Ticklishboy30
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Jun 22, 2010
- Messages
- 237
- Points
- 18
Chapter 3.
Sunlight streamed through the windows of Phoenix's apartment in Joy City, illuminating the sage colored walls of the east-facing third bedroom, which was set up as an office/meditation room. Unclothed, the pale-skinned redhead sat cross-legged on the large rug that his unofficial adopted father, Thomas Growling Bear Windsong, and younger brothers, Dusty and Spirit Windsong, wove for him.
Their housewarming gift of love was durable and comfortable, with its rich colors of burgundy, black, dark blue, and cream, adorned with symbols representing the adopted family members, his connection to them, and ancient symbols referring to the Creator, which originated from the Blackfoot tribal ancestry. After seven years of being rolled up and moved into and out of different apartments every few years, and surviving the owner's foot traffic, it still looked as beautiful as the day it was gifted.
A blend of herbs and spices burned in the incense burner. This specific blend was used to calm the heart, mind, body, and spirit, while promoting enlightenment and progressive thought, as a CD recording of Growling Bear's chants in his native tongue played softly from the battery-operated stereo speakers, added to the mystical ambiance and invoked a heightened consciousness of love, gratefulness, and reverence for the Creator and his many blessings.
With his eyes closed, the young man began meditating. Using his diaphragm, he inhaled deep breaths slowly through his nose, held them a moment, then exhaled just as slowly through his pursed lips. The chanting and herbs worked in tandem, guiding his thoughts, heart, and soul to the past. Memories of his life drifted into his mind, playing like a movie, and most of it wasn't happy.
He wasn't always Phoenix Ash. His birth name was Andrew West, son of Mason and Dixie West. His parents were not loving or doting. In fact, the Wests were white trash, bible waving non-Christians who only went to church to see what "condemned to hell" arguments the preacher spewed that they could shout to anyone close by they felt deserving of their contempt. They were prejudiced, judgmental, ill-informed, and uneducated. People often joked that it was the drugs and alcohol in their systems that made the pair remotely entertaining and mildly interesting.
When he was twelve, Andrew walked into the local dojo to ask about self-defense lessons. After a brief discussion, the Sensei agreed to let him set up and take down after classes in return for free lessons. He was glad he did because his small stature and being considered a brainiac nerd due to skipping a couple of grades, the self-defense lessons saved him from some of the macho jerks and various bullies at school and their numerous beatings. However, those beatdowns were like being slapped with a flimsy feather compared to the beatings he got at home. Another blessing that came from going to the dojo was that he met the Windsong family at his first lesson. From the moment he gazed into the father's eyes, shook his hand, and the hands of Dusty and Spirit, his seven and six-year-old boys, respectively, the ginger youth felt in his heart that somehow his life would be changing in powerful ways he'd never thought of dreaming were possible.
Andrew's life was forever changed the year he turned sixteen. He'd already received his high school diploma and was working as a forest ranger in Rainbow Falls, but was ready to start living as an openly gay man and dreamed of moving to Joy City to become a porn star. Despite knowing his parents wouldn't be happy about his sexuality and choice of careers, the worst he thought would happen was being kicked out, which didn't scare him. Thanks to Thomas, Dusty, and Spirit claiming him as one of their own, teaching him their ancient traditions, how to live off the land, and hunt and fish, the red-haired teenager could fend for himself. Also, over the past three years, Thomas kept telling him that he would never let him be alone with no roof over his head, not if he had any say in the matter.
Everything started when he returned home from his shift, and his parents were drunk and high as usual. It took all of two seconds for his father's fist to smash into his gut after he told them about himself and what he wanted to do. Andrew fell to his knees in pain and was kicked in the head by his mother, which made him lie on the floor, curled in a ball, trying to protect his ribs and head while tears and blood stained the dirty floor. Blow after blow, kick after kick, his body quaked from the pain, and flashes of light burst in his closed eyes. Finally, Mason and Dixie spat on him and left for more alcohol, leaving their son to crawl into his bedroom, where he passed out.
Later, his consciousness returned, and after a few tries, the teen's eyes slowly opened to see that it was dark out. He covered his mouth to muffle the groan from all the pain he felt as he fought his way to standing upright so that he could pack and hopefully make a hasty escape when his parents were asleep. While he slowly dragged a suitcase from under the bed, sounds of the front door being kicked in or forced open reached his ears, causing him to cower in the corner of his closet and close the door. Although he was curious, something inside kept telling him not to look or interfere, which suited Andrew just fine because he was in no condition to try and fight an attacker. His only hope was that whoever broke in wouldn't decide to search the rooms.
