-dressed for the occasion. She was still in just jeans and a sweater, but they were clearly a pair of nicer skinny jeans and a sweater that likely cost more than my entire wardrobe. She had on a pair of ankle booties with a heel that she kept on. I mean, she of course looked very nice, but given that it was just Dominos and board games, she could have worn a pair of sweatpants and fit in just as much. But to each their own.
The night went on and nothing of note happened until a little later in the evening, when the seedling that had existed inside of my brain for all this time finally started to branch out into the real world. We were all sitting around the room on the U-shaped couch, the three married couples each occupying one side of the “U” while the kids were playing XBox. Erica had made a bit of a snide remark about her husband. Nothing horrible, of course - the kind of back-and-forth banter most couples take part in. Her husband then, naturally, followed suit, joking that he has to take care of all of the cleaning in the house because Erica doesn’t do anything. Knowing the two of them as we do, we all knew that to be a lie, of course, and Erica, gasping in astonishment that her husband would say such a thing, gave him a playful kick.
You know those times when you can see something playing out even before it actually happens? This was such an instance.
Her husband, savvy to Erica’s usual habits, had anticipated her kick and grabbed her leg, locking it in a leg lock between his two legs. Erica and her husband occupied the middle portion of the “U”. Her husband was to Erica’s left, and her left leg was now caught between her husband’s two legs. My wife and I were on the “U” to Erica’s right and Morgan and her husband were on the “U” to Erica’s left.
Now, the TMFer in me knew where I had hoped this would go. Morgan, too, had caught onto what had happened and was now acutely focused on the next move Erica’s husband would make. And just as Erica’s husband had anticipated Erica’s move in giving him a playful kick, Erica, too, seemed to know exactly what was coming next, as she quickly and nervously tried to nonchalantly get her husband to release her ankle.
“OK, let me go now,” she said with a smile, the kind of smile that every husband knows is more of a command than a request.
“No!” her husband barked back - clearly joking. “You’re going to say those awful things about me and think you can just get away with it?” he said, playing the role of the victim.
Erica was trying to be inconspicuous in her efforts to pull her ankle free, but not only were her efforts obvious, they were also futile. That ankle was not going anywhere, and that foot now sat vulnerable on the other side of her husband’s legs.
“You win,” Erica said, not wanting this to go on any longer for fear of what was coming. “Now let go of me so I can get everyone some more snacks,” she said, clearly hoping that would be a useful enough tactic to find herself free.
“We don’t need snacks,” her husband said. “We need you to apologize to me,” he commanded - again, all in a joking way.
“OK, dear,” she said, clearly willing to do anything at this point. “I’m sorry for saying what I said to you,” she offered. “It was only a joke and I took it too far,” she said, looking at him as if begging with her eyes not to do what she knew he was about to do.
“Words can hurt,” her husband joked. “You need to be mindful of that,” he admonished.
“I’m sorry, babe,” she said. “I won’t do it again I - AH!” she shrieked, unable to finish her sentence as her husband had quickly danced a few fingers across the bottom of her trapped foot.
Morgan was nearly beaming in delight. “Oh, that’s right,” she said. “I forgot how ticklish Erica is,” she said, clearly lying.
“Babe, no,” Erica said, her words now more hurried and with more emphasis. “I said I’m sorry,” she reminded her husband, all while still trying to pull her ankle free. “Just. Don’t.”
“I think you need to be taught a lesson,” her husband said, dancing a few fingers on the bottom of Erica’s foot one more time. Again, Erica shrieked and jumped.
“Honey, please,” she pleaded. “We have guests,” Erica begged.
“Come on, Erica,” Morgan teased. “Can’t you handle a little tickle?” she asked.
“No, I can’t,” Erica said, quickly stopping herself as she realized what she had said out loud, her shoulder slumping in defeat almost as much as Morgan’s smile had broadened in delight. “Babe, just please,” she said again, hoping he would hear the sincerity in her voice.
“She really can’t handle it,” Erica’s husband said to Morgan as Erica turned redder and redder with embarrassment. “All I have to do is this,” he said, dancing a few fingers across the bottom of Erica’s foot again, causing her to almost jump off of the couch, “and she completely loses it,” he said, as if presenting a science experiment.
“Babe, please,” Erica said. “They’re not interested in this,” Erica said.
“Come on, Erica,” Morgan said with faux-encouragement. “You can fight this. You’ve got those thick socks on,” she said.
“Maybe it’s time we take those off,” Erica’s husband said, reaching down to Erica’s foot.
“NO!” Erica shrieked, frantically trying to reach around to grab her husband’s hand to prevent him from getting a hold of her sock. “Leave my sock on!”
“I’m afraid it’s getting in my way, honey,” her husband said, slowly tugging at the sock as he gripped the toe area.
A longer pair of socks, they originally ended up around Erica’s calf area, as she had opted to wear them both over her leggings and pulled up as high as they could go today. That left sock, though, was now closer to her ankle than her calf as her husband continued to gently tug. As it neared her heel, Erica made one last attempt.
“Babe,” she said as sternly as she could muster. “Please don’t take off my sock,” she begged. “Please?”
Oh, this was going to be tough. She was pulling out both the stern voice and the pleading voice in the same request. You could tell she was desperate.
“OK, honey, fine,” her husband said, a huge - albeit temporary - sigh of relief coming from Erica — temporary because not one second later, with one final, mighty tug, Erica’s husband pulled her sock clear from her foot.
