My Dirty Little Secret

By Chance

Part 1

 

“We’ve been friends for, what, like 20 years and it’s taken me this long to find out your dirty little secret?”

“You’re being a fucking idiot. Let me go.”

“Are you kidding me? I have 20 years to make up for here. Now, where should I start?”

“Jake, I swear to God, that I will rip your fucking face off if…”

“I wish you could see how ridiculous you look and sound right now. ‘Rip my fucking face off’? I really don’t think someone in such a… vulnerable position should be making threats.”

He had a point. I was, pinioned on the floor by my (supposed) best friend. I’d discovered he was about four times stronger than me (how can that be? We’re the same size!), and he’d discovered that I was cripplingly, pathetically, humiliatingly ticklish. Hardly anyone knew this about me. Only one member of my family and none of my other friends did. I’d been able to distract the few boyfriends and girlfriends who’d been on the cusp of unveiling my “dirty little secret” (thanks for the euphemism, Jake) with one of my patented sexual diversions. I was always the dominant one in the relationship so ain’t no way I was going to let that one slip. Of course I always enjoyed tickling my partners but reciprocation was never on the cards. Now, suddenly, I’m on the losing end of a drunken wrestling match with the most evil man I know.

I’d known Jake since I was 5 years old. We’d stayed in touch throughout school, university and our relatively brief working lives. I was the first person he came out to (when he was 15) and I eventually told him that I was bi after a very drunken night some time after we’d finished university. Our friendship was purely platonic though, even though I could see how good-looking he was. I could somehow never get the thought of us at primary school out of my head, even though the perverted part of me appreciated his lean but muscular body with just the right amount of body fuzz, his light brown hair, dark brown eyes, strong jaw… I wasn’t giving his appearance much thought now though. All I was thinking was how I could get out of this without revealing how much of the upper-hand he had. I still couldn’t believe he’d trapped me. I always used to win our wrestling matches. That’ll teach me to choose running over the gym.

“How ticklish are you?”

“I’m not! Seriously, you must’ve hit a pressure point or something. Like when you hit your knee and it jumps without you controlling it.”

I’m babbling, I know I’m babbling. Jake tilts his head and gives me a wicked smile.

“Wow, you’re a medical curiosity then. I never knew that there was such a spot in a person’s armpit. Chance, are you lying to me?”

“No! I swear. Can I please concede this fight and we can get on with our lives?”

“Are you begging?”

“Fuck you am I begging. This is stupid and my arms are going num-BA! No, Jake, please don’t!”

Whilst I was distracted by my own jabbering bullshit, he’d jabbed his fingers under my arm again. I jumped and yelled like the ticklish little bitch I was, and the game was up.

“OK, I admit it, I’m ticklish under my arms. This isn’t funny though, please. I need to get up.”

“Chance, you’re begging again.”

He was now talking to me in the sing-song, patronising voice that he knew wound me up so much. Screw this, I wasn’t going to let him beat me. I suddenly yanked my wrists free from the one hand he was using to hold me down with (one hand – the shame! In my defence, he’d managed to twist my arms in such a way that it was hard to get any kind of leverage…) and attempted to twist my torso free from his legs. He had some kind of death grip on me with his legs though, and all I managed to do was move my body about an inch down. At least my arms were now free, and I shoved at his legs as hard as I could. His response was to grab my lower sides, which had been exposed as my t-shirt rode up during my pathetic attempt to free myself, and dig his fingers in. I started laughing almost immediately.

“No! HahahahapleasenohahahahaokI’mbeggingyouhahahaha!”

I hate being tickled. Being forced to laugh against my will is so embarrassing, but the worst thing I find is that being tickled makes me go totally weak. It is my Kryptonite. I become so focused on the tickling that I lose almost all of my ability to fight it. That’s what happened here. I was pushing against Jake’s chest with all the strength of a five-year-old.

“Your weak little T-Rex arms are no match for me!”

“HahahapleaseJakepleasehahahahayouhavetostophahahaha.”

“No, I really don’t. I tell you what – let’s play a game. It’s called ‘If I can see it then I can tickle it’.”

With that he pulled my t-shirt up to my chest and lightly scratched his nails over my stomach.