One of the things Thomas and the younger boys taught him was how to conceal his presence. The teenager managed to regulate his breathing so that it wasn't labored and so easy to hear. However, the chilling, blood-curdling screams of his parents and what sounded like a bear's booming roar that was powerful enough to shake the walls of the house, made him put his fist between his lips to keep from screaming like a girl. His mind came up with sickening visions of his parents heads severed from their mangled bodies, and he almost vomited. Suddenly, all was eerily silent; like something or someone had caused everything on the planet, or at least in the house, to disappear as if they'd never existed.
Andrew began to move, his hand touched the doorknob, it turned in his hand, and he quickly returned to the corner, with his arms around his knees as he continuously pleaded with the person on the other side not to kill him, that he didn't see anything as the barrier moved. The soft, soothing voice of Thomas Windsong spoke to him, beckoning him to take his hand, that everything that had just occurred had to happen, and that he was sent by the Creator to save him because if his parents had their way, this would've been his last day alive.
Instantly, the fear lifted, and when their fingers touched, Andrew felt nothing but the most heavenly peacefulness. His eyes widened when he saw the patriarch, wearing nothing but a loincloth, his moccasins, and a long furry cape with a grizzly bear headdress that looked like it came right off the animal's back. Thomas told him to pack a few articles of his favorite clothing, anything that was a special momento, and when they left the room, to not look at the blood and remains of his former parents. The Blackfoot male also stated that he knew there were many questions to be answered, and that he would provide the answers.
He was informed to say goodbye to life as he knew it because Andrew and his parents were the victims of a random bear attack. From that moment forward, he was known as Phoenix Ash, the chosen son of Thomas Windsong and older brother to Dusty and Spirit. Thomas said that like the Phoenix, he'd continued to rise from every figurative death and all the abuse he endured.
Phoenix returned to the present, and like he always did, felt at peace with his life, and eternally grateful to be the Creator's son, chosen son to Thomas Growling Bear, and Dusty and Spirit's older brother.
*****
Coughing and sputtering, a dark brown, four-door, Nineteen-Eighty-Five Honda Civic shook and quaked along its morning drive, releasing a cloud of offensive black exhaust from the blackend tail pipe at every stoplight, finally came to a clanging stop outside of a dreary warehouse located in a part of the city that wasn't as bright and prosperous as other areas, that bordered an area of undeveloped wasteland that lay between Joy City and Gloomy City.
The seemingly uncared-for and forgotten dilapidated building appeared to bow and lean forward. Flimsy, splintering wooden planks were covering the windows, pieces from the edges of the concrete steps broke off every time a foot rested on them, above the steps was an overhang that looked like a light breeze would make it collapse and either kill or seriously injure anyone foolish enough to be under it, and the front door was only considered a door in the most liberal sense because it was basically a wooden rectangle board with a doorknob.
The agonizing, grinding, squawks, and squeaks from the rusty metal as the driver's side door opened could be likened to the sound of nails scratching a chalkboard. A short man, with unruly mousy brown hair, black plastic rimmed glasses with lenses thick enough to be the bottom of glass soda bottles, and a body so thin he could hide behind a flagpole, exited the vehicle, and physically struggled and grunted to close the Civic's door.
Leaning against the Honda, Ignatious Ackle had to catch his breath from exerting so much energy. Once his energy returned, the brunette walked up to and entered the building. He was clad in a labcoat, a wrinkled tan shirt that he was swimming in, dark brown pants that were bunched at the top of his size seven sneakers, and had to be held up with his hands lest they fall and reveal his bare ass to the world because he was he forgot his belt and was so skinny with an ass so flat that if he were to lie on his stomach, remaining perfectly still, a plate full of olives could sit on top of him, and be completely stable.
At the end of a dimly lit hallway, the spindly man stopped in front of a heavy steel door that one wouldn't think would be in a building of such disrepair. He opened the metal door using a synced retinal scan, right thumb on a fingerprint pad, and saying, "Trick," and chuckled as he whispered, "Things aren't what they appear to be. Nobody would guess that the outer appearance is actually a highly sophisticated holographic image," while walking into his high-tech facility.
The first thing he did was get his extra belt, so that he didn't have to hold his pants up any longer. A hidden door slid open when his right hand's fingertips touched one of the walls, revealing a control room, and the door closed after he walked over the threshold. He sat at a machine with flashing red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet lights, began flipping switches, turning dials, pressing buttons, and watching the monitors.
"Time to start enacting my plan to raise the funds needed to reach my goals and feed my desires," he said to the empty room. He chuckled evilly, and his beady eyes darkened as he entered a command for the machine to make a call to the Police.