“Ooops,” he said, tossing the sock to the floor.
Erica’s one layer of protection was now gone, cast aside, now nothing standing in the way of her husband’s tickling fingers except…
Holy hell.
Nylons.
Had I died and gone to Heaven?
Even as I type this today, I still think - ‘Did that really happen? Did I really see that?’. But no, this was not one of the elements edited or embellished for the story. There they were. A pair of suntan nylons underneath the thick wool socks that Erica had been wearing.
“Jackpot,” Morgan said as she saw Erica’s sock removed. The TMFer in me - and more specifically, the nylon fan in me - likes to believe that she said that under the assumption that nylons make one more ticklish. And I’m certainly not here to debate that, as I know people stand hard and firm to their beliefs on the matter. But this is my tale and, despite any evidence suggesting it, that is what I like to believe.
Whatever the reason for Morgan’s statement, there was no denying that Erica was now much more fervent in her pleas for her husband to end the attack. “Babe, don’t you DARE tickle my feet right now,” she said, again as sternly as she could. Again, similar to my prior statement about Morgan’s intentions, I have no confirmation one way or the other about the motive behind Erica’s forceful demand. Maybe she just didn’t want to be tickled? Maybe she was more concerned about the loss of the sock and the protection it gave? But again, I choose to believe she knew that it would be more ticklish in the nylons.
Erica’s husband must have started to realize that his wife meant business because, though he did swipe his fingers along the bottom of Erica’s foot a few times - causing her to practically jump off the couch each time - he never began a full-fledged tickle attack on Erica’s foot.
And though those brief swipes along her foot were enough to create that paroxysm of laughter from Erica, she seemed to feel a bit relieved that the urgency of her message was getting through to her husband, that he knew better than to extend this out any further.
Maybe Erica’s husband knew…
But someone else in the room was not picking up on those cues.
“Can I have a go?” Morgan asked, hopping off her spot on the couch and kneeling on the floor in front of Erica’s right foot.
Erica’s eyes nearly jumped out of their sockets.
“Be my guest,” Erica’s husband said, motioning to Erica’s free right foot with his hand.
“What?” Erica asked in disbelief. “Babe, no,” she pleaded, simultaneously trying to pull her left foot free from her husband’s grasp while also trying to dance her right foot away from Morgan’s grasp. “Let me go right now, babe!”
“Honey, she wants to tickle you,” Erica’s husband said, as if that alone should have been enough for Erica to have OK’d the situation.
“Aha!” Morgan said in triumph as she corralled Erica’s right ankle under her own left arm in a headlock. “Got it!”
“Morgan, come on, no,” Erica pleaded, unable to match the strength of her husband or her former-athlete sister-in-law.
At this point, I hopped off my spot on the couch and moved the coffee table out of the way, for it had been in the center of the “U” couch up to this point. With Morgan’s new position, I chalked it up to not wanting anyone to get hurt by bumping into it. Of course, in getting up and moving the coffee table, I also now had a better view of what was about to go down.
“I have no use for this right now,” Morgan said, swiftly pulling off Erica’s other sock and tossing it to the side.
“Morgan, no, not my feet,” was all Erica could muster before Morgan began her assault. True to her usual style, Morgan clearly had a fresh manicure and she was putting the tips of her acrylic nails to use on the bottom of Erica’s trapped foot.
As soon as her mind registered the touch, Erica exploded into hysterical laughter. I’m not generally one to exaggerate one’s ticklishness, and certainly from having watched countless videos on the subject, I am used to over-the-top reactions, whether they be true or fake. But when I say Erica was hysterical laughing from the instant Morgan started tickling her feet, I mean Erica was 100% hysterically laughing. Her body jolted so much that her upper body fell down onto the couch as she twisted and turned and tried anything to free her ankle from Morgan’s clutches. Morgan was laughing right along, clearly enjoying every moment of this.
“Not your feet, Erica?” joked Morgan through her own laughter. “Why - are your feet where you’re most ticklish?”
At that precise moment, Erica howled with laughter, filling the entire room with her guffaw.
“Safe to say that’s a yes,” said her husband, translating for his wife.
Erica was frantic with laughter. One could tell that she had tried to say “Oh my God, no” and “Morgan, please stop”, but the words came out so garbled that Morgan paid no attention to them - though it was clear Morgan had no intention of stopping anytime soon regardless. Using what was left of her energy, Erica pushed herself up again so that she was sitting upright as she tried to weave her arms around Morgan in an attempt to block her foot with her hands.
Now here is the part of witnessing tickle attacks that I love - the post-tickle analysis. Of course, I admit that Erica was clearly not in her right mind at this point, her mind focusing solely on those acrylic fingertips that were dancing along the bottom of her foot. And I also acknowledge that not everyone thinks of tickle fights as if there were an offensive and defensive playbook that one could reference as part of the strategy. But given their positioning - with Erica behind Morgan and Morgan’s left arm in use holding Erica’s ankle in a headlock and Morgan’s right arm in use tickling away - Erica had full and clear access to not only Morgan’s sides but also her underarms. Now of course it’s worth noting that I have no idea how ticklish Morgan is in those areas, and I don’t know if Erica has any idea how ticklish Morgan is in those areas - to say nothing of the fact that Erica clearly wouldn’t have been in her right mind at this time. Either way, it was a definite opportunity lost for Erica.