The only person who’d ever tickled me with any kind of intent before was my older brother. I was a bit of a dick as a child and he used to beat me up fairly regularly, and fairly deservedly. One time he decided to go left-field and started tickling me. We were both pretty amazed by how little tolerance I had for it and I immediately started apologising, begging and generally acting all subservient. After that he abandoned beating me up and became a master torturer. It was far less risky for him because all the fight rushed out of me as soon as he hit a good spot. My stomach is a very good spot. At that point I thought it was the most ticklish place on my entire body. My feet had hardly ever been tickled so they were excluded from my analysis… I remember the time my brother struck gold – I’ve never felt anything like it. I started insanely laughing and insta-crying as my 13-year-old brother scrabbled his nails over my lower stomach. He could never go after that spot for long because I laughed/cried so much I forgot to breathe and almost passed out each time. I must have a masochistic streak in me somewhere because I didn’t become any less of a dick and my brother felt obliged to tickle me pretty much daily until I hit my teens.

Now, nearly 17 years later and I’m back to being a 10-year-old boy, tickle-tortured by a bigger boy. Jake laughed incredulously as I arched my back, thrashed my head from side to side and laughed.

“Woah, now this is a good spot, right?”

I couldn’t even speak. Me arching my back coupled with the weight of his body sitting on my groin had managed to pull my jeans down a few inches. He moved to this bit of skin just above my pubic hair, all defenceless and untanned, and scrabbled his fingers along from hip bone to hip bone.

“Pleasenotthere!FucknopleasehahahahahahaIcan’tbreatheJakehahahahaha.”

“Chance, I explained the rules, if I can see it, I get to tickle it. It’s a simple game, I can’t believe you’re having so much trouble here.”

His teasing was getting to me almost as much as the tickling was. I was utterly humiliated and I had to get away. My brain was screaming at me to protect my stomach at all costs. I twisted my body again, managing to turn over onto my front. Before I could get my knees up under me and make a dash for it, he’d pushed me face-down on the floor (wooden, luckily, so at least I avoided carpet burn. Not bruises though…) and laid his body on top of mine, trapping me. He yanked my arms up and held my wrists together with one hand again. His free hand then jammed itself under my t-shirt and into my armpit, scritching at the skin just under where my hair began. My brother’s armpit tickling was then revealed to be amateurish at best. This was the first time I’d ever been properly tickled under my arms, and it was hell. All I could do was laugh and laugh. His fingers moved up and down my skin, doing the aforementioned nail scritching. rubbing gentle circles through the hair, and then jabbing his fingers into the muscle. I was in pieces.

“Cootchie-coo little Chancey. You’re probably the most ticklish person I have ever met! I’m hurt that you didn’t tell me about this sooner. Think of all the fun we’ve missed out on. Gitchie-goo!”

He swapped his hands over and briefly went at my other armpit. That’s the point I started to cry. Jake started laughing at me but at least he stopped the tickling. He got off me and I curled into a little ball, furiously rubbing under my arms to get rid of the tickly feeling.

“If you hadn’t have lied to me about being ticklish then we could’ve avoided this whole sorry episode,” Jake said, looking down at me in mock concern.

“Fuck you”, I sniffed up at him. I felt completely humiliated. I pulled my t-shirt down, got up and made to leave the room with all the dignity I could muster.

“Chance! I’m sorry! It was really funny though.”

“Oh fuck you”, I said indignantly. My vocabulary appeared to have reduced somewhat. He grabbed hold of my arm and pulled me back.

“Are we still friends, Elmo?”

“Elmo?”

“Yeah, Tickle-Me-El… Chance, wait, I’m kidding. OK, I’m sorry I held you down and tickled you until you cried like a little bitch. It’ll never happen again.”

His eyes were looking right into mine, and he looked genuinely contrite. Despite the fact that my pride had been fatally wounded, I found myself half-smiling. He really was very cute.

“Yeah, alright then. I forgive you. I swear to God though, if you try that again I’ll… probably be as ineffectual at defending myself I was just then.”

“I honestly actually feel bad about it. You can tickle me back if that would help.”

“I don’t need your charity.”

“You definitely do.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Do you know any other words?”

“I know that you’re a dickhead.”

“That… doesn’t make any sense.”

“You don’t make any sense.”

This mature, adult argument continued for some time. To Jake’s credit, he held off from tickling me for a good few weeks. Unfortunately the next time I managed to answer that age-old question: what’s more ticklish – my stomach or my feet? That was a bad time.

