My first short story…
The little fan in Jenson’s apartment hummed against the late-afternoon heat, stirring up the scent of pizza crust from the box on the coffee table. Katrina was sprawled sideways on the couch, her legs dangling over the armrest, flipping through one of Jenson’s old math magazines like it was a gossip rag.
Jenson leaned over her, one eyebrow raised, his grin caught between mischievous and earnest.
“C’mon, Kat. Just a little. A scientific experiment,” he teased, wiggling his fingers dramatically in the air as though they were laser beams.
Katrina hugged the magazine to her chest like a shield, her eyes widening.
“Don’t even start, Jensen. I’m telling you, I will kick. Like—hard.” She tried to sound serious, but her laugh slipped out halfway.
He dropped onto the couch beside her, stretching out his long legs until they nudged hers.
“Okay, so what if I promise to map out the exact probability of your survival? I mean, I am working with the government. Data integrity, Kat.”
She squinted at him, trying not to laugh, though her cheeks flushed.
“Data integrity? This is just you trying to torture me. You know I can’t handle it.”
Jenson leaned closer, lowering his voice with mock solemnity.
“But maybe if you can handle me, you can handle anything.”
Her toes curled against the fabric of the couch. She bit her lip, torn between dread and a goofy excitement.
“…One second. I need terms and conditions.”
Jenson chuckled, reaching for the remote to mute the MTV music videos playing in the background
“Alright, surfer girl. Lay down the contract.”
Jenson tilted his head, tapping his chin like he was in one of his coding meetings, but the sparkle in his eyes betrayed him.
“Alright, strategic rollout plan,” he said. “Step one: safety protocols. Ankles tied together—because, babe, you’ve got legs like pistons. I don’t want a black eye from trying to make you laugh.”
Katrina immediately sat up straighter, hugging a pillow like a life preserver.
“You’re actually insane. Tied up? Jenson, that’s like—psycho villain behavior.”
“Correction,” he said, leaning back smugly, “genius villain behavior. And step two: lotion. Makes everything smooth, heightens the sensitivity. Step three: the hairbrush. Twenty seconds per foot, no more, scout’s honor. Think of it like a rollercoaster—intense, but over before you puke.”
Katrina buried her face into the pillow, squealing into the fabric.
“You’re describing literal torture. I will scream this apartment complex down. Mrs. Donnelly is gonna call the cops on you.”
Jenson smirked, lowering his voice as if sharing classified intel.
“That’s why we build up to it slowly. Warm-ups. You’ll be laughing before the brush even makes its debut.”
She peeked at him, biting her lip, her expression equal parts dread and playful temptation.
“And you’re not sticking your fingers between my toes again. I swear, last time I saw my life flash before my eyes.”
He chuckled, throwing up his hands in surrender.
“Okay, okay—no interdigital maneuvers. Lesson learned.”
Katrina swung her legs down from the couch, watching him warily.
“…You know, if I go through with this insanity, you’re officially taking me to Surf Ninjas. No more excuses.”
Jenson groaned dramatically, falling back against the cushions like she’d stabbed him.
“Not Surf Ninjas. Kat, that’s like—two hours of my life I’ll never get back.”
She grinned, finally gaining some leverage, and poked his chest with one finger.
“Exactly. My suffering for your suffering. Balance in the universe.”
Jenson tilted his head, considering.
“Twenty seconds per foot… for Surf Ninjas? You drive a hard bargain.”
The fan buzzed overhead, the MTV video flickering silently on screen, and the deal hovered between them like a dare.
Jensen leaned back, stretching out like a professor about to deliver a lecture, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
“You want to know why I like tickling you?” he asked, fingers drumming lightly on the arm of the couch. “It’s… it’s all about the reactions. Your laugh, the way you squirm, the little gasps—it’s like observing chaos theory in action.”
Katrina rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her grin.
“Yeah, but why your… obsession with my feet? They’re just… feet, Jensen.”
He reached over, picking up one of her bare feet and holding it gently. “Ah, but you see, Kat. The geometry of your feet—arch, toes, softness—it’s perfect. And insanely sensitive. Honestly, they’re the most reactive part of your body. Every nerve is just… amplified.”
Katrina wiggled her toes nervously, a blush creeping up her neck.
“You always have to go full-on scientist-poet about me.”
He smirked, clearly enjoying her fluster. “Can’t help it. It’s like… I’m analyzing a work of art and I just need to describe it. And yours… well, they’re perfect. Soft, responsive… the way they curl and flex. Makes me—”
He paused, licking his lips as if savoring the thought. “—makes me want to see exactly how they react under controlled… stimulus.”
Katrina shivered despite herself, hugging her knees. “Jeez. You’re like—painting a picture with words, and I’m scared to see the real thing.”
Jensen leaned closer, lowering his voice into a teasing whisper. “Picture this: I drag the brush slowly across your soles… the skin wrinkling, your toes flexing, kicking, trying to escape… but you can’t. Every tiny movement is amplified by the tension of your ankles. Your squeals… your laughter… it’s like music.”
Katrina’s eyes went wide, and she bit her lip. “…Okay. I—need a confidence kiss first. And a cold can of Coke. This is happening, but I need my courage supply.”
Jensen laughed, hopping up and grabbing a Coke from the mini-fridge. “Confidence supply coming right up. And the kiss? That’s mandatory.”
He pressed a soft, quick kiss to her forehead, then handed her the Coke. Katrina took a long sip, steeling herself, her heart racing from both the description and the excitement of the deal they’d made.
Jensen plopped back beside her, a grin tugging at his lips. “Ready to sign the contract, or do we need a notarized form too?”
She shook her head, still laughing, but with a glint of daring in her eyes. “I’m ready. Don’t test me… much.”
The room hummed with the late-afternoon sun and the buzz of anticipation, the couch suddenly feeling like the most dangerous—and thrilling—place on earth.