Opportunity lost for Erica but opportunity gained for her husband, for though Erica was having no success in blocking Morgan from having access to tickle the bottom of her foot, she was being enough of a pest that Morgan wasn’t able to tickle as effectively as she had at the start. Now unfortunately for Erica, just as Morgan’s sides and underarms were completely exposed with her positioning, Erica’s new position - wrapping her arms around Morgan’s body in an attempt to reach her foot - now left Erica’s sides and underarms completely exposed and vulnerable, as well - a fact that her husband picked up on immediately. One quick poke to Erica’s side was all it took for Erica to fall back to the couch, her attempt to block Morgan from tickling her foot now ended.
“Thank ya, sir,” Morgan said with an exaggerated New England accent as she resumed her tickle attack on Morgan’s now defenseless foot.
Erica was beside herself, falling in and out of silent laughter, punching the couch cushions, and squeezing throw pillows over her face, anything to try to block out the tickle sensations that her brain was registering. At this point, Morgan had been tickling Erica for maybe all of fifteen seconds - certainly no more than 30 seconds - but Erica was a mess. It was very apparent from that earlier incident that Erica without question landed on the “extremely ticklish” side of the spectrum, but even that earlier incident was nothing compared to what was going on now. If Erica really were truly this ticklish, she had shot past the “extremely ticklish” scale and was now making a new scale all her own.
“Oh my God, Erica,” Morgan said laughing, getting a kick out of seeing her fellow sister-in-law brought to the brink of insanity. “Be strong, girl,” she said, as if coaxing a prize fighter who was taking a beating. “Try to fight this. Where’s your defense?”
“I have no defense,” Erica shouted through her laughter, which made everyone in the room laugh.
“It’s true,” her husband said with a shrug. “She can’t defend against it,” he said with a shrug.
“Girllllllllllll,” cooed Morgan in pure delight. “How are you even this ticklish?”
“I can’t help it,” Erica said, again through the laughter. It was clear at this point that Erica had been defeated, that she realized that there was nothing more she could do but sit there and laugh and wait until Morgan showed some mercy on her.
“Your wife gets a kick out of tickling people, huh?” Erica’s husband asked his brother, Morgan’s husband.
Morgan’s husband just shook his head in disbelief. “You should see when she and her sister get together. Something like this always breaks out.”
(NOTE TO SELF: Attend Morgan’s next family event)
“Is it my fault she can’t take a little tickling?” Morgan asked, as if to justify her actions.
“Morgan, please,” Erica begged, barely with enough energy to get the words out. We were bordering on maybe forty-five seconds to one minute at this point, which must have felt like eternity for someone clearly as ticklish as Erica.
“Oh, all right,” Morgan said dejectedly, realizing that Erica had reached her limit but not wanting to stop. She stopped tickling but held onto Erica’s ankle even after Erica’s husband released the other ankle.
“Oh my God,” Erica said as she tried to catch her breath, still without enough energy to try to pull her ankle free from Morgan’s grip. “That was torture,” she said, coughing as she tried to gasp in as much air as possible.
“I thought it was fun,” Morgan said, as everyone else in the room laughed.
“Maybe not for Erica,” my wife said.
“Who knew all this time that all it takes is a little tickle to get Erica to become completely unglued?” Morgan asked, dragging a finger up the bottom of Erica’s foot again.
“NO!” Erica shouted as she jumped, fearful that another round of tickling was on the way. “Please, I can’t take any more tickling,” she begged.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Morgan said as she released Erica’s ankle. Erica quickly pulled both of her feet up under her body to protect them from any further attacks.
After a few minutes of back and forth joking about the incident, Erica got up and said “I think I better go get those snacks I said I was going to get,” and she walked out to the kitchen.
Erica had been gone for a bit and, coincidentally, I happened to get up to use the restroom, which brought me through the kitchen area. There, I found Erica standing with a glass of water, trying to adjust herself after everything she had endured.
“You OK?” I asked, recognizing the war that she had just been through.
“You have no idea,” Erica said, shaking her head.
“Happens to the best of us,” I said, stuck in that awkward phase of wanting to dissect and analyze every second of what happened with her but also recognizing how that would look so wanting to play it cool, as they say.
“That was so embarrassing,” she said, taking another sip of water.
“Nah,” I said. “Don’t worry about it. Why was it embarrassing?”
“Did you see me in there?” she asked, pointing to the living room area.
“So you’re ticklish?” I asked, nonchalantly.
“No, I’m like deathly ticklish,” Erica replied.
“Tomato tomahto,” I said.
“It’s like a defect I have,” Erica said with a slight chuckle.
“Oh, stop,” I said. “I’d chalk it up as a positive trait, actually.”
“Really?” Erica asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “In fact, I think the defect would be if you weren’t ticklish at all.”
Erica laughed. “Yeah, that would be something, wouldn’t it?”
“Well, think of it,” I said. “Have you ever met anyone in your life who wasn’t ticklish?”
Erica seemed to think it over for a moment. “No, I guess you’re right,” she said. “Thanks,” she said, seeming genuinely appreciative as she put her glass down and started gathering the snacks.
“No problem,” I said. “Do you want me to get your socks back for you?” I asked with a laugh.
Erica laughed. “A lot of good they did me before,” she laughed again. “No, the cat’s out of the bag now at this point, right?”
“I really wouldn’t worry about it,” I said, holding the door for her as she left the kitchen and returned with the snacks.
