The place I grew up was a very close-knit community where everybody knew everybody else, but groups of friends tended to stay within the same grade. When I was around 13 my group consisted of about 30 or 40 kids who were all in the 7th or 8th grade, and within that group there were smaller cliques. Boys and girls. I got along pretty well with most people, but my best friend was Jimmy. We were both serious potheads, and liked a lot of the same music (heavy on the Pink Floyd, but plenty of Zeppelin and other stuff in there too). These common interests alone would have been enough to make us fast friends, but I found out also that he liked to tickle girls as much as I did. But I'm getting ahead of myself. The summer I turned 15 we started doing coke together. I soon learned I didn't like it. Jimmy did, though, unfortunately too much. He developed an addiction, and started smoking crack too. If anyone out there has ever been friends with a cokehead, you know how they'll lie and steal and do pretty much anything to get money for drugs, which spelled the end of our friendship. After that I'd run into him occasionally or hear about him as the years went by, and the news was never good. He finally died of AIDS complications soon after turning 30, having lived many years longer than any of us expected him to. So this one's for you, Jimmy, wherever you are. I'm sure you'll remember it as fondly as I do.
I'm one of those hard-wired ticklers whose memories of it go back to nursery school, where I'd get in trouble every day at naptime when we were instructed to take off our shoes and lie down on these little cots they had. I used to go crazy at the sight of all those girls' socked feet, without shoes to cover them, and I could never nap. Anyone know what I'm talking about? All those unprotected feet everywhere...I'd crawl across the floor and hide under some girl's cot, and then reach up to grab a foot and tickle it. This brought screams, of course, and I would get reprimanded, but I had no shame in it back then. I knew that tickling girls brought a special thrill, but didn't have the self-consciousness about it that I'd have by the time I was 13 and part of that big group of 30 or 40 kids. In those days I never had the courage to tickle a girl, for fear my secret would be let out; the embarrassment would have been mortifying. But Jimmy was cooler than I was, and even though he didn't know my secret there was one day when he engineered a scheme that pushed me out of the closet and changed my life more than anything else until the internet came along more than ten years later.
It was a warm summer evening when everybody was out, just hanging out, talking, listening to music on radios, drinking beers in paper bags, the usual. Nowhere to go and nothing to do, but school was out, and it was that age when it felt special enough just to be part of the group. I'd gotten money for weed somehow, and actually found someone selling some, so when I found Jimmy I said we should cut out somewhere to smoke. He said to get this girl Jackie to come with us. She had a crush on me and I knew it, but I thought she was an airhead and back then I had idealistic notions about "real love" so I never asked her out. But she was pretty, with shoulder-length blonde hair that was silky soft, a round face with a cute little nose and puffy lips that I liked. Like so many girls, she would exclaim that she's too fat; this was ridiculous, and one of the things that made me not take her seriously. She had a cute body, thin waist and shapely legs. She wasn't stick skinny, which was I guess what she wanted to be, but she had a nice softness that I got to find out about firsthand before the night was over.
I found her on one of the lawns by a park, drinking from a 24 oz. Budweiser. I showed her the bag of pot and told her to come with Jimmy and me, which she did, more just to hang out with us than because she wanted to get high. We went around behind one of the buildings where no one could see or hear us, sat on a bench, and rolled up. When it got passed to Jackie her lips were still wet with Budweiser, which got the joint wet, giving Jimmy a pretense to give her a hard time. "Don't soak it!" he yelled, taking it from her. "It's just a little beer, it'll dry off" she said. "Dry off? No it won't! You ever try to smoke a wet joint? It won't burn." He passed me the joint and snatched the bottle out of her hand, running away as she chased after him. He hopped up on the bench and held the bottle out towards her, pulling it back when she reached for it, taunting her. Then he held it over hear head, making her reach up and jump for it, which made her sleeveless tee-shirt ride up and expose that cute midriff. Oh, yeah, you guys know what I'm talking about: arms up over her head, bare armpits, bare belly...I puffed away, turning the reality before me into fantasy. Jimmy was thinking along the same lines.