Jenson sat cross-legged on the floor, the dictaphone balanced precariously on the edge of the coffee table. He pressed record and cleared his throat with mock seriousness.
“Experiment #42: Subject—Katrina. Objective: observe laughter responses under controlled stimulation of plantar surfaces.” He glanced up at her with a wink.
Katrina leaned back on the couch, wrapping her arms around her knees. “You really do treat this like a government project.”
“Absolutely,” he said, spreading out the tools in front of him like a scientist laying out lab equipment: a hairbrush, a toothbrush, a small piece of string, and a spiky dog toy. “Each implements a different stimulation vector. Hairbrush: broad surface, predictable pattern. Toothbrush: precision targeting, fine-motor response. String: light tickle stimulus, minimal risk of panic. Spiky dog toy: intensity test, optional.”
Katrina tilted her head, trying not to laugh. “And… this is all for science, right?”
“Of course,” Jenson said, picking up two bottles of lotion. “Now, we come to variables: scent selection. Coconut versus vanilla… or strawberry.” He held each bottle up in turn, weighing them in his hands. “Coconut: classic, tropical, calming. Vanilla: smooth, universally appealing. Strawberry: sweet, unexpected…”
She furrowed her brow, smirking. “Do I get a say in what scent my feet get?”
He tapped the dictaphone, pretending to consult it. “Well… yes, you can choose. But consider this—selecting your preferred scent unlocks the potential for a 20-second bonus round of tickling.”
Katrina let out a low, dramatic groan. “So basically, if I pick, I’m signing up for extra torture?”
Jenson’s grin widened, fingers drumming the table like a conductor. “Exactly. But… it’s an optional bonus. Totally negotiable.”
She leaned forward, eyes glinting. “I think… I might just negotiate for strawberry. And I’m holding you to that 20-second bonus. Don’t chicken out.”
Jenson clicked his tongue, scribbling invisible notes in the air. “Strawberry it is. Noted. Bonus round confirmed. Subject seems… daring. Data collection begins shortly.”
Katrina laughed, shaking her head, and took another sip of her Coke. “You are insane. But… somehow, I trust you.”
He pressed the dictaphone closer, speaking with the utmost gravity. “Experiment commencing in T-minus thirty seconds. Hypothesis: laughter will exceed acceptable decibel limits.”
The apartment hummed with sunlight, the faint smell of cola mixing with strawberry-scented lotion hanging in the air, and Katrina felt that delicious mix of dread and anticipation that only Jenson could inspire.
The couch creaked as Katrina adjusted herself face down, arms tucked under her pillow. Her soles faced upward, bare and vulnerable, and Jenson moved with exaggerated care, arranging cushions under her chest and hips so she’d be comfortable.
“Okay… how’s that? Comfy?” he asked, eyeing her like a meticulous scientist.
“I mean… I guess,” she said, already tense with anticipation.
He retrieved a belt from a nearby drawer and gently secured her ankles together, making sure it wasn’t tight. “Tender but firm. Comfort is mandatory. We don’t want accidental dislocations.”
Katrina let out a dramatic sigh, already trying to brace herself.
Jenson unscrewed one of the lotion bottles and squeezed an almost comical amount onto his hands. “Okay, ready for the science phase.”
Katrina’s eyes went wide. “Jensen! That’s… way too much!”
He spread the lotion across her soles, smiling smugly. “I am the boss. More is… better. Trust the process.”
As his hands rubbed in slow, circular motions, Katrina’s giggles bubbled out before the real tickling even began. She squirmed, anticipation making her feet twitch.
“So… how’s surfing been this week?” he asked casually, gliding his fingers along her arches.
Katrina wriggled, trying to look calm. “Jensen! Why are you asking me questions like I’m in some interview? Are you trying to distract me from what you’re doing down there?”
He glanced up innocently. “Hey, I’m just trying to help.”
Her feet bucked instinctively, sending him into a fit of laughter at her reactions. “Jensen! We haven’t even started yet!”
“I know,” he said, still rubbing the lotion in, “this is the preparation phase. Circulation, skin absorption… very scientific.”
“You know exactly what you’re doing,” she said, narrowing her eyes, “and you’re going dangerously close to my toes!”
He held up a finger like a professor delivering a crucial point. “Listen, I need to rub this into your toes. That’s just to make sure everything is evenly coated. I’m not going to tickle them—per our contract. You’re going to have to trust me on that.”
Katrina exhaled sharply but nodded, her toes curling reflexively anyway. “Fine… but this is still terrifying.”
Jenson chuckled, continuing the slow, circular massage, the soft smell of lotion filling the apartment as the anticipation built between them.
Jenson finally sat back on his heels, lotion still slick on his palms, and gave her soles one last circular rub. Then, in a low, mock-serious voice, he said,
“Alright. Feeling-out process complete. Time to begin… the real test.”
Katrina immediately buried her face into the pillow. Her shoulders tensed, and her toes curled so hard it looked painful. “Oh God… okay, okay—just… get it over with—”
But nothing happened.
The silence stretched. Only the hum of the fan filled the room. Katrina peeked over her shoulder. “Jensen? What are you doing? Don’t tell me you’ve got stage fright now.”
He raised an eyebrow, lips twitching into a grin. “Not stage fright. Protocol. I need the all clear, Kat. You have to say it.”
She squirmed, half whining, half laughing already. “Oh, no way. You’re making me—ugh, fine.” She bit her lip, cheeks burning, then blurted into the pillow: “Tickle my feet now!”
Immediately, his fingers darted across her soles, scribbling wild patterns.
Katrina exploded into giggles, squeals, and gasping wheezes. “Aaahahahaa—ohmygod! Jenseeeen!” Her feet kicked and flexed against the belt, toes wriggling furiously, but she couldn’t get away.