CLOSING THOUGHTS
What I just shared is absolutely true. If it seems too fantastical, I guess I’d chalk that up to my writing style more than anything. As I mentioned at the start, a few of the ancillary details were edited a bit out of paranoia, but the stuff that a TMFer would want to read about is all detailed out exactly as it went down.
Is that the end of the tale? Hopefully not. Time will tell, I suppose. If nothing else, we have a funny story we can bring up time to time to relive.
So now also a little backstory. This story focuses on two of my sisters-in-law. I’ve spoken to some in private about them before, as there is a bit of a history with them, but for those unfamiliar with the backstory, I’ll explain in a moment. First, though, some descriptions…
DESCRIPTIONS
My wife is the lone sister in a large family, so she has a number of brothers. These brothers are now all married. The two sisters-in-law that this tale focuses on are “Erica” and “Morgan”. Erica and Morgan are an interesting duo in that at the same time they are both incredibly similar while also being polar opposites of each other. Erica is fairly conservative; Morgan is a ‘wild-child’. Erica is a planner; Morgan is a free spirit. Erica is more of an introvert; Morgan is without a doubt an extrovert. Erica to this day rarely even swears; Morgan, on the other hand, has had a few minor run-ins with the law (more on that later). Despite those differences, they both are similar in the sense that they both have an insatiable thirst for control. Now, I want to be careful how I make these descriptions because I wouldn’t necessarily say that either are controlling, per se, despite my previous sentence. But they both yearn for the day where they can host holiday events at their house. They both jockey to see whose charcuterie board the rest of the family favors. They both look to add their own little wrinkles to established family traditions (“Well, what if we did this instead?”). That sort of thing.
It’s all an exercise in futility because no one is trumping my wife in any of those areas. But I digress…
Both women are in their early 30s. Erica, as mentioned, is the more conservative type. She is shorter and though certainly not fat by any means - one might just say curvy at this point? She’s certainly someone one would consider pretty even today, but I recently saw some pictures of her from when she was in college, and I am sure she made a few heads turn back in the day. Her medium length brown hair is always done up neatly. Morgan, again, is the polar opposite. Morgan is taller, though in fairness, I’d say of average height; she seems taller when juxtaposed to the shorter Erica. Morgan is someone that many would likely consider a knock-out even today - which is how she has been able to escape any trouble during those run-ins with the law (speeding, etc - nothing major). She was an athlete in college and her body has kept in shape in the years since. She has long, wavy red hair that is usually hastily put together in some pony tail or something of the sort. Style-wise, again, both are polar opposites. Erica opts for the more conservative style - leggings, jeans, sweaters, flats, etc. - whereas Morgan still dresses as though she were in college - short skirts, belly shirts in the summer, heels, etc.
I also feel I should state that they’re both wonderful people. I know I have painted a picture of two very different people, but that’s not to say one is a “nice one” and the other is the “evil one” by any means.
PREFACES
As someone who loves the written word, this story turned out to be a lot longer than I anticipated. It took me the better part of two days to write, and I am sure it will take you a couple of minutes to read. Both of those times are far longer than the timeline of the actual events you are about to read. All three combined instances totaled, I mean, maybe three minutes - and that is with the talking included. If a story is worth telling, though, it is worth telling right, so it ended up being lengthy. For that, I apologize.
BACKSTORY
So this backstory of this happened, gosh, maybe a year or even two years ago at this time - certainly not longer than that (it’s been a wild few years and timelines are starting to blur together). The family was gathered around for likely either a holiday or a birthday of some kind and things were starting to wind down a bit. Now, as I have mentioned before when discussing my wife’s family, they are all very heavy drinkers, though they can - for the most part - hold their liquor well. What usually ends up is some crazy antics that were no doubt fueled by the alcohol, but not something one would call a “drunk fest” or anything like that.
On this particular day, Erica and her husband were sitting together on the couch when out of the blue, Erica’s husband grabbed a hold of her foot and started tickling. Erica lost it. I mean, instant hysterical laughter. It wasn’t a prolonged tickle attack. The tickle itself wouldn’t go down in my Top 10 witnessed tickles of my lifetime were it not for the fallout that came from it. More on that in a bit, as well, though. But as casual as the tickle may have been, it had caught the attention of everyone in the room - if for no other reason than Erica’s hysterical laughter filling the entire room and drowning out other conversations.
When it happened,I remember being amazed that Erica was as ticklish as she seemed. I mean, sure, everyone is ticklish, but Erica just always seemed like someone who would will herself into not being ticklish anymore. And I only ever thought that more because of her penchant for being able to control situations than anything else. She actually has that bubbly, sweet personality that I personally tend to think of when I think of someone who is especially ticklish. But she just screamed to me as someone who had probably been tickled so much in her youth that she had outgrown it. But nope. Unfortunately for poor Erica, she had not outgrown being ticklish in the least. Now of course as a frequenter of the TMF, the sight of poor Erica losing her mind laughing was something that caught my eye. But as it turns out, I wasn’t the only one in the room paying close attention to the scene unfolding on the couch.
Morgan was paying close attention to what she was witnessing. Though she was on the opposite side of the great room, she stood up from her chair to get a better look, a smile spreading across her face as she watched her brother-in-law torturing his wife. Yes, we were all watching and yes, most of us had a smile on our face at the general silliness of the incident, but Morgan’s smile was bigger, wider… Her eyes were more locked in on what was going on before her. Finally, she spoke.
“Oh my word, Erica,” she said loudly so she could be heard. “You’re ticklish??”