*****
Police officers Ryan Sykes and Dale Featherstone were in their police cruiser on the side of the road at the corner of Barefoot Lane and Water Road. Not only were the guys work partners and best friends since meeting at the Police Academy, where they graduated together, but they were also neighbors.
"Man, you wouldn't believe the show Sparkler put on last night at Fantasies," Ryan said.
"Damn! I wanted to go, but my boyfriend wanted to go to a wine tasting party. I've never seen so many pretentious people in one place. I wanted to either shoot, tase, or tie up, gag, and paddle their stuck-up, flabby asses. I swear, if I didn't love him so much, and he wasn't a beast in the sack, I'd be back on the market."
Ryan giggled and ruffled his partner's short-cropped, dark brown hair. The twenty-nine-year-old, playful officer had dark auburn hair with gray eyes. His height peaked at five feet ten inches, and he weighed one hundred seventy pounds of hard, defined muscle. He sported a chiseled set of eight-pack abs. His wide feet were size eleven, with soft, meaty soles and plump toes.
"You're so lucky I can't get my hands on your feet right now, Bro," Dale playfully growled before chuckling. The thirty-five-year-old, jovial, brown-eyed Latino was six feet tall, one hundred seventy-five pounds, with chisled six-pack abs, bulging muscled biceps, muscular trunk-like legs, and his size twelve feet were on the narrow side, with longish toes, and soft soles.
Suddenly, a dispatcher's voice boomed over the radio, "Car 69, there's a disturbance at 802 Lakeside Street. Proceed with caution, and don't hesitate to call for backup if needed."
"That's just five blocks away," Ryan stated.
"Car 69 is lit up and gone. Over and out," Dale responded to the dispatch center as his partner hit the siren and the vehicle sped away.
Once they arrived, the officers drew their 9mm Glocks, carefully walked up the steps to the decrepit building's entrance, and announced their presence. Ryan pulled the wooden door open, while Dale stuck his head in to assess the initial situation, and the pair continued to call out to anyone within earshot before they cautiously stepped inside.
Dale softly asked, "What the fuck is this place?"
"Don't know, Partner, but I'm getting totally creeped out," Ryan responded.
Each of the seasoned officers had a firm grip on their firearm, with the barrels pointed at the hardwood floor. Every few seconds, they raised and extended their arms, with one of them aiming forward and the other covering their rear. Finally, they reached an open steel door, and after looking to make sure they weren't being ambushed by anyone, the pair walked inside.
"Anyone in here? Police, responding to a disturbance call," Featherstone hollered.
The eerie echo of the masculine, baritone voice sent chills running up and down the two spines. It caused the visible shivers that each man felt as they stood back to back, and continuously turned in a circle in the center of the room.
"I don't like this, D."
The two pairs of eyes were wide, both men's foreheads glistened with beads of sweat that trickled down their faces, dripped from their bangs, and splashed on the floor. Under the slight chin stubble, pronounced Adam's apples bobbed up and down with every swallow. Breaths became shallow and labored, mouths quickly felt like a drought had started, and hearts pounded against chests so fast and hard each man thought it might break through flesh and bone, before they fell to the floor at their feet.
Without warning, the steel door slammed shut, the companions yelped loudly before they literally jumped, and when the guys involuntarily loosened their grips on the butts, their weapons fell to the floor with a bone-chilling clatter. Not one second later, gas filled the room before they could get to the door. In a matter of seconds, the trapped officers crumbled to their knees, until finally they were facedown on the floor, unconscious.
"Now, to make sure I'm not disturbed."
The moment they entered the building, the computer recorded the male's voices, analyzing the speech patterns, accents, and dialects when they spoke. Ignatious pressed a few buttons, and using the radio frequency, a response was sent to the dispatch, letting them know the disturbance was unfounded. The dispatcher confirmed the message was received. He thanked the pair for their dedication to the job and to the citizens of Joy City and told Ryan and Dale to enjoy the rest of their day.
*****
Charles was the first to arrive at the park for his interview with his friend and heroic colleague, Kid Bondage.
Before getting out of the vehicle, he sent a text to his cameraman, letting him know where they'd be setting up. He locked his car, armed the alarm system, then walked down a narrow dirt path that led to a pavilion in a secluded and shaded area, surrounded by a thick grove of trees, and waited. The bespectacled blonde perched on the top of one of the picnic tables, the light, floral-scented breeze felt nice drifting across his face, and the well-known, constantly mentioned smile graced the youthful, glowing, milky-skinned face.
He leaned forward, pulled the shoes off, and placed them on the bench beside his sock-clad feet. Inside the thin fabric, his toes wiggled and flexed. Looking this way and that, taking in his surroundings, he was mesmerized by the intriguing patterns of dancing shadows on the lush, bright green grass created by shafts of sunlight streaming through the gently rustling leaves of the trees.