She buried her face deeper into the pillow, her laughter turning into breathless little snorts that made her groan between squeals. “I sound like a—like a dying seagull—”
But to Jenson, it was impossibly endearing. Her laughter lit up the apartment, every squeak and squeal only fueling his grin.
He shifted tactics, dragging his fingers across her heels first. “Hmm, heels… not too bad.” Then he swept up to the balls of her feet. “Okay, okay, balls of the feet—strong reaction.”
Katrina tried to answer through her laughter, kicking at nothing. “It—it all tickles—equally! You’re—ahahaha—you’re insane!”
Then he zeroed in on the middle of her soles, scribbling firmly, and her shriek of laughter turned into a wheezy howl.
At last, he stopped, pulling his hands away to let her breathe. Katrina lay limp, her face red, hair a mess across her cheeks, chest heaving as she caught her breath.
Jenson leaned over, smirking, dictaphone still on. “Observation: subject appears disheveled, but laughter remains the cutest sound in the known universe.”
Katrina groaned into her pillow, muffled but smiling. “You’re never living this down.”
Jenson knelt back down, rubbing his palms together like a coach before the big play. He leaned over her feet and, in an exaggeratedly tender voice, addressed them directly.
“You two are doing fantastic work down here,” he murmured, then pressed a playful kiss to each sole. “Keep it up, soldiers.”
Katrina buried her face in the pillow again, giggling through her nerves. “You are such a dork.”
“Maybe,” he said, eyes glinting. “But a dork with a plan. Quick question—am I buying popcorn at Surf Ninjas?”
Still muffled, she shot back, “The tickle monster can afford it!”
He laughed, reaching for the hairbrush. Its bristles caught the light like tiny weapons. Katrina lifted her head just enough to glare at him. “What crazy demand is it this time?”
“Simple,” Jenson said, holding the brush poised. “Scrunch your toes… good. Now flex them back—perfect. Nice smooth canvas.”
She groaned, but obeyed, toes curling tight and then stretching back helplessly. Jenson clicked his stopwatch.
“Twenty seconds. Let’s see how you hold up.”
The moment the bristles met her lotion-slick sole, Katrina erupted. Her laughter bubbled uncontrollably, breaking into shrill shrieks as the brush scrubbed back and forth.
“AAAH—noooo—ohmygod—” She thrashed against the belt, toes wriggling, but the brush only chased every movement.
“Speak up, Kat,” Jenson teased over her squeals. “I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”
Her reply dissolved into hiccupping laughter, her voice cracking as the stopwatch ticked away. Twenty seconds stretched into an eternity, every second a fresh burst of helpless giggles.
Finally, the timer beeped. Jenson switched feet, giving her only a heartbeat of respite before starting the next round. The brush danced across her arch, then circled the ball of her foot mercilessly.
Katrina’s shrieks hit a new pitch. She kicked weakly against the belt, her face hot, tears of laughter streaking down her cheeks.
Then—just as the second twenty seconds ended and Jenson pulled back with a triumphant grin—there was a loud banging on the apartment door.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
“Katrina? Jenson?” Mrs. Donnelly’s sharp voice cut through the room. “What in heaven’s name is going on in there?!”
Jenson froze mid-laugh, the hairbrush still in his hand. Katrina went dead silent for two seconds—before dissolving into muffled, horrified giggles against her pillow.
The pounding on the door echoed again, and Jenson just about jumped out of his skin. He tossed the hairbrush onto the coffee table and hissed, “Kat! You gotta answer it.”
Katrina sat up, her cheeks flushed, hair sticking out every which way. “Me? Why me?”
“Because—because—she terrifies me!” Jenson’s voice cracked a little. “That lady’s like a drill sergeant in cardigans.”
They bickered in quick, frantic whispers, all while Mrs. Donnelly’s voice carried through the wood: “I know you’re in there! Sounds like someone’s being murdered!”
Finally, Katrina rolled her eyes, wriggled out of the belt, and padded barefoot to the door. She pulled it open, and there stood Mrs. Donnelly, arms crossed, curlers in her hair, face red with outrage.
“This is a respectable building!” she snapped, voice sharp enough to slice glass. “You’ve been screaming the walls down! People are calling me, saying there’s a fight or worse! What in heaven’s name is going on here?”
Katrina raised her hands in surrender, trying to smile. “Mrs. Donnelly, I—uh—sorry. We didn’t mean to—”
But Mrs. Donnelly barrelled right over her apology, ranting about noise ordinances, common decency, “kids these days,” and how she “ought to phone the landlord.”
Finally, she stopped for breath, her eyes drilling into Katrina. “Well? What the hell is going on?”
Katrina glanced back at Jenson, who was pale as a ghost on the couch. She smirked, winked at him, then turned back to Mrs. Donnelly with theatrical cheer.
“Oh, it’s nothing bad. Jenson was just… tickling my feet with a hairbrush until I screamed.”
Mrs. Donnelly blinked. Once. Twice. Her mouth opened, then closed again. For a long moment, she looked like a computer trying to process a corrupted file.
Finally, she muttered, “Kids today… and their crazy hobbies…” and turned away, shuffling down the hall, shaking her head.
Katrina shut the door softly, biting her lip to keep from bursting out laughing. She sauntered back to the couch, where Jenson sat frozen, staring at her like she’d just detonated a bomb.
“You told her?” he hissed.
“I told her,” Katrina said proudly, flopping back onto the sofa beside him.
He buried his face in his hands, groaning, then peeked up at her. She was glowing—rosy-cheeked, surf-girl hair a wild halo, still giggling at her own audacity.
“You look… incredible right now,” he muttered, caught off guard.
She tilted her head, teasing. “So… does this mean the experiment’s ruined?”