It was a question that didn’t need answering, since everyone in the room could already come to that conclusion. Not that Erica could even answer it if she wanted to. Nothing but pure laughter, with the occasional “No” or “Stop” or “Please”, was coming from her mouth at this time.
Morgan continued to watch, as if she were licking her chops as she watched her pseudo-rival finally show a flaw.
Finally, the mother-in-law, perhaps both feeling pity for her daughter-in-law and also wanting to earn some brownie points with her as well, called her son off the attack. When he relented, Erica pulled her feet up to safety, away from his tickling fingers, and lay on the couch trying to compose herself.
The mother-in-law turned to Morgan and said, “Boy, he really found her weakness there, huh?” with a laugh. An innocuous statement otherwise, one the mother-in-law no doubt said only to break the silence in the room. But it produced another huge smile on Morgan’s face.
“I’d say,” Morgan said, agreeing with her mother-in-law, before saying slightly louder - I’m sure for Erica to hear - “Who knew Erica had such a glaring weakness? I never knew she was that ticklish.”
“Now you know,” Erica’s husband said as he walked over to Morgan and, more specifically, to the food on the table near Morgan.
“And knowing is half the battle,” another brother chimed in, mimicking the old GI Joe messages at the end of their cartoons and diverting the brothers off to some other tomfoolery.
Morgan got up, though, and sat next to Erica, who was still trying to compose herself. It was clear that Morgan wasn’t going to let this end so quickly.
“Oh my gosh, you poor thing,” Morgan said. “That looked like it tickled so much,” she said.
“It did,” Erica answered, clearly a little uneasy about having to discuss with people about how ticklish she was.
BACKSTORY AFTERMATH
I mentioned the fallout that came from this backstory. It’s more a subtle fallout, though part of the psychology of tickling that I find incredibly fascinating. Prior to this incident, Erica was someone who would almost constantly be barefoot when inside. Summertime meant flip flops or sandals of some kind, which were always removed once she entered a house. Fall and winter and more formal events meant either a flat or a low heel or some other type of shoe that didn’t require socks. The few times that she would wear socks - usually a pair of the no-show socks or PED socks when she’d wear a bootie - she would more often than not remove the socks when she would take her shoes off, stuffing the socks inside the shoe for when she had to leave.
After that point, though, Erica completely changed. I’m sure it wasn’t noticed by anyone else; only a true TMFer would spot such a change in behavior. Yes, the flip flops and the sandals remained, but when they were worn, Erica would carry within her purse a pair of socks that she would place on her feet when she would take them off. Gradually, too, I noticed that the summertime flip flops and sandals were being replaced with canvas sneakers on those days when she knew Morgan was going to be there, as well. Even still, though, on those days where she would arrive wearing a pair of white canvas Keds with no socks, were she to remove the Keds that day, she would always pull out a pair of socks from her purse. It was as if Erica was going out of her way to avoid being in a vulnerable position again, to avoid someone seeing her barefoot and the memory of Erica being ticklish being reignited in their minds.
I also noticed Morgan seemingly more acutely aware of this, as well. I feel I should preface this paragraph by saying that by no means do I think Morgan has any sort of interest in any of this. Paranoid though I may be, I don’t actually believe Morgan is on the TMF anywhere reading this. I simply chalk it up to Morgan finding a weakness in her friendly rival and just simply never forgetting about it. It was little things - again, things that no one else probably even noticed. Morgan would always seem to look down at Erica’s feet when Erica would arrive - as if seeing what Erica was wearing that day. Morgan would comment about Erica’s shoes - “Oh, those are super cute” or “What size are they?” - things like that. I never went so far as to wish-cast and believe that Morgan definitely wanted to tickle Erica, but I don’t think it’s much of a stretch that Morgan wanted SOMEONE to tickle Erica again - just like a “Hey guys - remember how ticklish she is?” kind of thing. And the reason I never really mentioned any of this before is because I just assumed I was looking for something that wasn’t actually there, wishing that perhaps one of those TMF Stories might finally come true. And that was never the case, until recently…
THE LATEST INCIDENT
As I mentioned, I was thinking more and more that I was making something out of nothing - that all of my “analysis” of the situation was simply the result of reading - and writing - too many stories on the TMF. The plot line usually always worked out in those stories, but very rarely ever came to fruition in real life. But as the old saying goes, where there’s smoke, there’s usually fire, and this latest incident was all the proof I needed to know I wasn’t imagining things.
It actually occurred at Erica’s house this time. She and her husband had had me and my wife (and the kids) and Morgan and her husband over to their house for some pizza and to play some games. Nothing super fancy. Just a casual Saturday night.
We arrived and pleasantries were exchanged all around. Erica had been outside with the dogs when we arrived and we walked inside. She was dressed in black leggings with what seemed to be thick wool socks that were pulled over the legs of her leggings and, for the moment, a pair of ankle booties, which were quickly removed when we walked in the door. She also wore either a camisole or a tank top underneath a white long sleeve top that was also under a cardigan sweater. Her hair, as always, was neatly in place.
Morgan, of course, was way over-dressed for the occasion. She was still in just jeans and a sweater, but they were clearly a pair of nicer skinny jeans and a sweater that likely cost more than my entire wardrobe. She had on a pair of ankle booties with a heel that she kept on. I mean, she of course looked very nice, but given that it was just Dominos and board games, she could have worn a pair of sweatpants and fit in just as much. But to each their own.