A playful, mischievous feeling overtook the reporter because thoughts of the cheer he and Jason performed for Luke inspired another teasing cheer. He chuckled, took the phone from his pocket, and wrote a text to his lovers.
Charles: "Pix! Pix! licks our dicks, he eats Twix watching flicks. YAY, PIX!"
Jason: "LMFAO!! Brilliant, smiling blue boy. So, totally glad my Bluetooth didn't read that to me while riding, I'd have wrecked."
Charles: "Glad you didn't hurt that incredible bod of yours, although Lukey and I would've loved nursing you back to health, sexy green giant."
Jason: "You fuckin' totally just made me blush."
Charles: Gonna ask Tech if he'll work on a disguise for you while I'm with him."
Jason: "Sweet! Thanks, although even with the disguise, I'm spending most of my time here at the cabin, creating plants to sell so that I can get my nursery business back up and running. I'll try to be home most nights, but there will be nights spent here."
Charles: Sounds like a plan, baby boy. I'll check in later. Love ya, Jasey."
Jason: "Grrr! Just for that name, I'm gonna make you writhe, scream with laughter, and beg me to continue tickling your ass into complete oblivion, Chuckypoo."
Charles: "Chuckypoo? Really? You're sooo gonna regret that, babe."
Jason: "Bullshit! You'll be unable to speak coherently, tickly hero boy."
Both: "LOL! Love ya, sexy."
Without him knowing, a portal opened behind Charles, and the top half of Luke's body appeared. The brunette licked his lips and grinned evilly. He reached forward, his slender fingers extended to their optimal length, and wiggled the second ten fingertips connected with both sides of the shirt-clad flesh just above the unsuspecting blonde's hips.
Wave after wave of ticklish sensations flooded the spikey blonde-haired male, his cheeks blushed, his wide emerald green eyes reflected a look of shock, his toes scrunched and clenched, the soles slapped against the two wooden planks under them, his ass bounced up and down on the octagonal surface, he leaned backwards writhed side to side, his back touched a familiar shirt covered firm chest and necktie, and boisterous shrieks of uninhibited laughter flew from his in, ansides, out of his gaping mouth, and echoed through the trees.
"Loved the text, Chuckles. Between the cheer and banter between you and Nature Boy, I laughed my ass off. I've always believed one good laugh deserves another. Don't you agree, my beautiful giggly one?"
"Not above my hips."
The half-fairy smiled.
"Sure thing, cutie."
"Oh, crap! It's never good when that tone's used."
Blue eyes shimmered and sparkled as the brunette's pink glittering magic surrounded his lover. He levitated and repositioned his boy's body so that he was face up, and the man was gently lowered back onto the table. Charles squirmed and never stopped giggling while he tried and failed to break the spell's hold. He helplessly watched his arms being stretched over his head, his legs being straightened out so that his heels hung over the table's edge, and his wrists and ankles pinned to the sturdy, weathered surface.
"You're sooo damn hot."
Pink hands appeared, and a breath was inhaled before the apparitions' tickle assault began with the vulnerable pit hollows. Charles' eyes squeezed shut, and instantly the high-pitched cackles flowed. His head jerked from side to side with such abruptness it was surprising his glasses managed to stay on his face.
"You're not gonna get away with this, Luke."
"You're so adorable when you try issuing threats."
More hands materialized, under the shirt, and the fingers explored the vast, unobstructed area of soft flesh. One fingertip explored the recessed belly button. This caused the trapped body to arch, and the laughter turned into squeals and giggles that a young boy would make.
Charles' cheeks were bright pink as he cried out, "Get them out of my shirt."
Luke looked at his watch and giggled.
"So happy to oblige, my sweet lover. I've got five minutes left before I'm due at a meeting."
The tickler's eyes flashed, the socks were magically whisked away from his captive's feet, and two sonic toothbrushes began running along the freshly bared soles.
"No... Not my bare feet!"
The screeching laughter was almost earsplitting as the ten plump toes curled to protect their sensitive pads and bases. The screeching became more shrill and was even louder when the bristles tickled the balls of both feet. When the fingertips stroked the soft arches and heels, the laughter morphed to silent gasps. After three minutes, all tickling ceased, and the spellcaster released his panting, sweat-soaked victim. Charles was again surrounded by fairy magic. In the blink of an eye, he looked the same as he did before getting tickled.
"I'd never knowingly let you do an interview looking desheveled, my love."
"I know that, my sexy Pix."
Charles smiled and blushed as he and Luke embraced and shared a passionate kiss, complete with tongue caresses.
"Stay in touch?"