He exhaled, playing along with mock gravity. “Yeah. Variables are all messed up. External interference. Can’t trust the results.”
Katrina’s grin spread slow and sly. She rolled back onto her front, chin resting on her pillow, and wiggled her feet at him playfully.
“Well… maybe the bonus round could fix it.”
Jenson blinked, then laughed in disbelief, his heart racing. “I can’t believe my luck.”
And just like that, the “experiment” was back on track.
Jenson rubbed the back of his neck, still glancing nervously at the door as though Mrs. Donnelly might materialize again with a clipboard and a bullhorn. He gave Katrina a soft, crooked grin.
“You’re one of a kind, Kat,” he said. “But I swear, another noise complaint and I’m gonna have to move to Nevada.”
Katrina, still glowing from her little victory, propped her chin on her hand and stretched her legs out, wiggling her toes deliberately. “Mmm, that’s a real shame,” she said, voice light and teasing. “Because, after all that, my soles are feeling extra soft and sensitive. Perfect timing, huh?”
Jenson snorted, giving her the flattest look he could muster. “Ha. Ha. You’re hilarious. Sorry, but I think my career as a tickle scientist might be over. Too risky.”
Katrina made a mock pout, then sighed dramatically, kicking her feet in little flutters. “Well, that’s too bad. My toes are starting to feel left out.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Contract says toes are off-limits. You signed in triplicate, remember?”
Katrina rolled onto her side, eyes sparkling, grin sly. “Yeah, but after all that chaos? The contract’s back up for negotiation.”
Jenson leaned closer, peering at her suspiciously. “Negotiation, huh? And you’re of sound mind? Not delirious from laughter?”
She lifted her Coke can in a mock toast. “Totally sound. Totally serious.”
He let out a breath, fighting a smile, then moved back into position at her feet. Gently but firmly, he pinned her ankles again, his grin finally breaking through.
“Alright, surfer girl,” he said, lowering his voice theatrically. “New terms, new trial.”
He met her eyes, gave her a sly wink, and began the slow, deliberate count.
“Three… two… one…”
Jenson’s fingers hovered, poised like claws above her soles, when Katrina suddenly shouted, “WAIT!”
He froze instantly, eyes wide, panic flashing across his face. “What? What’s wrong? Did I—?”
Katrina turned her head over her shoulder, smirking through the blush on her cheeks. “I haven’t given the official signal yet.”
For a moment, Jenson just stared at her—then burst into laughter, doubling over, shoulders shaking. “Oh my God, you’re killing me.”
Katrina rolled back onto her pillow, her voice mock-serious. “This is important work, Jenson. The government is counting on you to tickle these feet properly. These results are too important to waste.”
Jenson snapped to attention with a sharp salute, biting back his grin. “Yes, ma’am. National duty.” He grabbed the lotion, squeezed a glossy stripe along her toes, and deliberately left it gleaming instead of rubbing it in. “Ready for optimal testing conditions. Awaiting your command.”
Katrina pressed her face into the pillow to hide her laughter. She couldn’t even believe herself—how bold she sounded—but she was caught up in the moment, exhilarated and reckless. Her voice came muffled but clear enough:
“Please… tickle my feet again. Paying special attention to the piggies.”
Jenson’s grin went wicked. Without hesitation, his fingers darted between her lotion-slick toes, wriggling and scribbling with merciless precision.
Katrina erupted instantly, shrieks and helpless laughter tearing out of her. “AHHHH—nooo! Jensen! Ohmygod—AAAHH!” She thrashed, toes splaying and curling, her whole body wriggling on the couch, but her carefree laughter filled the apartment like a summer song.
Twenty seconds felt like forever, every squeal and scream blending into a blur of pure chaos. But at last, the stopwatch beeped, and Jenson pulled back, collapsing onto the sofa beside her.
They both lay there, flushed, sweaty, hair sticking out in wild angles, catching their breath like they’d run a marathon.
Jenson leaned over, kissed her softly, lingering just enough to make her heart race again. He brushed her messy blonde hair back from her face and murmured with a grin,
“You’re gonna change the world, Kat.”
An hour later, the apartment had settled into a warm, post-chaos glow. Pizza boxes were strewn across the coffee table, half-eaten slices leaving greasy fingerprints on the cardboard. Katrina’s bare feet were perched comfortably on the table, toes curling lazily as she munched on a slice of pepperoni.
“You know,” she said, tilting her head to glance at Jenson, “I think I have a whole new appreciation for these things.” She wiggled her toes dramatically. “I mean… maybe my feet have superpowers or something.”
Jenson chuckled, leaning back into the couch cushions. “Oh, absolutely. Those soles are like… high-powered laugh engines. Top secret government-level superpowers.”
Katrina laughed, flopping sideways on the couch so her head rested on his shoulder. “And… I’m actually kinda looking forward to Surf Ninjas now.”
Jenson’s eyes widened in mock shock. “You’re enjoying the movie you insisted I drag my soul to see?”
She grinned, nudging him with her elbow. “Yeah! And maybe I’ll invite Mrs. Donnelly along too.”
Jenson choked on his slice of pizza, nearly spitting it out. “What? Mrs. Donnelly? The same lady who almost called the cops on us for… this?”
Katrina burst into hysterical laughter, covering her face with her hands. “Exactly! Can you imagine her reactions during a ninja fight scene?”
Jenson threw his head back, laughing so hard he had to grab a cushion. “Oh no. The high-pitched screeching would be… terrifying. But also kind of amazing.”
They dissolved into uncontrollable giggles, pizza forgotten for a moment, the room filled with the kind of laughter that only comes after a long, wild, ridiculous afternoon—one that somehow made everything feel just a little bit closer.
Katrina wiggled her toes at him again, grinning. “Seriously… I think my feet are a little magical.”
Jenson winked, wrapping an arm around her. “And I’m officially their biggest fan.”