"Give it! Give it!" she was shouting, but laughing, all in fun. Nothing sinister. He lowered it enough for her to get her hands on it, and then they both pulled at it, but it was still over her head. "Help me!" Jimmy yelled, though he didn't need any help. "Grab her hands!" he shouted. I put the joint down and did as I was told, getting one of her wrists in each hand, though I didn't know what to do once I had her. She tried to twist away and got her arms down along her sides, but I still had her wrists, and pulled her arms behind her back. She kicked at Jimmy. "Oh, so you're gonna ruin my joint AND now kick me? I'm gonna teach you a lesson." My heart raced from the prospect of what might happen...as he slowly walked towards her, the look on his face was unmistakeable: grinning mischief. Jackie felt it too, and tried to back away but all she did was press into me, making it easier for me to keep my grip on her wrists. "Help!" she squealed, as Jimmy lunged forward and poked her in the side; she doubled over and collapsed to the ground in defense.
"Get her!" Jimmy shouted. "Get her arms! Hold her!" I did as he commanded. Or tried to, because Jackie knew what was coming now and had sudden strength to defend herself. But it was two-on-one, and two boys against one girl, so the outcome was never in doubt. I got one arm and Jimmy got the other; we put her on her back and Jimmy straddled her, trying to get her arm over her head. "Ow! Ow!" she cried, and that was for real, because it is one thing to hold a girl down but another thing to wrench her arms up above her head. But Jimmy got his knees wedged against her sides, and he took the wrist that I'd been holding, so when we came to rest he had her wrists pinned to the ground outside his knees. Leaving space to get in there. And me, I had both hands free.
"You ruined our joint. AND you kicked me." He said it like a judge reading the list of charges against a defendant. "Say you're sorry." "Get OFF!" she shouted and tried kicking free, but it was a feeble effort. "I don't think you're sorry," he said to her. "I don't think she's sorry," he said to me. Jimmy the ringleader. "I know how we can make her sorry," he went on. I was giddy with excitement, nearly hyperventilating. "I know how we can make you sorry" he said to her, slowly, teasingly, and she knew what was coming. Everybody knew what was coming. "No! No!" she started to say. "Okay, I'm sorry!" But it was too late. "Tickle her!" Jimmy ordered. I timidly put one finger into that space between her arm and her side, and she was laughing before I even touched her. The mere prospect of it dizzied me, and I can still hear her pleading "no -- no -- wait -- I'm sorry -- I AM sorry -- really" with her voice rising in pitch as I got my hand wedged in there. The first contact jolted her, and she nearly bucked Jimmy off, but then he got his weight back on her. I had one finger on her rib, and that's all it took. "No! Nooooo -- wa...w...wait! Haha -- okay! O--haaahhhaha--OKAY!!! I'm -- I --- aaaahhhhgghhh!!!!" The touch was electric. I couldn't believe I was getting to do this, and with the defense that I was just doing what Jimmy told me to do. One finger on her ribs, just lightly poking. I was afraid to really dig in, but the light tickles were better. She could barely stand it, and was shrieking with laughter, but we knew we were far from where anyone was likely to see or hear us. I could feel the air go out of her, and then I'd stop as she inhaled, then start again when her lungs were full. "I can't breathe!" she managed to say through her laughter; "yes you can" I said, tickling away. Her shirt had ridden up and I got my fingers on that bare skin, which was memorably soft and smooth, and tickling her there produced a different effect. Her laughter changed from high-pictched shrieking to a deep, low belly laugh. "Oh god --- ooh -- ohh -- oh God! Pl -- ple -- please! St -- st -- stooooooaahhahahahahahah!"
It went on for maybe two minutes, though there's no way I could know all these years later how long it really was. I tickled for longer than I thought I could, and stopped only because I was afraid to keep going. It was surreal to tickle a girl like that, and it was just about the happiest I'd ever been. Jimmy said he thought she'd learned her lesson, asked me if I agreed. "I think she's had enough. Should we let her go?" he asked. We looked at each other, looked each other in the eyes, and in that moment became as close as brothers. As if we'd rehearsed it a thousand times, we simultaneously shouted "No!" and pounced on her again. But this time he let go and tickled too, so even though now she could wrap her arms around her middle for defense, there were four hands going after her and she couldn't protect every spot at once. We poked at her stomach and sides, and kept this up while she yelped and squirmed, which was fun though not as torturous as when we'd had her pinned down. I forget how it finally ended, but I remember that Jackie wasn't the least bit angry, which astonished me.
