By Chance
We’re not in a relationship. We’re just two guys who like spending time with each other. Sure he lives with me but that made sense because his lease was up and I live alone in a two-bed flat. Ok so yes he shares a bedroom with me but that’s because the spare room is so full of crap that it didn’t make sense to go through it all and redistribute it throughout the flat. There are no other cupboards so where would the ironing board go? I mean yeah, we have sex but that’s only because… we find each other very attractive. We’re not in a relationship though. We’re just two guys doing whatever it is that two guys who aren’t in a relationship but live together and have sex do.
So yes, Jake lives with me now. I’m pretending to be all cool and 21st century and not put labels on things but I really like him and things are going well. I’ve never been in a relationship with a man before so this is all new and more than a little strange. Not that we’re in a relationship, of course. Please see the first paragraph for evidence of this. There are a few really annoying things that he does though. I’m a perfect human being and so everything I do is wise and blessed but he does some really, really annoying things. One of these things forms the basis of this story. I will, however, briefly touch on other things though. He steals the duvet in the night and then claims that I did it. Oh really, Jake, is that why I’m the one shivering over here whilst you lie cocooned in blissful comfort? He also fucks up pretty much every meal he makes through “experimentation”, which is code for “put shitloads of Worcestershire sauce into it and render it inedible”. God, he’s annoying.
Anyway, onwards to the story. Probably the most annoying thing that he does is get unreasonably angry and escalates situations beyond all reasonable escalation. Here’s an example: a few weeks ago I pinioned him to the sofa as he lay there watching Rick & Morty, then poured a genuinely very small amount of water over his face and said that I was waterboarding him. He didn’t say anything but pushed me off him, walked to the kitchen, grabbed a handful of ice from the freezer, walked back in, slammed me to the ground and shoved the ice up the back of my shirt. He then proceeded to aggressively rub the ice all over my back and neck whilst I screamed “Motherfuuuuccccccker” at him. What I did wasn’t big or clever (and I think might constitute torture) but I don’t think that his response was at all reasonable. He does this quite a lot: takes serious offence at a minor offence and then rains terrible revenge down upon me.
The morning in question (a Sunday, for all you day fans out there) was a prime case of escalating beyond all reasonable escalation. The night before he promised that he’d make me a bacon sandwich in the morning because I’d gone to the shop in the rain to buy us beer. It was 10am and I figured that was an acceptable time to request that he make good upon his promise. I politely asked if he was planning to get out of bed anytime soon because I could really do with a bacon sandwich. He answered “No” and fell back to sleep. I waited a bit and then I asked him again. He again said “No”, and there was an edge to his voice this time. I refused to be cowed by this and again requested, politely, that he stop being such a lazy shit and make me my goddamn sandwich. He told me to go fuck myself. This was uncalled for. It was time to get physical.
One of the most ticklish spots on Jake’s body is also, handily, one of the easiest to access when he’s lying next to me. It’s just by his armpit, about an inch away, towards his back. He cannot stand being tickled there so obviously I always tickle him there. On this morning he had his back to me so I reached over to him and gently scritched my nails over this spot. His reaction was terrifying. He bellowed, “Chance, go FUCK YOURSELF” and jerked his elbow back into my shoulder. Then he leapt out of bed and stormed into the bathroom. Ten minutes later he came back with wet hair and a face like thunder, got dressed and then stormed out again. Ten minutes after that he comes back in the room, slams a plate with a bacon sandwich on it next to me and storms out for a third time. For once I said nothing because I was a little bit scared that he’d kill me if I did. It was a great sandwich and, I figured at the time, totally worth the stomping around and the mild fear of death.
By the time I’d showered and come out to the front room, Jake seemed fine again. We had a normal day of PS4, seeing friends and generally dicking about. I wasn’t drinking because I’m training for a half marathon (ergh) and needed to do a run that night. I do said run and when I get back I am a sweaty mess and need to shower again. Whilst I’m doing this, Jake puts dinner on. It’s frozen pizzas so he can’t fuck it up. A weird thing about the wiring in my flat is that sometimes, and there’s no pattern to it, when you switch the oven off it blows a fuse. The blown fuse means that the lights and electrics in a few of the rooms go out, including the router in the spare room. Sometimes it reboots with no issue but other times it needs to be manually reset. I’m not telling you boring shit for no reason; this is important to the story.