The little fan in Jenson’s apartment hummed against the late-afternoon heat, stirring up the scent of pizza crust from the box on the coffee table. Katrina was sprawled sideways on the couch, her legs dangling over the armrest, flipping through one of Jenson’s old math magazines like it was a gossip rag.
Jenson leaned over her, one eyebrow raised, his grin caught between mischievous and earnest.
“C’mon, Kat. Just a little. A scientific experiment,” he teased, wiggling his fingers dramatically in the air as though they were laser beams.
Katrina hugged the magazine to her chest like a shield, her eyes widening.
“Don’t even start, Jensen. I’m telling you, I will kick. Like—hard.” She tried to sound serious, but her laugh slipped out halfway.
He dropped onto the couch beside her, stretching out his long legs until they nudged hers.
“Okay, so what if I promise to map out the exact probability of your survival? I mean, I am working with the government. Data integrity, Kat.”
She squinted at him, trying not to laugh, though her cheeks flushed.
“Data integrity? This is just you trying to torture me. You know I can’t handle it.”
Jenson leaned closer, lowering his voice with mock solemnity.
“But maybe if you can handle me, you can handle anything.”
Her toes curled against the fabric of the couch. She bit her lip, torn between dread and a goofy excitement.
“…One second. I need terms and conditions.”
Jenson chuckled, reaching for the remote to mute the MTV music videos playing in the background
“Alright, surfer girl. Lay down the contract.”
Jenson tilted his head, tapping his chin like he was in one of his coding meetings, but the sparkle in his eyes betrayed him.
“Alright, strategic rollout plan,” he said. “Step one: safety protocols. Ankles tied together—because, babe, you’ve got legs like pistons. I don’t want a black eye from trying to make you laugh.”
Katrina immediately sat up straighter, hugging a pillow like a life preserver.
“You’re actually insane. Tied up? Jenson, that’s like—psycho villain behavior.”
“Correction,” he said, leaning back smugly, “genius villain behavior. And step two: lotion. Makes everything smooth, heightens the sensitivity. Step three: the hairbrush. Twenty seconds per foot, no more, scout’s honor. Think of it like a rollercoaster—intense, but over before you puke.”
Katrina buried her face into the pillow, squealing into the fabric.
“You’re describing literal torture. I will scream this apartment complex down. Mrs. Donnelly is gonna call the cops on you.”
Jenson smirked, lowering his voice as if sharing classified intel.
“That’s why we build up to it slowly. Warm-ups. You’ll be laughing before the brush even makes its debut.”
She peeked at him, biting her lip, her expression equal parts dread and playful temptation.
“And you’re not sticking your fingers between my toes again. I swear, last time I saw my life flash before my eyes.”
He chuckled, throwing up his hands in surrender.
“Okay, okay—no interdigital maneuvers. Lesson learned.”
Katrina swung her legs down from the couch, watching him warily.
“…You know, if I go through with this insanity, you’re officially taking me to Surf Ninjas. No more excuses.”
Jenson groaned dramatically, falling back against the cushions like she’d stabbed him.
“Not Surf Ninjas. Kat, that’s like—two hours of my life I’ll never get back.”
She grinned, finally gaining some leverage, and poked his chest with one finger.
“Exactly. My suffering for your suffering. Balance in the universe.”
Jenson tilted his head, considering.
“Twenty seconds per foot… for Surf Ninjas? You drive a hard bargain.”
The fan buzzed overhead, the MTV video flickering silently on screen, and the deal hovered between them like a dare.
Jensen leaned back, stretching out like a professor about to deliver a lecture, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
“You want to know why I like tickling you?” he asked, fingers drumming lightly on the arm of the couch. “It’s… it’s all about the reactions. Your laugh, the way you squirm, the little gasps—it’s like observing chaos theory in action.”
Katrina rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her grin.
“Yeah, but why your… obsession with my feet? They’re just… feet, Jensen.”
He reached over, picking up one of her bare feet and holding it gently. “Ah, but you see, Kat. The geometry of your feet—arch, toes, softness—it’s perfect. And insanely sensitive. Honestly, they’re the most reactive part of your body. Every nerve is just… amplified.”
Katrina wiggled her toes nervously, a blush creeping up her neck.
“You always have to go full-on scientist-poet about me.”
He smirked, clearly enjoying her fluster. “Can’t help it. It’s like… I’m analyzing a work of art and I just need to describe it. And yours… well, they’re perfect. Soft, responsive… the way they curl and flex. Makes me—”
He paused, licking his lips as if savoring the thought. “—makes me want to see exactly how they react under controlled… stimulus.”
Katrina shivered despite herself, hugging her knees. “Jeez. You’re like—painting a picture with words, and I’m scared to see the real thing.”
Jensen leaned closer, lowering his voice into a teasing whisper. “Picture this: I drag the brush slowly across your soles… the skin wrinkling, your toes flexing, kicking, trying to escape… but you can’t. Every tiny movement is amplified by the tension of your ankles. Your squeals… your laughter… it’s like music.”
Katrina’s eyes went wide, and she bit her lip. “…Okay. I—need a confidence kiss first. And a cold can of Coke. This is happening, but I need my courage supply.”
Jensen laughed, hopping up and grabbing a Coke from the mini-fridge. “Confidence supply coming right up. And the kiss? That’s mandatory.”
He pressed a soft, quick kiss to her forehead, then handed her the Coke. Katrina took a long sip, steeling herself, her heart racing from both the description and the excitement of the deal they’d made.
Jensen plopped back beside her, a grin tugging at his lips. “Ready to sign the contract, or do we need a notarized form too?”
She shook her head, still laughing, but with a glint of daring in her eyes. “I’m ready. Don’t test me… much.”
The room hummed with the late-afternoon sun and the buzz of anticipation, the couch suddenly feeling like the most dangerous—and thrilling—place on earth.
