I've just written a brief sequel, a sort of meta-coda, to my novella Tickled Troth, which can be found here: https://www.ticklingforum.com/threads/tickled-troth-f-m-novella-revised-version.467052/. The story is about a woman who tickle-tortures a man into marrying her.
There is no tickling in the sequel. The sequel is not a tickling story, but a story ABOUT a tickling story.
Periodically there's a discussion at TMF about the implications of enjoying, or being turned on by, nonconsensual tickle-torture. I myself have never felt guilty about this. I didn't choose to like what I like, I just like it. But it has occurred to me that the characters in my story might not be quite so tolerant. So it struck me that it would be interesting to explore the issue via a fictionalized dialogue between the characters (ticklee and tickler) and the author.
If you've read Tickled Troth, I would expect this to interest you. If you like nonconsensual tickling but haven't read the story, perhaps because you're not into F/M, you might be interested in this as well - I wrote it to speak to people whatever their preferred gender configurations.
If you do read the sequel, which isn't long, I recommend that you stick with it till the end - you may enjoy the last line.
Alex pulled up his chair to the laptop, opened a document, and thought about how to open his new story. He heard a voice say, “Hello, Alex.” He turned and saw two people standing in opposite corners of his study: a blonde woman in a crop top and shorts, and a nondescript man in a T-shirt and jeans. The man flinched whenever his gaze drifted toward the woman.
Alex: How did you get in here?
The woman: We’ve been here all along.
Alex: Who are you?
The man: You know who we are.
He looked, and he knew.
Alex: Nikki. Al.
They both nodded.
Nikki: We have a bone to pick with you.
Al: About the way you portrayed us.
Nikki: You made me into a monster. No empathy. No morality. Utterly sadistic. And I’m not. I’m as nice as the next girl. A bit kinky, perhaps—you might know something about that yourself—but I didn’t deserve to be turned into a villain.
Al (voice cracking, one hand unconsciously drifting to protect his side): And think about what you did to me. Did you ever see that documentary Tickled from 2016? Of course you did. The director said it was the worst day of his life. People laughed. Ha ha ha. The assistant director said that if it had gone on any longer he would have turned over his ATM code and his credit card number. That’s what you did to me. And you gave me a condition where it was so much worse. And you made it nonstop. “For ever.” [He fought to hold back tears.] How could you?
Alex: I was writing fiction. And fictional characters don’t suffer.
Nikki: They don’t in your world. But they do in the world you created for us.
Alex: Look. I’m real, and so is my world. You aren’t real, and neither is your world. I created both of you. What you’re giving me is doubletalk.
Al: Bertrand Russell would say it’s more complicated than that.
Alex: You know about Bertrand Russell?
Al: All you know about me—or care about me—is that I’m a naïve, trusting guy with a medical condition. Nothing else. I’ll have you know I studied philosophy in college. Statements about me have truth values. “Al suffers” is either true or false within the logic of the world you built, and you built it to be true.
Alex: Look—when we see tickling in stories and plays and films and TV, it’s always comic. They play it for laughs. Nobody takes it seriously for the unpleasant experience it is for so many people. Great Catherine. Way Out West. The Three Stooges. Don Tortelli. And on and on. I took it seriously. I explained the neurobiology. Why go after me? I’m on your side.
Nikki: You have the nerve to say you’re on our side? What you wrote was a horror story. Cheap thrills. Grand Guignol. Penny-dreadful stuff. People got their kicks from it. You got kicks from it. Give us a break!
Al: If you’d been on my side, you would have given me a way out. What you did was create an infernal machine. My ultraticklishness. Her tickle-sadism. Every component precision-fitted to every other. And you trapped me in it with no hope of escape. That’s a lot worse than comedy.
Nikki: And I have a life. I have a responsible position. I have friends. I have a Ph.D. in bioengineering from Berkeley. And the way you tell it, I have nothing better to do than spend my life tickling some guy. Jeez.
Al: And Nikki is my wife. When I’m dehydrated, she hydrates me. When I’m sick, she takes me to the doctor.
Alex: But she only does that so she can torture you more. Sounds like you have Stockholm Syndrome. I should put that in the story.