This evening the fuse blows and Jake flips it back on. I’m just out of the shower and I want to download some podcasts for my commute the following week. Unfortunately for me the router has shat its pants and needs a manual reset. Wearing only my boxer briefs, I exit the room and walk towards my doom. Oh look, a rhyme. The router is in a really annoying spot. It’s in the back corner, underneath the bed. Also underneath the bed is a load of boxes full of electrical gumpf, suitcases and other shite that I probably don’t need. Getting to the router requires you to lie flat on the ground on your stomach and commando crawl your way under the bed. You’re hemmed in either side by boxes and there’s barely enough room to get an adult’s body through the resulting corridor. Once you have reset the router, you then have to carefully roll onto your back and edge your way back out. I’ve just got to this stage of my under-the-bed-adventure when I hear Jake enter the room. He walks over to me and sits down on my lower legs. I’m still under the bed from about the waist up. I can’t move backwards or forwards and it’s as irritating as it sounds. After a brief struggle (mine) I decide it’s not worth the carpet burn and turn to diplomacy instead.
“Haha, very funny. Please can you get off me so I can get out?”
“Nope.”
“Get the fuck off me.”
“Nope.”
“What the fuck? What are you hoping to achieve?”
“Oh you know, piss you off.”
“Well I think we can call this a success.”
“Nah, not just yet we can’t.” And with that, Jake started tickling my feet. I think I’ve mentioned this in an earlier story but my feet really haven’t been tickled all that much. There was one time by some dick at a party my then-flatmate held but that was mercifully brief albeit hellish. I always knew that I had to have ticklish feet because it’s not as if I’d be ticklish most other places on my body but not in the place where 99% of people are ticklish. I could, however, have gone my whole life not finding out just how ticklish my feet are. They’re really bad. We’re talking instant freak-out and laughter that’s a little too high-pitched for my liking. This was the first time Jake had tickled my feet and it, like my feet’s ticklishness, was really, really bad.
“NO WHATTHEFUCKNO-hahahahaha” was all I managed to get out before I descended into hysteria. I was trapped underneath a fucking bed with about a millimeter either side of me whilst my arsehole of a not-boyfriend, was tickling my toes. It felt like all of my nerves had swarmed into my feet and I was trying to crawl out of my skin.
“It’s annoying, isn’t it? Being tickled?” Jake asked me in a mocking, patronising voice.
“Not-hahahaha-not-the-same-hahahahaha” I gasped in between laughs. These laughs were being torn out of me without a break and I felt like I was going to pass out. Jake was merciless – he found out that I was most ticklish under and between my toes and he was going after those spots like it was his job. Occasionally he’d also reach up and squeeze my knee, which, each time without fail, would make me, scream (in a manly way, obviously) before returning to my previous hysteria.
“Are you going to apologise for this morning?”
“I’m sorry! Gahahaha please, you’re killing me.”
“What have we learnt not to do?”
“Hahahaha-tick-hahaha-tickle you!”
“No, the correct answer was ‘Be an annoying little prick’. I’m afraid you haven’t earned your freedom.” He then began grabbing at my hipbones, which in turn made me laugh so hard that I choked. Rather than see me die, Jake got off my legs. I lay there, trying to recover my breath and my dignity. I wasn’t getting out fast enough for Jake’s liking though because he grabbed one of my ankles in a headlock (anklelock?) and yanked me from under the bed, scrabbling his fingernails over my sole with his free hand.
“Nohohoho OW FUCK STOP-gahahaha.” was my response. Jake dropped my leg and offered me his hand to help me up. I would not accept his conciliatory gesture.
“Fuck o-fuahahahaha!” I screamed as Jake crouched beside me and started squeezing my ribs and sides. I managed to get on my hands and knees, lunged at him and we had something of a tickle fight. I definitely had him on the ropes at some points but it’s an unfair advantage to be fully clothed when your adversary is in his pants.
“Truce, ok, truce” he gasped, as he held my wrists to stop me getting his ribs. ‘We’re even”.
“We most certainly are not!” I retorted, like the indignant and pompous twat that I often am.
“You shouldn’t have bullied me out of bed this morning.”
“ You shouldn’t have fucking assaulted me.”
“You shouldn’t have put yourself in such a vulnerable position when you’re so ticklish.”
“…. Fuck you.”
“The pizzas are ready”
“I don’t want your stupid pizza.”
“If you’re going to be a little baby then I’m going to tickle you again.”
“Never tickle me again.”
“Nah, I definitely will.”
“I hate it.”
“I know, but if you don’t want me to tickle you again then you’ll have to never tickle me again. That’s your choice to make.”
“I choose never to tickle you again.”
“I give it a week, tops.”
My pledge actually only lasted a few hours because later that night he was shirtless and stretching up to reach something on a high shelf. Only a fool wouldn’t have taken advantage of that. Getting a quality dig at his armpits made up for the fact that he slammed a pillow over my face and very aggressively tickled my ribs. Well, almost.
As a side note, as I wrote this story I asked Jake what he found to be the most annoying thing about me. He said that I am the most annoying thing about me. He can’t be specific so I disregarded it.