Jenson sat cross-legged on the floor, the dictaphone balanced precariously on the edge of the coffee table. He pressed record and cleared his throat with mock seriousness.
“Experiment #42: Subject—Katrina. Objective: observe laughter responses under controlled stimulation of plantar surfaces.” He glanced up at her with a wink.
Katrina leaned back on the couch, wrapping her arms around her knees. “You really do treat this like a government project.”
“Absolutely,” he said, spreading out the tools in front of him like a scientist laying out lab equipment: a hairbrush, a toothbrush, a small piece of string, and a spiky dog toy. “Each implements a different stimulation vector. Hairbrush: broad surface, predictable pattern. Toothbrush: precision targeting, fine-motor response. String: light tickle stimulus, minimal risk of panic. Spiky dog toy: intensity test, optional.”
Katrina tilted her head, trying not to laugh. “And… this is all for science, right?”
“Of course,” Jenson said, picking up two bottles of lotion. “Now, we come to variables: scent selection. Coconut versus vanilla… or strawberry.” He held each bottle up in turn, weighing them in his hands. “Coconut: classic, tropical, calming. Vanilla: smooth, universally appealing. Strawberry: sweet, unexpected…”
She furrowed her brow, smirking. “Do I get a say in what scent my feet get?”
He tapped the dictaphone, pretending to consult it. “Well… yes, you can choose. But consider this—selecting your preferred scent unlocks the potential for a 20-second bonus round of tickling.”
Katrina let out a low, dramatic groan. “So basically, if I pick, I’m signing up for extra torture?”
Jenson’s grin widened, fingers drumming the table like a conductor. “Exactly. But… it’s an optional bonus. Totally negotiable.”
She leaned forward, eyes glinting. “I think… I might just negotiate for strawberry. And I’m holding you to that 20-second bonus. Don’t chicken out.”
Jenson clicked his tongue, scribbling invisible notes in the air. “Strawberry it is. Noted. Bonus round confirmed. Subject seems… daring. Data collection begins shortly.”
Katrina laughed, shaking her head, and took another sip of her Coke. “You are insane. But… somehow, I trust you.”
He pressed the dictaphone closer, speaking with the utmost gravity. “Experiment commencing in T-minus thirty seconds. Hypothesis: laughter will exceed acceptable decibel limits.”
The apartment hummed with sunlight, the faint smell of cola mixing with strawberry-scented lotion hanging in the air, and Katrina felt that delicious mix of dread and anticipation that only Jenson could inspire.
The couch creaked as Katrina adjusted herself face down, arms tucked under her pillow. Her soles faced upward, bare and vulnerable, and Jenson moved with exaggerated care, arranging cushions under her chest and hips so she’d be comfortable.
“Okay… how’s that? Comfy?” he asked, eyeing her like a meticulous scientist.
“I mean… I guess,” she said, already tense with anticipation.
He retrieved a belt from a nearby drawer and gently secured her ankles together, making sure it wasn’t tight. “Tender but firm. Comfort is mandatory. We don’t want accidental dislocations.”
Katrina let out a dramatic sigh, already trying to brace herself.
Jenson unscrewed one of the lotion bottles and squeezed an almost comical amount onto his hands. “Okay, ready for the science phase.”
Katrina’s eyes went wide. “Jensen! That’s… way too much!”
He spread the lotion across her soles, smiling smugly. “I am the boss. More is… better. Trust the process.”
As his hands rubbed in slow, circular motions, Katrina’s giggles bubbled out before the real tickling even began. She squirmed, anticipation making her feet twitch.
“So… how’s surfing been this week?” he asked casually, gliding his fingers along her arches.
Katrina wriggled, trying to look calm. “Jensen! Why are you asking me questions like I’m in some interview? Are you trying to distract me from what you’re doing down there?”
He glanced up innocently. “Hey, I’m just trying to help.”
Her feet bucked instinctively, sending him into a fit of laughter at her reactions. “Jensen! We haven’t even started yet!”
“I know,” he said, still rubbing the lotion in, “this is the preparation phase. Circulation, skin absorption… very scientific.”
“You know exactly what you’re doing,” she said, narrowing her eyes, “and you’re going dangerously close to my toes!”
He held up a finger like a professor delivering a crucial point. “Listen, I need to rub this into your toes. That’s just to make sure everything is evenly coated. I’m not going to tickle them—per our contract. You’re going to have to trust me on that.”
Katrina exhaled sharply but nodded, her toes curling reflexively anyway. “Fine… but this is still terrifying.”
Jenson chuckled, continuing the slow, circular massage, the soft smell of lotion filling the apartment as the anticipation built between them.
Jenson finally sat back on his heels, lotion still slick on his palms, and gave her soles one last circular rub. Then, in a low, mock-serious voice, he said,
“Alright. Feeling-out process complete. Time to begin… the real test.”
Katrina immediately buried her face into the pillow. Her shoulders tensed, and her toes curled so hard it looked painful. “Oh God… okay, okay—just… get it over with—”
But nothing happened.
The silence stretched. Only the hum of the fan filled the room. Katrina peeked over her shoulder. “Jensen? What are you doing? Don’t tell me you’ve got stage fright now.”
He raised an eyebrow, lips twitching into a grin. “Not stage fright. Protocol. I need the all clear, Kat. You have to say it.”
She squirmed, half whining, half laughing already. “Oh, no way. You’re making me—ugh, fine.” She bit her lip, cheeks burning, then blurted into the pillow: “Tickle my feet now!”
Immediately, his fingers darted across her soles, scribbling wild patterns.
Katrina exploded into giggles, squeals, and gasping wheezes. “Aaahahahaa—ohmygod! Jenseeeen!” Her feet kicked and flexed against the belt, toes wriggling furiously, but she couldn’t get away.