The night went on and nothing of note happened until a little later in the evening, when the seedling that had existed inside of my brain for all this time finally started to branch out into the real world. We were all sitting around the room on the U-shaped couch, the three married couples each occupying one side of the “U” while the kids were playing XBox. Erica had made a bit of a snide remark about her husband. Nothing horrible, of course - the kind of back-and-forth banter most couples take part in. Her husband then, naturally, followed suit, joking that he has to take care of all of the cleaning in the house because Erica doesn’t do anything. Knowing the two of them as we do, we all knew that to be a lie, of course, and Erica, gasping in astonishment that her husband would say such a thing, gave him a playful kick.
You know those times when you can see something playing out even before it actually happens? This was such an instance.
Her husband, savvy to Erica’s usual habits, had anticipated her kick and grabbed her leg, locking it in a leg lock between his two legs. Erica and her husband occupied the middle portion of the “U”. Her husband was to Erica’s left, and her left leg was now caught between her husband’s two legs. My wife and I were on the “U” to Erica’s right and Morgan and her husband were on the “U” to Erica’s left.
Now, the TMFer in me knew where I had hoped this would go. Morgan, too, had caught onto what had happened and was now acutely focused on the next move Erica’s husband would make. And just as Erica’s husband had anticipated Erica’s move in giving him a playful kick, Erica, too, seemed to know exactly what was coming next, as she quickly and nervously tried to nonchalantly get her husband to release her ankle.
“OK, let me go now,” she said with a smile, the kind of smile that every husband knows is more of a command than a request.
“No!” her husband barked back - clearly joking. “You’re going to say those awful things about me and think you can just get away with it?” he said, playing the role of the victim.
Erica was trying to be inconspicuous in her efforts to pull her ankle free, but not only were her efforts obvious, they were also futile. That ankle was not going anywhere, and that foot now sat vulnerable on the other side of her husband’s legs.
“You win,” Erica said, not wanting this to go on any longer for fear of what was coming. “Now let go of me so I can get everyone some more snacks,” she said, clearly hoping that would be a useful enough tactic to find herself free.
“We don’t need snacks,” her husband said. “We need you to apologize to me,” he commanded - again, all in a joking way.
“OK, dear,” she said, clearly willing to do anything at this point. “I’m sorry for saying what I said to you,” she offered. “It was only a joke and I took it too far,” she said, looking at him as if begging with her eyes not to do what she knew he was about to do.
“Words can hurt,” her husband joked. “You need to be mindful of that,” he admonished.
“I’m sorry, babe,” she said. “I won’t do it again I - AH!” she shrieked, unable to finish her sentence as her husband had quickly danced a few fingers across the bottom of her trapped foot.
Morgan was nearly beaming in delight. “Oh, that’s right,” she said. “I forgot how ticklish Erica is,” she said, clearly lying.
“Babe, no,” Erica said, her words now more hurried and with more emphasis. “I said I’m sorry,” she reminded her husband, all while still trying to pull her ankle free. “Just. Don’t.”
“I think you need to be taught a lesson,” her husband said, dancing a few fingers on the bottom of Erica’s foot one more time. Again, Erica shrieked and jumped.
“Honey, please,” she pleaded. “We have guests,” Erica begged.
“Come on, Erica,” Morgan teased. “Can’t you handle a little tickle?” she asked.
“No, I can’t,” Erica said, quickly stopping herself as she realized what she had said out loud, her shoulder slumping in defeat almost as much as Morgan’s smile had broadened in delight. “Babe, just please,” she said again, hoping he would hear the sincerity in her voice.
“She really can’t handle it,” Erica’s husband said to Morgan as Erica turned redder and redder with embarrassment. “All I have to do is this,” he said, dancing a few fingers across the bottom of Erica’s foot again, causing her to almost jump off of the couch, “and she completely loses it,” he said, as if presenting a science experiment.
“Babe, please,” Erica said. “They’re not interested in this,” Erica said.
“Come on, Erica,” Morgan said with faux-encouragement. “You can fight this. You’ve got those thick socks on,” she said.
“Maybe it’s time we take those off,” Erica’s husband said, reaching down to Erica’s foot.
“NO!” Erica shrieked, frantically trying to reach around to grab her husband’s hand to prevent him from getting a hold of her sock. “Leave my sock on!”
“I’m afraid it’s getting in my way, honey,” her husband said, slowly tugging at the sock as he gripped the toe area.
A longer pair of socks, they originally ended up around Erica’s calf area, as she had opted to wear them both over her leggings and pulled up as high as they could go today. That left sock, though, was now closer to her ankle than her calf as her husband continued to gently tug. As it neared her heel, Erica made one last attempt.
“Babe,” she said as sternly as she could muster. “Please don’t take off my sock,” she begged. “Please?”
Oh, this was going to be tough. She was pulling out both the stern voice and the pleading voice in the same request. You could tell she was desperate.
“OK, honey, fine,” her husband said, a huge - albeit temporary - sigh of relief coming from Erica — temporary because not one second later, with one final, mighty tug, Erica’s husband pulled her sock clear from her foot.
“Ooops,” he said, tossing the sock to the floor.
Erica’s one layer of protection was now gone, cast aside, now nothing standing in the way of her husband’s tickling fingers except…
Holy hell.
Nylons.
Had I died and gone to Heaven?
Even as I type this today, I still think - ‘Did that really happen? Did I really see that?’. But no, this was not one of the elements edited or embellished for the story. There they were. A pair of suntan nylons underneath the thick wool socks that Erica had been wearing.