"You got it, lover fairy boy."
"Love you," they said in unison.
Sunlight streamed through the windows of Phoenix's apartment in Joy City, illuminating the sage colored walls of the east-facing third bedroom, which was set up as an office/meditation room. Unclothed, the pale-skinned redhead sat cross-legged on the large rug that his unofficial adopted father, Thomas Growling Bear Windsong, and younger brothers, Dusty and Spirit Windsong, wove for him.
Their housewarming gift of love was durable and comfortable, with its rich colors of burgundy, black, dark blue, and cream, adorned with symbols representing the adopted family members, his connection to them, and ancient symbols referring to the Creator, which originated from the Blackfoot tribal ancestry. After seven years of being rolled up and moved into and out of different apartments every few years, and surviving the owner's foot traffic, it still looked as beautiful as the day it was gifted.
A blend of herbs and spices burned in the incense burner. This specific blend was used to calm the heart, mind, body, and spirit, while promoting enlightenment and progressive thought, as a CD recording of Growling Bear's chants in his native tongue played softly from the battery-operated stereo speakers, added to the mystical ambiance and invoked a heightened consciousness of love, gratefulness, and reverence for the Creator and his many blessings.
With his eyes closed, the young man began meditating. Using his diaphragm, he inhaled deep breaths slowly through his nose, held them a moment, then exhaled just as slowly through his pursed lips. The chanting and herbs worked in tandem, guiding his thoughts, heart, and soul to the past. Memories of his life drifted into his mind, playing like a movie, and most of it wasn't happy.
He wasn't always Phoenix Ash. His birth name was Andrew West, son of Mason and Dixie West. His parents were not loving or doting. In fact, the Wests were white trash, bible waving non-Christians who only went to church to see what "condemned to hell" arguments the preacher spewed that they could shout to anyone close by they felt deserving of their contempt. They were prejudiced, judgmental, ill-informed, and uneducated. People often joked that it was the drugs and alcohol in their systems that made the pair remotely entertaining and mildly interesting.
When he was twelve, Andrew walked into the local dojo to ask about self-defense lessons. After a brief discussion, the Sensei agreed to let him set up and take down after classes in return for free lessons. He was glad he did because his small stature and being considered a brainiac nerd due to skipping a couple of grades, the self-defense lessons saved him from some of the macho jerks and various bullies at school and their numerous beatings. However, those beatdowns were like being slapped with a flimsy feather compared to the beatings he got at home. Another blessing that came from going to the dojo was that he met the Windsong family at his first lesson. From the moment he gazed into the father's eyes, shook his hand, and the hands of Dusty and Spirit, his seven and six-year-old boys, respectively, the ginger youth felt in his heart that somehow his life would be changing in powerful ways he'd never thought of dreaming were possible.
Andrew's life was forever changed the year he turned sixteen. He'd already received his high school diploma and was working as a forest ranger in Rainbow Falls, but was ready to start living as an openly gay man and dreamed of moving to Joy City to become a porn star. Despite knowing his parents wouldn't be happy about his sexuality and choice of careers, the worst he thought would happen was being kicked out, which didn't scare him. Thanks to Thomas, Dusty, and Spirit claiming him as one of their own, teaching him their ancient traditions, how to live off the land, and hunt and fish, the red-haired teenager could fend for himself. Also, over the past three years, Thomas kept telling him that he would never let him be alone with no roof over his head, not if he had any say in the matter.
Everything started when he returned home from his shift, and his parents were drunk and high as usual. It took all of two seconds for his father's fist to smash into his gut after he told them about himself and what he wanted to do. Andrew fell to his knees in pain and was kicked in the head by his mother, which made him lie on the floor, curled in a ball, trying to protect his ribs and head while tears and blood stained the dirty floor. Blow after blow, kick after kick, his body quaked from the pain, and flashes of light burst in his closed eyes. Finally, Mason and Dixie spat on him and left for more alcohol, leaving their son to crawl into his bedroom, where he passed out.
Later, his consciousness returned, and after a few tries, the teen's eyes slowly opened to see that it was dark out. He covered his mouth to muffle the groan from all the pain he felt as he fought his way to standing upright so that he could pack and hopefully make a hasty escape when his parents were asleep. While he slowly dragged a suitcase from under the bed, sounds of the front door being kicked in or forced open reached his ears, causing him to cower in the corner of his closet and close the door. Although he was curious, something inside kept telling him not to look or interfere, which suited Andrew just fine because he was in no condition to try and fight an attacker. His only hope was that whoever broke in wouldn't decide to search the rooms.