She buried her face deeper into the pillow, her laughter turning into breathless little snorts that made her groan between squeals. “I sound like a—like a dying seagull—”
But to Jenson, it was impossibly endearing. Her laughter lit up the apartment, every squeak and squeal only fueling his grin.
He shifted tactics, dragging his fingers across her heels first. “Hmm, heels… not too bad.” Then he swept up to the balls of her feet. “Okay, okay, balls of the feet—strong reaction.”
Katrina tried to answer through her laughter, kicking at nothing. “It—it all tickles—equally! You’re—ahahaha—you’re insane!”
Then he zeroed in on the middle of her soles, scribbling firmly, and her shriek of laughter turned into a wheezy howl.
At last, he stopped, pulling his hands away to let her breathe. Katrina lay limp, her face red, hair a mess across her cheeks, chest heaving as she caught her breath.
Jenson leaned over, smirking, dictaphone still on. “Observation: subject appears disheveled, but laughter remains the cutest sound in the known universe.”
Katrina groaned into her pillow, muffled but smiling. “You’re never living this down.”
Jenson knelt back down, rubbing his palms together like a coach before the big play. He leaned over her feet and, in an exaggeratedly tender voice, addressed them directly.
“You two are doing fantastic work down here,” he murmured, then pressed a playful kiss to each sole. “Keep it up, soldiers.”
Katrina buried her face in the pillow again, giggling through her nerves. “You are such a dork.”
“Maybe,” he said, eyes glinting. “But a dork with a plan. Quick question—am I buying popcorn at Surf Ninjas?”
Still muffled, she shot back, “The tickle monster can afford it!”
He laughed, reaching for the hairbrush. Its bristles caught the light like tiny weapons. Katrina lifted her head just enough to glare at him. “What crazy demand is it this time?”
“Simple,” Jenson said, holding the brush poised. “Scrunch your toes… good. Now flex them back—perfect. Nice smooth canvas.”
She groaned, but obeyed, toes curling tight and then stretching back helplessly. Jenson clicked his stopwatch.
“Twenty seconds. Let’s see how you hold up.”
The moment the bristles met her lotion-slick sole, Katrina erupted. Her laughter bubbled uncontrollably, breaking into shrill shrieks as the brush scrubbed back and forth.
“AAAH—noooo—ohmygod—” She thrashed against the belt, toes wriggling, but the brush only chased every movement.
“Speak up, Kat,” Jenson teased over her squeals. “I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”
Her reply dissolved into hiccupping laughter, her voice cracking as the stopwatch ticked away. Twenty seconds stretched into an eternity, every second a fresh burst of helpless giggles.
Finally, the timer beeped. Jenson switched feet, giving her only a heartbeat of respite before starting the next round. The brush danced across her arch, then circled the ball of her foot mercilessly.
Katrina’s shrieks hit a new pitch. She kicked weakly against the belt, her face hot, tears of laughter streaking down her cheeks.
Then—just as the second twenty seconds ended and Jenson pulled back with a triumphant grin—there was a loud banging on the apartment door.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
“Katrina? Jenson?” Mrs. Donnelly’s sharp voice cut through the room. “What in heaven’s name is going on in there?!”
Jenson froze mid-laugh, the hairbrush still in his hand. Katrina went dead silent for two seconds—before dissolving into muffled, horrified giggles against her pillow.
The pounding on the door echoed again, and Jenson just about jumped out of his skin. He tossed the hairbrush onto the coffee table and hissed, “Kat! You gotta answer it.”
Katrina sat up, her cheeks flushed, hair sticking out every which way. “Me? Why me?”
“Because—because—she terrifies me!” Jenson’s voice cracked a little. “That lady’s like a drill sergeant in cardigans.”
They bickered in quick, frantic whispers, all while Mrs. Donnelly’s voice carried through the wood: “I know you’re in there! Sounds like someone’s being murdered!”
Finally, Katrina rolled her eyes, wriggled out of the belt, and padded barefoot to the door. She pulled it open, and there stood Mrs. Donnelly, arms crossed, curlers in her hair, face red with outrage.
“This is a respectable building!” she snapped, voice sharp enough to slice glass. “You’ve been screaming the walls down! People are calling me, saying there’s a fight or worse! What in heaven’s name is going on here?”
Katrina raised her hands in surrender, trying to smile. “Mrs. Donnelly, I—uh—sorry. We didn’t mean to—”
But Mrs. Donnelly barrelled right over her apology, ranting about noise ordinances, common decency, “kids these days,” and how she “ought to phone the landlord.”
Finally, she stopped for breath, her eyes drilling into Katrina. “Well? What the hell is going on?”
Katrina glanced back at Jenson, who was pale as a ghost on the couch. She smirked, winked at him, then turned back to Mrs. Donnelly with theatrical cheer.
“Oh, it’s nothing bad. Jenson was just… tickling my feet with a hairbrush until I screamed.”
Mrs. Donnelly blinked. Once. Twice. Her mouth opened, then closed again. For a long moment, she looked like a computer trying to process a corrupted file.
Finally, she muttered, “Kids today… and their crazy hobbies…” and turned away, shuffling down the hall, shaking her head.
Katrina shut the door softly, biting her lip to keep from bursting out laughing. She sauntered back to the couch, where Jenson sat frozen, staring at her like she’d just detonated a bomb.
“You told her?” he hissed.
“I told her,” Katrina said proudly, flopping back onto the sofa beside him.
He buried his face in his hands, groaning, then peeked up at her. She was glowing—rosy-cheeked, surf-girl hair a wild halo, still giggling at her own audacity.
“You look… incredible right now,” he muttered, caught off guard.
She tilted her head, teasing. “So… does this mean the experiment’s ruined?”
He exhaled, playing along with mock gravity. “Yeah. Variables are all messed up. External interference. Can’t trust the results.”