Many times after that, with wordless communication, Jimmy and I teamed up on one girl or another. We never spoke of it explicitly. Not once. To have said "so, you like to tickle girls too, huh?" would have brought an extreme awkwardness. But we were brothers in spirit, co-conspiritors in our schemes to tickle girls. I suffered from depression back then, pot-addicted at thirteen, full of ideas about why the world was so fucked-up and how I was going to change it. But looking back now I miss those days, and I miss Jimmy too.
I'm one of those hard-wired ticklers whose memories of it go back to nursery school, where I'd get in trouble every day at naptime when we were instructed to take off our shoes and lie down on these little cots they had. I used to go crazy at the sight of all those girls' socked feet, without shoes to cover them, and I could never nap. Anyone know what I'm talking about? All those unprotected feet everywhere...I'd crawl across the floor and hide under some girl's cot, and then reach up to grab a foot and tickle it. This brought screams, of course, and I would get reprimanded, but I had no shame in it back then. I knew that tickling girls brought a special thrill, but didn't have the self-consciousness about it that I'd have by the time I was 13 and part of that big group of 30 or 40 kids. In those days I never had the courage to tickle a girl, for fear my secret would be let out; the embarrassment would have been mortifying. But Jimmy was cooler than I was, and even though he didn't know my secret there was one day when he engineered a scheme that pushed me out of the closet and changed my life more than anything else until the internet came along more than ten years later.
It was a warm summer evening when everybody was out, just hanging out, talking, listening to music on radios, drinking beers in paper bags, the usual. Nowhere to go and nothing to do, but school was out, and it was that age when it felt special enough just to be part of the group. I'd gotten money for weed somehow, and actually found someone selling some, so when I found Jimmy I said we should cut out somewhere to smoke. He said to get this girl Jackie to come with us. She had a crush on me and I knew it, but I thought she was an airhead and back then I had idealistic notions about "real love" so I never asked her out. But she was pretty, with shoulder-length blonde hair that was silky soft, a round face with a cute little nose and puffy lips that I liked. Like so many girls, she would exclaim that she's too fat; this was ridiculous, and one of the things that made me not take her seriously. She had a cute body, thin waist and shapely legs. She wasn't stick skinny, which was I guess what she wanted to be, but she had a nice softness that I got to find out about firsthand before the night was over.
I found her on one of the lawns by a park, drinking from a 24 oz. Budweiser. I showed her the bag of pot and told her to come with Jimmy and me, which she did, more just to hang out with us than because she wanted to get high. We went around behind one of the buildings where no one could see or hear us, sat on a bench, and rolled up. When it got passed to Jackie her lips were still wet with Budweiser, which got the joint wet, giving Jimmy a pretense to give her a hard time. "Don't soak it!" he yelled, taking it from her. "It's just a little beer, it'll dry off" she said. "Dry off? No it won't! You ever try to smoke a wet joint? It won't burn." He passed me the joint and snatched the bottle out of her hand, running away as she chased after him. He hopped up on the bench and held the bottle out towards her, pulling it back when she reached for it, taunting her. Then he held it over hear head, making her reach up and jump for it, which made her sleeveless tee-shirt ride up and expose that cute midriff. Oh, yeah, you guys know what I'm talking about: arms up over her head, bare armpits, bare belly...I puffed away, turning the reality before me into fantasy. Jimmy was thinking along the same lines.
"Give it! Give it!" she was shouting, but laughing, all in fun. Nothing sinister. He lowered it enough for her to get her hands on it, and then they both pulled at it, but it was still over her head. "Help me!" Jimmy yelled, though he didn't need any help. "Grab her hands!" he shouted. I put the joint down and did as I was told, getting one of her wrists in each hand, though I didn't know what to do once I had her. She tried to twist away and got her arms down along her sides, but I still had her wrists, and pulled her arms behind her back. She kicked at Jimmy. "Oh, so you're gonna ruin my joint AND now kick me? I'm gonna teach you a lesson." My heart raced from the prospect of what might happen...as he slowly walked towards her, the look on his face was unmistakeable: grinning mischief. Jackie felt it too, and tried to back away but all she did was press into me, making it easier for me to keep my grip on her wrists. "Help!" she squealed, as Jimmy lunged forward and poked her in the side; she doubled over and collapsed to the ground in defense.