 

 

Part 2

Saturday started off terribly. I’d been out hardcore the night before, starting the night with “a couple after work” and ending it shit-faced in The Dolphin in Hackney. I think that pub is open until 6am. Grim. I don’t know what time I got home but I’m pretty sure it was after a sensible time.

I was woken up at 9am by my phone, which I ignored because I don’t think I had the power of speech then. It rang again a few minutes later and it was my boss’ number. I didn’t want to answer that number. I knew exactly what it would be about. I knew it’d be about the pitch document I put together for Monday morning. The one I’d sent over Thursday lunchtime, asking for feedback. The one I’d had no feedback on. I knew what the feedback would be. It’d be “there’s a few things to change, you need to come in and change them, office bitch.” I answered the phone and it’s a slightly politer version of what I reckoned it would be. My hangover and I are going to have to go to the office. On a Saturday.

Twelve hours later and it’s 10.30pm and I am home. My boss paid for my cab, which was a pointless gesture since I’d have got one anyway and expensed it because fuck The Man. I walked to the door of my flat and heard music, horrific music. It’s the techno bollocks so beloved by my housemate Amy. Again, my psychic powers reared up and told me what was in store for me. There was going to be a whole bunch of arseholes in my flat and I was going to have to talk to them, unless I could make it into my room undetected. Then I could quietly stay in there all night, even if it meant surviving by drinking from the tap and only eating chewing gum.

I opened the door as quietly as possible and the first thing I saw was my friend Jake, exiting the bathroom. He was very happy to see me. He was also very drunk and he was being very loud, and I had to pretend like he wasn’t the very antithesis of a good time to me. He shouted to the others that I was home. I had to go in and say hi. I’m offered a drink, I politely refuse, I am ignored and offered a drink. Everyone is very drunk, I don’t know some of them and the music is very loud. I excused myself and vanished to my bedroom. At one point Jake came in, asking me to come out and join the party. I didn’t even know why he was in my flat, since he’d only met Amy about three times. Apparently he and a few of his friends had come round to see me hours ago, then got sidetracked by booze. I told him I was really sorry but I was going to bed, he huffed off and I fell alseep.

At 1am I was woken by someone coming into my room, then apologising and saying they thought it was the bathroom. They’d had to walk past the bathroom to come into my room, which made them an idiot. The music had somehow become louder and, as both the owner of my flat and a raging bastard, I needed to go and tell them to turn it down. I got out of bed, walked into the front room and turned the speakers down from 20 to 14, whatever that means. Everyone turned to stare at me. I told them that it’s loud and it’s late and next door have a baby and can everyone please keep the noise down? Some guy called me a fucking loser. I didn’t even know who this person was. I knew that he had to be a friend of Jake’s because he was very camp, very well-dressed and very good-looking. Those three things are all Jake looks for in his friends, myself excluded. Personality is an unnecessary extra. I didn’t care how much of a pretty boy he was, I wasn’t going to let someone call me a fucking loser in my own house. True as it might be.

I told him to get out of my house. He refused, rather rudely. I was about to get in his face when Jake grabbed my arm and told me to calm down. The other guy was laughing and I really wanted to punch him, but most of all I wanted to go to bed. I tried to walk away but Jake wouldn’t let me until I’d “calmed down”. It turned into a bit of a wrestling match, although it was pretty one-sided because I wasn’t trying to wrestle with him. All I was trying to do was extricate myself, punch this guy in his stupid face and then go to bed. History repeated itself and I found myself being forced to the ground, whilst the party carried on around us. Jake was drunk and I wasn’t, which gave me more of an advantage than before. This time, despite being surprisingly weak, I was doing much better and at least not letting him hold me down with one hand. Then he tickled my sides and it all went a bit wrong.

Unlike the first time Jake properly tickled me, I didn’t start laughing instantly. There was far too much at stake here. I didn’t fancy embarrassing myself in front of eleven people, three of whom I have never seen before in my life and at least one of whom was a dick. Instead I told him to not to fucking dare, and my voice was only a little higher than I’d have ideally liked. A few weeks ago Jake had promised he wouldn’t tickle me again and, even if he did crack and do so (which I knew he would, because I definitely would), I’d hoped it wouldn’t be a public humiliation. No such luck. He went for my stomach and, although I was able to avoid the majority of his efforts because he couldn’t hold me down properly, sometimes he hit his targets and people started to notice that I wasn’t doing so well. Then I felt a weight on my lower legs as someone sat on them. I was wearing a pair of boxers and a t-shirt (it’s a really nerdy one advertising a programming language too – shit, I am a fucking loser…), with my friend sat on my chest, and an unknown entity sat on my legs. I wasn’t dressed for the occasion. Why didn’t I put my jeans and shoes on before coming out? The unknown entity told Jake to sit on my arms instead, which he did, trapping them straight above my head. I could now see that my other attacker is the guy who I’d almost fought with about a minute before.