Katrina’s grin spread slow and sly. She rolled back onto her front, chin resting on her pillow, and wiggled her feet at him playfully.
“Well… maybe the bonus round could fix it.”
Jenson blinked, then laughed in disbelief, his heart racing. “I can’t believe my luck.”
And just like that, the “experiment” was back on track.
Jenson rubbed the back of his neck, still glancing nervously at the door as though Mrs. Donnelly might materialize again with a clipboard and a bullhorn. He gave Katrina a soft, crooked grin.
“You’re one of a kind, Kat,” he said. “But I swear, another noise complaint and I’m gonna have to move to Nevada.”
Katrina, still glowing from her little victory, propped her chin on her hand and stretched her legs out, wiggling her toes deliberately. “Mmm, that’s a real shame,” she said, voice light and teasing. “Because, after all that, my soles are feeling extra soft and sensitive. Perfect timing, huh?”
Jenson snorted, giving her the flattest look he could muster. “Ha. Ha. You’re hilarious. Sorry, but I think my career as a tickle scientist might be over. Too risky.”
Katrina made a mock pout, then sighed dramatically, kicking her feet in little flutters. “Well, that’s too bad. My toes are starting to feel left out.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Contract says toes are off-limits. You signed in triplicate, remember?”
Katrina rolled onto her side, eyes sparkling, grin sly. “Yeah, but after all that chaos? The contract’s back up for negotiation.”
Jenson leaned closer, peering at her suspiciously. “Negotiation, huh? And you’re of sound mind? Not delirious from laughter?”
She lifted her Coke can in a mock toast. “Totally sound. Totally serious.”
He let out a breath, fighting a smile, then moved back into position at her feet. Gently but firmly, he pinned her ankles again, his grin finally breaking through.
“Alright, surfer girl,” he said, lowering his voice theatrically. “New terms, new trial.”
He met her eyes, gave her a sly wink, and began the slow, deliberate count.
“Three… two… one…”
Jenson’s fingers hovered, poised like claws above her soles, when Katrina suddenly shouted, “WAIT!”
He froze instantly, eyes wide, panic flashing across his face. “What? What’s wrong? Did I—?”
Katrina turned her head over her shoulder, smirking through the blush on her cheeks. “I haven’t given the official signal yet.”
For a moment, Jenson just stared at her—then burst into laughter, doubling over, shoulders shaking. “Oh my God, you’re killing me.”
Katrina rolled back onto her pillow, her voice mock-serious. “This is important work, Jenson. The government is counting on you to tickle these feet properly. These results are too important to waste.”
Jenson snapped to attention with a sharp salute, biting back his grin. “Yes, ma’am. National duty.” He grabbed the lotion, squeezed a glossy stripe along her toes, and deliberately left it gleaming instead of rubbing it in. “Ready for optimal testing conditions. Awaiting your command.”
Katrina pressed her face into the pillow to hide her laughter. She couldn’t even believe herself—how bold she sounded—but she was caught up in the moment, exhilarated and reckless. Her voice came muffled but clear enough:
“Please… tickle my feet again. Paying special attention to the piggies.”
Jenson’s grin went wicked. Without hesitation, his fingers darted between her lotion-slick toes, wriggling and scribbling with merciless precision.
Katrina erupted instantly, shrieks and helpless laughter tearing out of her. “AHHHH—nooo! Jensen! Ohmygod—AAAHH!” She thrashed, toes splaying and curling, her whole body wriggling on the couch, but her carefree laughter filled the apartment like a summer song.
Twenty seconds felt like forever, every squeal and scream blending into a blur of pure chaos. But at last, the stopwatch beeped, and Jenson pulled back, collapsing onto the sofa beside her.
They both lay there, flushed, sweaty, hair sticking out in wild angles, catching their breath like they’d run a marathon.
Jenson leaned over, kissed her softly, lingering just enough to make her heart race again. He brushed her messy blonde hair back from her face and murmured with a grin,
“You’re gonna change the world, Kat.”
An hour later, the apartment had settled into a warm, post-chaos glow. Pizza boxes were strewn across the coffee table, half-eaten slices leaving greasy fingerprints on the cardboard. Katrina’s bare feet were perched comfortably on the table, toes curling lazily as she munched on a slice of pepperoni.
“You know,” she said, tilting her head to glance at Jenson, “I think I have a whole new appreciation for these things.” She wiggled her toes dramatically. “I mean… maybe my feet have superpowers or something.”
Jenson chuckled, leaning back into the couch cushions. “Oh, absolutely. Those soles are like… high-powered laugh engines. Top secret government-level superpowers.”
Katrina laughed, flopping sideways on the couch so her head rested on his shoulder. “And… I’m actually kinda looking forward to Surf Ninjas now.”
Jenson’s eyes widened in mock shock. “You’re enjoying the movie you insisted I drag my soul to see?”
She grinned, nudging him with her elbow. “Yeah! And maybe I’ll invite Mrs. Donnelly along too.”
Jenson choked on his slice of pizza, nearly spitting it out. “What? Mrs. Donnelly? The same lady who almost called the cops on us for… this?”
Katrina burst into hysterical laughter, covering her face with her hands. “Exactly! Can you imagine her reactions during a ninja fight scene?”
Jenson threw his head back, laughing so hard he had to grab a cushion. “Oh no. The high-pitched screeching would be… terrifying. But also kind of amazing.”
They dissolved into uncontrollable giggles, pizza forgotten for a moment, the room filled with the kind of laughter that only comes after a long, wild, ridiculous afternoon—one that somehow made everything feel just a little bit closer.
Katrina wiggled her toes at him again, grinning. “Seriously… I think my feet are a little magical.”
Jenson winked, wrapping an arm around her. “And I’m officially their biggest fan.”