"Get her!" Jimmy shouted. "Get her arms! Hold her!" I did as he commanded. Or tried to, because Jackie knew what was coming now and had sudden strength to defend herself. But it was two-on-one, and two boys against one girl, so the outcome was never in doubt. I got one arm and Jimmy got the other; we put her on her back and Jimmy straddled her, trying to get her arm over her head. "Ow! Ow!" she cried, and that was for real, because it is one thing to hold a girl down but another thing to wrench her arms up above her head. But Jimmy got his knees wedged against her sides, and he took the wrist that I'd been holding, so when we came to rest he had her wrists pinned to the ground outside his knees. Leaving space to get in there. And me, I had both hands free.
"You ruined our joint. AND you kicked me." He said it like a judge reading the list of charges against a defendant. "Say you're sorry." "Get OFF!" she shouted and tried kicking free, but it was a feeble effort. "I don't think you're sorry," he said to her. "I don't think she's sorry," he said to me. Jimmy the ringleader. "I know how we can make her sorry," he went on. I was giddy with excitement, nearly hyperventilating. "I know how we can make you sorry" he said to her, slowly, teasingly, and she knew what was coming. Everybody knew what was coming. "No! No!" she started to say. "Okay, I'm sorry!" But it was too late. "Tickle her!" Jimmy ordered. I timidly put one finger into that space between her arm and her side, and she was laughing before I even touched her. The mere prospect of it dizzied me, and I can still hear her pleading "no -- no -- wait -- I'm sorry -- I AM sorry -- really" with her voice rising in pitch as I got my hand wedged in there. The first contact jolted her, and she nearly bucked Jimmy off, but then he got his weight back on her. I had one finger on her rib, and that's all it took. "No! Nooooo -- wa...w...wait! Haha -- okay! O--haaahhhaha--OKAY!!! I'm -- I --- aaaahhhhgghhh!!!!" The touch was electric. I couldn't believe I was getting to do this, and with the defense that I was just doing what Jimmy told me to do. One finger on her ribs, just lightly poking. I was afraid to really dig in, but the light tickles were better. She could barely stand it, and was shrieking with laughter, but we knew we were far from where anyone was likely to see or hear us. I could feel the air go out of her, and then I'd stop as she inhaled, then start again when her lungs were full. "I can't breathe!" she managed to say through her laughter; "yes you can" I said, tickling away. Her shirt had ridden up and I got my fingers on that bare skin, which was memorably soft and smooth, and tickling her there produced a different effect. Her laughter changed from high-pictched shrieking to a deep, low belly laugh. "Oh god --- ooh -- ohh -- oh God! Pl -- ple -- please! St -- st -- stooooooaahhahahahahahah!"
It went on for maybe two minutes, though there's no way I could know all these years later how long it really was. I tickled for longer than I thought I could, and stopped only because I was afraid to keep going. It was surreal to tickle a girl like that, and it was just about the happiest I'd ever been. Jimmy said he thought she'd learned her lesson, asked me if I agreed. "I think she's had enough. Should we let her go?" he asked. We looked at each other, looked each other in the eyes, and in that moment became as close as brothers. As if we'd rehearsed it a thousand times, we simultaneously shouted "No!" and pounced on her again. But this time he let go and tickled too, so even though now she could wrap her arms around her middle for defense, there were four hands going after her and she couldn't protect every spot at once. We poked at her stomach and sides, and kept this up while she yelped and squirmed, which was fun though not as torturous as when we'd had her pinned down. I forget how it finally ended, but I remember that Jackie wasn't the least bit angry, which astonished me.
Many times after that, with wordless communication, Jimmy and I teamed up on one girl or another. We never spoke of it explicitly. Not once. To have said "so, you like to tickle girls too, huh?" would have brought an extreme awkwardness. But we were brothers in spirit, co-conspiritors in our schemes to tickle girls. I suffered from depression back then, pot-addicted at thirteen, full of ideas about why the world was so fucked-up and how I was going to change it. But looking back now I miss those days, and I miss Jimmy too.