I realised that I was going to have to use diplomacy to get out of this one. I looked the guy in the eyes and told him that I would fucking kill him unless he got off me right fucking now. The guy responded by pulling up my t-shirt and squeezing my hipbones. I made a noise that sounded like the lovechild of a laugh and a dog before controlling myself. I had to hold it together so they’d get bored and get off me. I turned my head to the side, closed my eyes and bit my arm whilst he jabbed his thumbs into my hips and squeezed my sides. Luckily it didn’t tickle all that much, but I don’t think the biting-my-arm-closing-my-eyes thing was really hiding the fact that it tickled enough to make me behave really weirdly. Jake was laughing the whole time, as were the rest of the people at the party. They were now fully invested in my suffering, and someone had turned the music back up. I think this is what Hell must be like – loud, terrible music whilst someone who’s just insulted you straddles your far-too-unclothed body and tickles you.

“Do it gently, mate, gets a much better reaction”, Jake said as he stuck his hands under the sleeves of my t-shirt and dragged his nails under my arms. I was glad the music was loud then because I started to laugh. I was now squirming my upper body around, which was all I could move, and laughing uncontrollably.

“He’s looking a damn sight happier now”, said the other guy, “You’re much more pleasant like this.” He then started to rake his nails over my stomach, which caused me to beg.

“StoppleasehahahaI’msorrypleasehahaha.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for. If you hadn’t been such a cock then we wouldn’t be having so much fun now, would we? Are you having fun, sweetheart?”

“NohahahapleasestophahahaIhateit.”

“If you hate it then why are you laughing?” This was like a terrible tickling story cliché. What do you say when someone asks you that? I didn’t answer him, I just tried to get away. Having my pits and my stomach tickled at the same time was scrambling my brain though and all I was doing was thrashing a bit and laughing a lot.

“Where are you most ticklish?” the guy asked me.

“Fuuuhahahafuuckhahahafuckyou”, I replied. I still had my sparkling wit at least.

“I bet it’s your feet.” With that he stopped tickling my stomach and I was relieved, even though Jake was still silently and rigorously applying himself to tickling my armpits. I was still laughing like an idiot, but I was no longer feeling like I was being driven mad. Stranger Guy then turned himself around so he was facing my feet, hunched over and started to draw tiny circles on the middle of the soles my feet. I went absolutely ballistic. I’ve never felt anything so unendurable. My stomach lurched and I start laughing hysterically.

I think this was the first time I’ve ever been tickled on my feet. I never thought I was very ticklish there because I can handle foot rubs like a boss, and even an ex-girlfriend using a pumice stone on my heels once didn’t really faze me. My brother never tried tickling my feet (why would he when my stomach gave him everything he wanted: total and complete subservience?) so I was blissfully ignorant of how terrible foot tickling can be. I wish I could go back to that golden age of ignorance.

“I love it when guys have ticklish feet!”, Stranger Guy said excitedly. His circles started getting faster, lighter (the lighter he got the worse it was – I don’t understand that), bigger and less circley. Soon he was drawing random patterns all over the bottoms of my feet, from heel to the balls of my feet. Someone told him to go for my toes. And I thought the rest of my feet were ticklish… my laughter went up to the pitch of an 8-year-old boy’s as soon as he started scrabbling his nails underneath my toes. He held my toes back with one hand so I couldn’t scrunch them up and protect myself, wiggling his fingers along that unbelievably sensitive line where my toes joined my foot. I reckon he must’ve done it for at least three minutes because I can hold my breath for about that long before starting to pass out, and I was starting to pass out. I’m not saying he would’ve killed me if someone hadn’t distracted him, but I wouldn’t have put it past the evil bastard. Someone told him to stop, and he did. Jake saw that I was about to escape so got up off my arms and made a run for it. I had to get up, surrounded by people who were laughing at me (some, to their credit, were laughing in a concerned way) and go back to my room. I lay on my bed raging for another hour or so, until the music was switched off and I heard the final few people start to leave. When the flat was silent I figured it was safe to go to bed, so I did exactly that.