“Jackpot,” Morgan said as she saw Erica’s sock removed. The TMFer in me - and more specifically, the nylon fan in me - likes to believe that she said that under the assumption that nylons make one more ticklish. And I’m certainly not here to debate that, as I know people stand hard and firm to their beliefs on the matter. But this is my tale and, despite any evidence suggesting it, that is what I like to believe.
Whatever the reason for Morgan’s statement, there was no denying that Erica was now much more fervent in her pleas for her husband to end the attack. “Babe, don’t you DARE tickle my feet right now,” she said, again as sternly as she could. Again, similar to my prior statement about Morgan’s intentions, I have no confirmation one way or the other about the motive behind Erica’s forceful demand. Maybe she just didn’t want to be tickled? Maybe she was more concerned about the loss of the sock and the protection it gave? But again, I choose to believe she knew that it would be more ticklish in the nylons.
Erica’s husband must have started to realize that his wife meant business because, though he did swipe his fingers along the bottom of Erica’s foot a few times - causing her to practically jump off the couch each time - he never began a full-fledged tickle attack on Erica’s foot.
And though those brief swipes along her foot were enough to create that paroxysm of laughter from Erica, she seemed to feel a bit relieved that the urgency of her message was getting through to her husband, that he knew better than to extend this out any further.
Maybe Erica’s husband knew…
But someone else in the room was not picking up on those cues.
“Can I have a go?” Morgan asked, hopping off her spot on the couch and kneeling on the floor in front of Erica’s right foot.
Erica’s eyes nearly jumped out of their sockets.
“Be my guest,” Erica’s husband said, motioning to Erica’s free right foot with his hand.
“What?” Erica asked in disbelief. “Babe, no,” she pleaded, simultaneously trying to pull her left foot free from her husband’s grasp while also trying to dance her right foot away from Morgan’s grasp. “Let me go right now, babe!”
“Honey, she wants to tickle you,” Erica’s husband said, as if that alone should have been enough for Erica to have OK’d the situation.
“Aha!” Morgan said in triumph as she corralled Erica’s right ankle under her own left arm in a headlock. “Got it!”
“Morgan, come on, no,” Erica pleaded, unable to match the strength of her husband or her former-athlete sister-in-law.
At this point, I hopped off my spot on the couch and moved the coffee table out of the way, for it had been in the center of the “U” couch up to this point. With Morgan’s new position, I chalked it up to not wanting anyone to get hurt by bumping into it. Of course, in getting up and moving the coffee table, I also now had a better view of what was about to go down.
“I have no use for this right now,” Morgan said, swiftly pulling off Erica’s other sock and tossing it to the side.
“Morgan, no, not my feet,” was all Erica could muster before Morgan began her assault. True to her usual style, Morgan clearly had a fresh manicure and she was putting the tips of her acrylic nails to use on the bottom of Erica’s trapped foot.
As soon as her mind registered the touch, Erica exploded into hysterical laughter. I’m not generally one to exaggerate one’s ticklishness, and certainly from having watched countless videos on the subject, I am used to over-the-top reactions, whether they be true or fake. But when I say Erica was hysterical laughing from the instant Morgan started tickling her feet, I mean Erica was 100% hysterically laughing. Her body jolted so much that her upper body fell down onto the couch as she twisted and turned and tried anything to free her ankle from Morgan’s clutches. Morgan was laughing right along, clearly enjoying every moment of this.
“Not your feet, Erica?” joked Morgan through her own laughter. “Why - are your feet where you’re most ticklish?”
At that precise moment, Erica howled with laughter, filling the entire room with her guffaw.
“Safe to say that’s a yes,” said her husband, translating for his wife.
Erica was frantic with laughter. One could tell that she had tried to say “Oh my God, no” and “Morgan, please stop”, but the words came out so garbled that Morgan paid no attention to them - though it was clear Morgan had no intention of stopping anytime soon regardless. Using what was left of her energy, Erica pushed herself up again so that she was sitting upright as she tried to weave her arms around Morgan in an attempt to block her foot with her hands.
Now here is the part of witnessing tickle attacks that I love - the post-tickle analysis. Of course, I admit that Erica was clearly not in her right mind at this point, her mind focusing solely on those acrylic fingertips that were dancing along the bottom of her foot. And I also acknowledge that not everyone thinks of tickle fights as if there were an offensive and defensive playbook that one could reference as part of the strategy. But given their positioning - with Erica behind Morgan and Morgan’s left arm in use holding Erica’s ankle in a headlock and Morgan’s right arm in use tickling away - Erica had full and clear access to not only Morgan’s sides but also her underarms. Now of course it’s worth noting that I have no idea how ticklish Morgan is in those areas, and I don’t know if Erica has any idea how ticklish Morgan is in those areas - to say nothing of the fact that Erica clearly wouldn’t have been in her right mind at this time. Either way, it was a definite opportunity lost for Erica.
Opportunity lost for Erica but opportunity gained for her husband, for though Erica was having no success in blocking Morgan from having access to tickle the bottom of her foot, she was being enough of a pest that Morgan wasn’t able to tickle as effectively as she had at the start. Now unfortunately for Erica, just as Morgan’s sides and underarms were completely exposed with her positioning, Erica’s new position - wrapping her arms around Morgan’s body in an attempt to reach her foot - now left Erica’s sides and underarms completely exposed and vulnerable, as well - a fact that her husband picked up on immediately. One quick poke to Erica’s side was all it took for Erica to fall back to the couch, her attempt to block Morgan from tickling her foot now ended.