One of the things Thomas and the younger boys taught him was how to conceal his presence. The teenager managed to regulate his breathing so that it wasn't labored and so easy to hear. However, the chilling, blood-curdling screams of his parents and what sounded like a bear's booming roar that was powerful enough to shake the walls of the house, made him put his fist between his lips to keep from screaming like a girl. His mind came up with sickening visions of his parents heads severed from their mangled bodies, and he almost vomited. Suddenly, all was eerily silent; like something or someone had caused everything on the planet, or at least in the house, to disappear as if they'd never existed.
Andrew began to move, his hand touched the doorknob, it turned in his hand, and he quickly returned to the corner, with his arms around his knees as he continuously pleaded with the person on the other side not to kill him, that he didn't see anything as the barrier moved. The soft, soothing voice of Thomas Windsong spoke to him, beckoning him to take his hand, that everything that had just occurred had to happen, and that he was sent by the Creator to save him because if his parents had their way, this would've been his last day alive.
Instantly, the fear lifted, and when their fingers touched, Andrew felt nothing but the most heavenly peacefulness. His eyes widened when he saw the patriarch, wearing nothing but a loincloth, his moccasins, and a long furry cape with a grizzly bear headdress that looked like it came right off the animal's back. Thomas told him to pack a few articles of his favorite clothing, anything that was a special momento, and when they left the room, to not look at the blood and remains of his former parents. The Blackfoot male also stated that he knew there were many questions to be answered, and that he would provide the answers.
He was informed to say goodbye to life as he knew it because Andrew and his parents were the victims of a random bear attack. From that moment forward, he was known as Phoenix Ash, the chosen son of Thomas Windsong and older brother to Dusty and Spirit. Thomas said that like the Phoenix, he'd continued to rise from every figurative death and all the abuse he endured.
Phoenix returned to the present, and like he always did, felt at peace with his life, and eternally grateful to be the Creator's son, chosen son to Thomas Growling Bear, and Dusty and Spirit's older brother.
*****
Coughing and sputtering, a dark brown, four-door, Nineteen-Eighty-Five Honda Civic shook and quaked along its morning drive, releasing a cloud of offensive black exhaust from the blackend tail pipe at every stoplight, finally came to a clanging stop outside of a dreary warehouse located in a part of the city that wasn't as bright and prosperous as other areas, that bordered an area of undeveloped wasteland that lay between Joy City and Gloomy City.
The seemingly uncared-for and forgotten dilapidated building appeared to bow and lean forward. Flimsy, splintering wooden planks were covering the windows, pieces from the edges of the concrete steps broke off every time a foot rested on them, above the steps was an overhang that looked like a light breeze would make it collapse and either kill or seriously injure anyone foolish enough to be under it, and the front door was only considered a door in the most liberal sense because it was basically a wooden rectangle board with a doorknob.
The agonizing, grinding, squawks, and squeaks from the rusty metal as the driver's side door opened could be likened to the sound of nails scratching a chalkboard. A short man, with unruly mousy brown hair, black plastic rimmed glasses with lenses thick enough to be the bottom of glass soda bottles, and a body so thin he could hide behind a flagpole, exited the vehicle, and physically struggled and grunted to close the Civic's door.
Leaning against the Honda, Ignatious Ackle had to catch his breath from exerting so much energy. Once his energy returned, the brunette walked up to and entered the building. He was clad in a labcoat, a wrinkled tan shirt that he was swimming in, dark brown pants that were bunched at the top of his size seven sneakers, and had to be held up with his hands lest they fall and reveal his bare ass to the world because he was he forgot his belt and was so skinny with an ass so flat that if he were to lie on his stomach, remaining perfectly still, a plate full of olives could sit on top of him, and be completely stable.
At the end of a dimly lit hallway, the spindly man stopped in front of a heavy steel door that one wouldn't think would be in a building of such disrepair. He opened the metal door using a synced retinal scan, right thumb on a fingerprint pad, and saying, "Trick," and chuckled as he whispered, "Things aren't what they appear to be. Nobody would guess that the outer appearance is actually a highly sophisticated holographic image," while walking into his high-tech facility.
The first thing he did was get his extra belt, so that he didn't have to hold his pants up any longer. A hidden door slid open when his right hand's fingertips touched one of the walls, revealing a control room, and the door closed after he walked over the threshold. He sat at a machine with flashing red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet lights, began flipping switches, turning dials, pressing buttons, and watching the monitors.
"Time to start enacting my plan to raise the funds needed to reach my goals and feed my desires," he said to the empty room. He chuckled evilly, and his beady eyes darkened as he entered a command for the machine to make a call to the Police.
*****
Police officers Ryan Sykes and Dale Featherstone were in their police cruiser on the side of the road at the corner of Barefoot Lane and Water Road. Not only were the guys work partners and best friends since meeting at the Police Academy, where they graduated together, but they were also neighbors.