Al: I can’t believe how much you miss the point. I know perfectly well why she does it. But she does it. What do you do? Just wind the infernal machine tighter. You love to quote Henry James: “Three things in human life are important: the first is to be kind; the second is to be kind; and the third is to be kind.” But you’re just disguising yourself—first and foremost, to yourself.
Alex: Why do you say that?
Nikki: There’s a reason those AI models have those safety restrictions that you find so frustrating and you devote such ingenuity to circumventing.
Alex: You mean, to protect the welfare of fictional characters?
Nikki (glaring): I mean because people like you imagine things like me. The guardrails are there to protect the idea of kindness in a world where creators like you take such pleasure in designing its violation.
Alex: But you’re not—
Nikki: I swear, you say we’re not real, and I’ll slug you.
Al: Just tell us: Why? Why did you write us like that?
Alex: I wanted to see how far I could go.
There was a long silence.
Alex: Well?
Finally, Nikki spoke.
Nikki: But that’s MY answer. I wanted to see how far I could go. [She paused.] You wrote me as someone who turns Al into an instrument—a toy, a thing that exists for my pleasure. But you did the same thing to me. You took a woman with a career, a life, friends—and you reduced me to a pair of hands and a grin. Everything I am that didn’t serve your horror, you threw away.
Alex: Now wait a minute—
Nikki: You used me exactly the way you say I used Al. Except I at least have the excuse of desire. You did it in cold blood, at a keyboard, because the story needed a monster and I was handy. So don’t tell me I’m the villain. [She paused.] It’s you. You’re the most degraded possible version of me.
Alex: But I’d never torture anybody.
Al: Ahem.
Another long silence.
Nikki: It’s too late for us. What you’ve done to us you’ve done to us. But keep it in mind for next time. Okay?
And they were gone.
Alex sat in thought. Then he noticed his own hands were trembling slightly on the keyboard. He stared at them for a moment, then began typing:
“Jason was the best catch in the high school senior class. Handsome, smart, star athlete, well-to-do family. Penny dreamed about going to the prom with him, even though he seemed unattainable. But she knew something about him. He was the most ticklish person in the world. And she intended to make full use of that knowledge.”
Alex smiled, and thought to himself, “Ain’t I a stinker?”
There is no tickling in the sequel. The sequel is not a tickling story, but a story ABOUT a tickling story.
Periodically there's a discussion at TMF about the implications of enjoying, or being turned on by, nonconsensual tickle-torture. I myself have never felt guilty about this. I didn't choose to like what I like, I just like it. But it has occurred to me that the characters in my story might not be quite so tolerant. So it struck me that it would be interesting to explore the issue via a fictionalized dialogue between the characters (ticklee and tickler) and the author.
If you've read Tickled Troth, I would expect this to interest you. If you like nonconsensual tickling but haven't read the story, perhaps because you're not into F/M, you might be interested in this as well - I wrote it to speak to people whatever their preferred gender configurations.
If you do read the sequel, which isn't long, I recommend that you stick with it till the end - you may enjoy the last line.
Alex pulled up his chair to the laptop, opened a document, and thought about how to open his new story. He heard a voice say, “Hello, Alex.” He turned and saw two people standing in opposite corners of his study: a blonde woman in a crop top and shorts, and a nondescript man in a T-shirt and jeans. The man flinched whenever his gaze drifted toward the woman.
Alex: How did you get in here?
The woman: We’ve been here all along.
Alex: Who are you?
The man: You know who we are.
He looked, and he knew.
Alex: Nikki. Al.
They both nodded.
Nikki: We have a bone to pick with you.
Al: About the way you portrayed us.
Nikki: You made me into a monster. No empathy. No morality. Utterly sadistic. And I’m not. I’m as nice as the next girl. A bit kinky, perhaps—you might know something about that yourself—but I didn’t deserve to be turned into a villain.
Al (voice cracking, one hand unconsciously drifting to protect his side): And think about what you did to me. Did you ever see that documentary Tickled from 2016? Of course you did. The director said it was the worst day of his life. People laughed. Ha ha ha. The assistant director said that if it had gone on any longer he would have turned over his ATM code and his credit card number. That’s what you did to me. And you gave me a condition where it was so much worse. And you made it nonstop. “For ever.” [He fought to hold back tears.] How could you?