“Thank ya, sir,” Morgan said with an exaggerated New England accent as she resumed her tickle attack on Morgan’s now defenseless foot.
Erica was beside herself, falling in and out of silent laughter, punching the couch cushions, and squeezing throw pillows over her face, anything to try to block out the tickle sensations that her brain was registering. At this point, Morgan had been tickling Erica for maybe all of fifteen seconds - certainly no more than 30 seconds - but Erica was a mess. It was very apparent from that earlier incident that Erica without question landed on the “extremely ticklish” side of the spectrum, but even that earlier incident was nothing compared to what was going on now. If Erica really were truly this ticklish, she had shot past the “extremely ticklish” scale and was now making a new scale all her own.
“Oh my God, Erica,” Morgan said laughing, getting a kick out of seeing her fellow sister-in-law brought to the brink of insanity. “Be strong, girl,” she said, as if coaxing a prize fighter who was taking a beating. “Try to fight this. Where’s your defense?”
“I have no defense,” Erica shouted through her laughter, which made everyone in the room laugh.
“It’s true,” her husband said with a shrug. “She can’t defend against it,” he said with a shrug.
“Girllllllllllll,” cooed Morgan in pure delight. “How are you even this ticklish?”
“I can’t help it,” Erica said, again through the laughter. It was clear at this point that Erica had been defeated, that she realized that there was nothing more she could do but sit there and laugh and wait until Morgan showed some mercy on her.
“Your wife gets a kick out of tickling people, huh?” Erica’s husband asked his brother, Morgan’s husband.
Morgan’s husband just shook his head in disbelief. “You should see when she and her sister get together. Something like this always breaks out.”
(NOTE TO SELF: Attend Morgan’s next family event)
“Is it my fault she can’t take a little tickling?” Morgan asked, as if to justify her actions.
“Morgan, please,” Erica begged, barely with enough energy to get the words out. We were bordering on maybe forty-five seconds to one minute at this point, which must have felt like eternity for someone clearly as ticklish as Erica.
“Oh, all right,” Morgan said dejectedly, realizing that Erica had reached her limit but not wanting to stop. She stopped tickling but held onto Erica’s ankle even after Erica’s husband released the other ankle.
“Oh my God,” Erica said as she tried to catch her breath, still without enough energy to try to pull her ankle free from Morgan’s grip. “That was torture,” she said, coughing as she tried to gasp in as much air as possible.
“I thought it was fun,” Morgan said, as everyone else in the room laughed.
“Maybe not for Erica,” my wife said.
“Who knew all this time that all it takes is a little tickle to get Erica to become completely unglued?” Morgan asked, dragging a finger up the bottom of Erica’s foot again.
“NO!” Erica shouted as she jumped, fearful that another round of tickling was on the way. “Please, I can’t take any more tickling,” she begged.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Morgan said as she released Erica’s ankle. Erica quickly pulled both of her feet up under her body to protect them from any further attacks.
After a few minutes of back and forth joking about the incident, Erica got up and said “I think I better go get those snacks I said I was going to get,” and she walked out to the kitchen.
Erica had been gone for a bit and, coincidentally, I happened to get up to use the restroom, which brought me through the kitchen area. There, I found Erica standing with a glass of water, trying to adjust herself after everything she had endured.
“You OK?” I asked, recognizing the war that she had just been through.
“You have no idea,” Erica said, shaking her head.
“Happens to the best of us,” I said, stuck in that awkward phase of wanting to dissect and analyze every second of what happened with her but also recognizing how that would look so wanting to play it cool, as they say.
“That was so embarrassing,” she said, taking another sip of water.
“Nah,” I said. “Don’t worry about it. Why was it embarrassing?”
“Did you see me in there?” she asked, pointing to the living room area.
“So you’re ticklish?” I asked, nonchalantly.
“No, I’m like deathly ticklish,” Erica replied.
“Tomato tomahto,” I said.
“It’s like a defect I have,” Erica said with a slight chuckle.
“Oh, stop,” I said. “I’d chalk it up as a positive trait, actually.”
“Really?” Erica asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “In fact, I think the defect would be if you weren’t ticklish at all.”
Erica laughed. “Yeah, that would be something, wouldn’t it?”
“Well, think of it,” I said. “Have you ever met anyone in your life who wasn’t ticklish?”
Erica seemed to think it over for a moment. “No, I guess you’re right,” she said. “Thanks,” she said, seeming genuinely appreciative as she put her glass down and started gathering the snacks.
“No problem,” I said. “Do you want me to get your socks back for you?” I asked with a laugh.
Erica laughed. “A lot of good they did me before,” she laughed again. “No, the cat’s out of the bag now at this point, right?”
“I really wouldn’t worry about it,” I said, holding the door for her as she left the kitchen and returned with the snacks.
CLOSING THOUGHTS
What I just shared is absolutely true. If it seems too fantastical, I guess I’d chalk that up to my writing style more than anything. As I mentioned at the start, a few of the ancillary details were edited a bit out of paranoia, but the stuff that a TMFer would want to read about is all detailed out exactly as it went down.
Is that the end of the tale? Hopefully not. Time will tell, I suppose. If nothing else, we have a funny story we can bring up time to time to relive.
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Thanks for sharing your experience here in such detail. 