"Man, you wouldn't believe the show Sparkler put on last night at Fantasies," Ryan said.
"Damn! I wanted to go, but my boyfriend wanted to go to a wine tasting party. I've never seen so many pretentious people in one place. I wanted to either shoot, tase, or tie up, gag, and paddle their stuck-up, flabby asses. I swear, if I didn't love him so much, and he wasn't a beast in the sack, I'd be back on the market."
Ryan giggled and ruffled his partner's short-cropped, dark brown hair. The twenty-nine-year-old, playful officer had dark auburn hair with gray eyes. His height peaked at five feet ten inches, and he weighed one hundred seventy pounds of hard, defined muscle. He sported a chiseled set of eight-pack abs. His wide feet were size eleven, with soft, meaty soles and plump toes.
"You're so lucky I can't get my hands on your feet right now, Bro," Dale playfully growled before chuckling. The thirty-five-year-old, jovial, brown-eyed Latino was six feet tall, one hundred seventy-five pounds, with chisled six-pack abs, bulging muscled biceps, muscular trunk-like legs, and his size twelve feet were on the narrow side, with longish toes, and soft soles.
Suddenly, a dispatcher's voice boomed over the radio, "Car 69, there's a disturbance at 802 Lakeside Street. Proceed with caution, and don't hesitate to call for backup if needed."
"That's just five blocks away," Ryan stated.
"Car 69 is lit up and gone. Over and out," Dale responded to the dispatch center as his partner hit the siren and the vehicle sped away.
Once they arrived, the officers drew their 9mm Glocks, carefully walked up the steps to the decrepit building's entrance, and announced their presence. Ryan pulled the wooden door open, while Dale stuck his head in to assess the initial situation, and the pair continued to call out to anyone within earshot before they cautiously stepped inside.
Dale softly asked, "What the fuck is this place?"
"Don't know, Partner, but I'm getting totally creeped out," Ryan responded.
Each of the seasoned officers had a firm grip on their firearm, with the barrels pointed at the hardwood floor. Every few seconds, they raised and extended their arms, with one of them aiming forward and the other covering their rear. Finally, they reached an open steel door, and after looking to make sure they weren't being ambushed by anyone, the pair walked inside.
"Anyone in here? Police, responding to a disturbance call," Featherstone hollered.
The eerie echo of the masculine, baritone voice sent chills running up and down the two spines. It caused the visible shivers that each man felt as they stood back to back, and continuously turned in a circle in the center of the room.
"I don't like this, D."
The two pairs of eyes were wide, both men's foreheads glistened with beads of sweat that trickled down their faces, dripped from their bangs, and splashed on the floor. Under the slight chin stubble, pronounced Adam's apples bobbed up and down with every swallow. Breaths became shallow and labored, mouths quickly felt like a drought had started, and hearts pounded against chests so fast and hard each man thought it might break through flesh and bone, before they fell to the floor at their feet.
Without warning, the steel door slammed shut, the companions yelped loudly before they literally jumped, and when the guys involuntarily loosened their grips on the butts, their weapons fell to the floor with a bone-chilling clatter. Not one second later, gas filled the room before they could get to the door. In a matter of seconds, the trapped officers crumbled to their knees, until finally they were facedown on the floor, unconscious.
"Now, to make sure I'm not disturbed."
The moment they entered the building, the computer recorded the male's voices, analyzing the speech patterns, accents, and dialects when they spoke. Ignatious pressed a few buttons, and using the radio frequency, a response was sent to the dispatch, letting them know the disturbance was unfounded. The dispatcher confirmed the message was received. He thanked the pair for their dedication to the job and to the citizens of Joy City and told Ryan and Dale to enjoy the rest of their day.
*****
Charles was the first to arrive at the park for his interview with his friend and heroic colleague, Kid Bondage.
Before getting out of the vehicle, he sent a text to his cameraman, letting him know where they'd be setting up. He locked his car, armed the alarm system, then walked down a narrow dirt path that led to a pavilion in a secluded and shaded area, surrounded by a thick grove of trees, and waited. The bespectacled blonde perched on the top of one of the picnic tables, the light, floral-scented breeze felt nice drifting across his face, and the well-known, constantly mentioned smile graced the youthful, glowing, milky-skinned face.
He leaned forward, pulled the shoes off, and placed them on the bench beside his sock-clad feet. Inside the thin fabric, his toes wiggled and flexed. Looking this way and that, taking in his surroundings, he was mesmerized by the intriguing patterns of dancing shadows on the lush, bright green grass created by shafts of sunlight streaming through the gently rustling leaves of the trees.