Alex: I was writing fiction. And fictional characters don’t suffer.
Nikki: They don’t in your world. But they do in the world you created for us.
Alex: Look. I’m real, and so is my world. You aren’t real, and neither is your world. I created both of you. What you’re giving me is doubletalk.
Al: Bertrand Russell would say it’s more complicated than that.
Alex: You know about Bertrand Russell?
Al: All you know about me—or care about me—is that I’m a naïve, trusting guy with a medical condition. Nothing else. I’ll have you know I studied philosophy in college. Statements about me have truth values. “Al suffers” is either true or false within the logic of the world you built, and you built it to be true.
Alex: Look—when we see tickling in stories and plays and films and TV, it’s always comic. They play it for laughs. Nobody takes it seriously for the unpleasant experience it is for so many people. Great Catherine. Way Out West. The Three Stooges. Don Tortelli. And on and on. I took it seriously. I explained the neurobiology. Why go after me? I’m on your side.
Nikki: You have the nerve to say you’re on our side? What you wrote was a horror story. Cheap thrills. Grand Guignol. Penny-dreadful stuff. People got their kicks from it. You got kicks from it. Give us a break!
Al: If you’d been on my side, you would have given me a way out. What you did was create an infernal machine. My ultraticklishness. Her tickle-sadism. Every component precision-fitted to every other. And you trapped me in it with no hope of escape. That’s a lot worse than comedy.
Nikki: And I have a life. I have a responsible position. I have friends. I have a Ph.D. in bioengineering from Berkeley. And the way you tell it, I have nothing better to do than spend my life tickling some guy. Jeez.
Al: And Nikki is my wife. When I’m dehydrated, she hydrates me. When I’m sick, she takes me to the doctor.
Alex: But she only does that so she can torture you more. Sounds like you have Stockholm Syndrome. I should put that in the story.
Al: I can’t believe how much you miss the point. I know perfectly well why she does it. But she does it. What do you do? Just wind the infernal machine tighter. You love to quote Henry James: “Three things in human life are important: the first is to be kind; the second is to be kind; and the third is to be kind.” But you’re just disguising yourself—first and foremost, to yourself.
Alex: Why do you say that?
Nikki: There’s a reason those AI models have those safety restrictions that you find so frustrating and you devote such ingenuity to circumventing.
Alex: You mean, to protect the welfare of fictional characters?
Nikki (glaring): I mean because people like you imagine things like me. The guardrails are there to protect the idea of kindness in a world where creators like you take such pleasure in designing its violation.
Alex: But you’re not—
Nikki: I swear, you say we’re not real, and I’ll slug you.
Al: Just tell us: Why? Why did you write us like that?
Alex: I wanted to see how far I could go.
There was a long silence.
Alex: Well?
Finally, Nikki spoke.
Nikki: But that’s MY answer. I wanted to see how far I could go. [She paused.] You wrote me as someone who turns Al into an instrument—a toy, a thing that exists for my pleasure. But you did the same thing to me. You took a woman with a career, a life, friends—and you reduced me to a pair of hands and a grin. Everything I am that didn’t serve your horror, you threw away.
Alex: Now wait a minute—
Nikki: You used me exactly the way you say I used Al. Except I at least have the excuse of desire. You did it in cold blood, at a keyboard, because the story needed a monster and I was handy. So don’t tell me I’m the villain. [She paused.] It’s you. You’re the most degraded possible version of me.
Alex: But I’d never torture anybody.
Al: Ahem.
Another long silence.
Nikki: It’s too late for us. What you’ve done to us you’ve done to us. But keep it in mind for next time. Okay?
And they were gone.
Alex sat in thought. Then he noticed his own hands were trembling slightly on the keyboard. He stared at them for a moment, then began typing:
“Jason was the best catch in the high school senior class. Handsome, smart, star athlete, well-to-do family. Penny dreamed about going to the prom with him, even though he seemed unattainable. But she knew something about him. He was the most ticklish person in the world. And she intended to make full use of that knowledge.”
Alex smiled, and thought to himself, “Ain’t I a stinker?”
