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A Ticklish Little Christmas Poem

ThePurpleQuill

TMF Regular
Joined
Jan 11, 2018
Messages
161
Points
18
It’s the night before Christmas, and all snug in your beds
Lie you creatures of habit, with dreams in your heads;
But left unaware, that having entered your house,
Is a spry little creature, an intruder no doubt;
But make no mistake, for she is but here
To deliver her form of holiday cheer.

Her name is Noelle, and she’s a sweet little elf
With a penchant for tickles, and not that much else:
She’ll tickle the nice, she’ll tickle the naughty,
She’ll tickle them all, for she isn’t haughty;
So when letters to Santa ask only for laughter,
They send them her way, for your joy she is after.

She climbs through your chimneys, your windows, backdoors;
She even will tunnel right through your wood floors;
And with her she brings, in her quaint little sack,
A collection of goodies for her unique little knack;
It’s all for the sake of a Christmas tradition
Of cackling laughter you couldn’t envision.

With each little step, her red cap won’t jingle;
She’s dressed like the one and only Kris Kringle;
Yet here she comes: barefoot, as green as can be,
She’s a Christmas chameleon: she’ll hide in your tree
Just until she well knows that you’re in a deep sleep,
Then she’ll make herself known, but until then, not a peep.

She sneaks in your room, her footsteps be hidden;
She binds you with ropes, with stockings, and ribbon;
She’ll tie you spread eagle, she’ll leave you hogtied,
She’ll tie you in just about every way tried
From her years of delivering this jovial gift
To those most deserving, you know, you catch my drift.

And just as you stir, you’ll be in for surprise:
She’ll tie a thick scarf right over your eyes;
She’ll check all your binds, to make sure when you struggle
You won’t move but an inch: make it two, you’re in trouble;
And now that you’re hers, all helpless and ticklish,
She’ll lean up to your ear, and whisper, “Merry Christmas.”

Like a flash in the pan, she’ll tickle you senseless;
She’ll drive you insane, she’s completely relentless;
She’ll use every tool, like her long-sharpened nails;
They’ll pierce through your PJs: her technique never fails;
And when you are tired, your lungs are just aching,
She’ll tickle you more, just to know you weren’t faking.

You’ll scream to the rooftops, you’ll beg for release;
She’ll ignore all your cries, even if you said “please;”
You’ll call for the cops, to anyone near you,
Yet through her elf magic, your neighbors won’t hear you;
You’ll thrash in your binds, from this endless forced mirth;
You’ll ask, “Is this Heaven? Is this Hell? Just what is worse?”

Your armpits, your sides, your belly and ribs
Will be nothing but playthings by which she calls dibs;
Your feet will be hers to indulge for the night,
As your gyrating body gives weight to your plight;
But she’ll make the most out of your ticklish ordeal
With a face full of whimsy, of delight, and of zeal.

She’ll tickle and tease, she’ll taunt you with care;
She’ll tell you, “Poor baby! Oh, please don’t despair!
It will all but be over, just so long as you say:
Please tickle me always, for the rest of my days!”
She’ll play with your senses, with her charm and her wit
While you scream to Valhalla: “GET ME OUT OF THIS SHIT!!”

It’ll feel like forever, it’ll feel like eternity;
It’ll feel like a curse, but it was but you who yearned to be
Tickled for Christmas, that’s why you sent in that letter;
You should have been careful; you should have known better;
For here you are now, all bound up in your bed,
With a tickle-crazed nymph driving you out of your head.

She’ll bring you to tears, while she is in glee
From your ticklish delight, as far as she sees;
She’ll force you to promise to always be hers
For even if you move, she won’t be deterred:
She’ll find you again, she’ll tickle you better,
So just suck it up, and when the time comes, let her.

And when it is time for the night to be done,
She’ll make you convince her that you enjoyed this ripe fun:
She’ll reach to your face and uncover your eyes
Just in time to reveal her most fabulous surprise:
A hard-bristled hairbrush, which will complete this day
By ravaging your soles until you’re nothing but gay.

But then you’ll wake up, all strained and exhausted
From a night’s worth of bliss, with the memory’s lost if
Not for a small present, tucked under the tree;
Its package unlabeled, as far as you can see;
But unwrapping its contents, you are pleased to find
A small little camcorder you can’t wait to rewind.

The End
 
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