A playful, mischievous feeling overtook the reporter because thoughts of the cheer he and Jason performed for Luke inspired another teasing cheer. He chuckled, took the phone from his pocket, and wrote a text to his lovers.
Charles: "Pix! Pix! licks our dicks, he eats Twix watching flicks. YAY, PIX!"
Jason: "LMFAO!! Brilliant, smiling blue boy. So, totally glad my Bluetooth didn't read that to me while riding, I'd have wrecked."
Charles: "Glad you didn't hurt that incredible bod of yours, although Lukey and I would've loved nursing you back to health, sexy green giant."
Jason: "You fuckin' totally just made me blush."
Charles: Gonna ask Tech if he'll work on a disguise for you while I'm with him."
Jason: "Sweet! Thanks, although even with the disguise, I'm spending most of my time here at the cabin, creating plants to sell so that I can get my nursery business back up and running. I'll try to be home most nights, but there will be nights spent here."
Charles: Sounds like a plan, baby boy. I'll check in later. Love ya, Jasey."
Jason: "Grrr! Just for that name, I'm gonna make you writhe, scream with laughter, and beg me to continue tickling your ass into complete oblivion, Chuckypoo."
Charles: "Chuckypoo? Really? You're sooo gonna regret that, babe."
Jason: "Bullshit! You'll be unable to speak coherently, tickly hero boy."
Both: "LOL! Love ya, sexy."
Without him knowing, a portal opened behind Charles, and the top half of Luke's body appeared. The brunette licked his lips and grinned evilly. He reached forward, his slender fingers extended to their optimal length, and wiggled the second ten fingertips connected with both sides of the shirt-clad flesh just above the unsuspecting blonde's hips.
Wave after wave of ticklish sensations flooded the spikey blonde-haired male, his cheeks blushed, his wide emerald green eyes reflected a look of shock, his toes scrunched and clenched, the soles slapped against the two wooden planks under them, his ass bounced up and down on the octagonal surface, he leaned backwards writhed side to side, his back touched a familiar shirt covered firm chest and necktie, and boisterous shrieks of uninhibited laughter flew from his in, ansides, out of his gaping mouth, and echoed through the trees.
"Loved the text, Chuckles. Between the cheer and banter between you and Nature Boy, I laughed my ass off. I've always believed one good laugh deserves another. Don't you agree, my beautiful giggly one?"
"Not above my hips."
The half-fairy smiled.
"Sure thing, cutie."
"Oh, crap! It's never good when that tone's used."
Blue eyes shimmered and sparkled as the brunette's pink glittering magic surrounded his lover. He levitated and repositioned his boy's body so that he was face up, and the man was gently lowered back onto the table. Charles squirmed and never stopped giggling while he tried and failed to break the spell's hold. He helplessly watched his arms being stretched over his head, his legs being straightened out so that his heels hung over the table's edge, and his wrists and ankles pinned to the sturdy, weathered surface.
"You're sooo damn hot."
Pink hands appeared, and a breath was inhaled before the apparitions' tickle assault began with the vulnerable pit hollows. Charles' eyes squeezed shut, and instantly the high-pitched cackles flowed. His head jerked from side to side with such abruptness it was surprising his glasses managed to stay on his face.
"You're not gonna get away with this, Luke."
"You're so adorable when you try issuing threats."
More hands materialized, under the shirt, and the fingers explored the vast, unobstructed area of soft flesh. One fingertip explored the recessed belly button. This caused the trapped body to arch, and the laughter turned into squeals and giggles that a young boy would make.
Charles' cheeks were bright pink as he cried out, "Get them out of my shirt."
Luke looked at his watch and giggled.
"So happy to oblige, my sweet lover. I've got five minutes left before I'm due at a meeting."
The tickler's eyes flashed, the socks were magically whisked away from his captive's feet, and two sonic toothbrushes began running along the freshly bared soles.
"No... Not my bare feet!"
The screeching laughter was almost earsplitting as the ten plump toes curled to protect their sensitive pads and bases. The screeching became more shrill and was even louder when the bristles tickled the balls of both feet. When the fingertips stroked the soft arches and heels, the laughter morphed to silent gasps. After three minutes, all tickling ceased, and the spellcaster released his panting, sweat-soaked victim. Charles was again surrounded by fairy magic. In the blink of an eye, he looked the same as he did before getting tickled.
"I'd never knowingly let you do an interview looking desheveled, my love."
"I know that, my sexy Pix."
Charles smiled and blushed as he and Luke embraced and shared a passionate kiss, complete with tongue caresses.
"Stay in touch?"
"You got it, lover fairy boy."
"Love you," they said in unison.