Jake came in a few seconds after I’d turned the light off, and sat at the end of my bed. I ignored him so he stuck his hands under the duvet and tickled my feet. I whipped them away, and then kicked him hard.

“Fuck off, you promised you wouldn’t do that again.”

“Do what again?”

“I’m not playing a fucking game – I really hate it.”

“Hate what?”

“It’s not fucking funny. You’re not fucking funny.”

“You swear a lot.”

“Get out of my room.”

“Not until we’re friends again.”

I ignored him again. He remained sitting at the foot of my bed for a few seconds, then I heard the sound of clothes hitting the ground. He got into my bed.

“Jake, what the fuck are you doing?” I reached up to turn the light on, but he grabbed me round my waist and dragged me back. I could feel that he was only wearing his pants. I was only wearing my pants. This was unusual.

“Are we friends?”

“No. This is really weird.”

“I’m going to spoon you until we’re friends again.”

“We’re not friends. I can’t believe you let that dickhead tickle my feet.”

“His name’s Jim and actually a really nice guy. You tried to fight him, which was a mistake because, ticklishness aside, you can’t even fight. I think he was well within his rights to take a non-violent stance against your violence.”

“He called me a fucking loser!”

“You were wearing a Ruby On Rails t-shirt and talking about next door having a baby. Again, I think he was within his rights.”

I decided to ignore him again, concentrating on the feeling of his chest against my back rather than how irritating he was being. He pressed his face against the nape of my neck.

“It’s not a big deal. Everyone thought you being so ticklish was really cute.”

“I’m not that ticklish.”

“That’s a really dumb thing to say when I have a free hand.” Jake flicked his finger tip over my right nipple and I flinched, laughed and felt my stomach lurch in a different way. I don’t normally like people touching me when I sleep but I quickly fell asleep with him against my back.

When I woke up he’d let go of me and was lying on his back, his left arm thrown above his head and his face turned to the right. I gently scratched my nail in the centre of his armpit and he broke out in goosebumps and made a pathetic little whiny noise before bringing his arm back down and turning over on his side. This was an interesting discovery. I wasn’t going to risk waking him up and letting him know that I know he’s at least a little bit ticklish. I was going to wait until he was fully awake and fully aware, and then I was going to ruin him. I was going to bide my time and then make him rue the day. That day will come, just as soon as I learn how to fight and probably to stop being ticklish myself. I’m working on it.

 

Part 3

 

So I finally got my revenge. I don’t know if it counts as revenge when you get as good as you give, but it’s better than my last two attempts. I think I’m working up to total domination. I reckon another twelve of these encounters should do it.

So I was round at Jake’s house one evening the other week. Work has been doing a number on me in the last month or so. I’ve been working until 9pm most nights so pretty much ignoring my friends. It’s put me in a really bad mood and I’ve been a horrible person to be around. Despite knowing this, Jake invited me round to his for a few drinks. I was going to bail but then I thought of how depressed I’d be when I’m old and think back to this time when I was 27 and all I did was work. When I got to Jake’s, I was faced with a whole load of IKEA boxes. He’d fairly recently moved into a single bedroom part-furnished flat and decided after a month or two that his stuff should be raised above the ground rather than sitting right on it. I asked him why he hadn’t put the stuff he’d bought together and he said he couldn’t be fucked. After a few drinks I told him we should do it that night. This could be my achievement of the week. I’d been spending days upon days with my head in spreadsheets, aching to do something that didn’t involve formulas. Now was my chance to make something useful.

I bloody love putting together flat-pack furniture, and I’ve no idea why. I’d never make something from scratch but give me some pre-cut bits of wood and the requisite number of nails and I will build you a masterpiece. Or a shelving unit. I always think that everyone shares my passion, but it’s always me left sitting on the floor surrounded by wood (that’s what she said) whilst my friends refuse to help. Jake told me that he had no interest in being a faux-carpenter that night. I ignored him though and got stuck into one of the boxes. It was a chair. A really complex chair. I was drinking quite a lot of wine, which may be why I started to struggle from the outset. The instructions really were unintelligible though. There were these black plastic things that I swear to God didn’t fit anywhere. I gave the instructions to Jake and told him to help me figure it out. He barely read it before he’d flung it away and said that he was no good at this kind of thing. This inconspicuous start gave why to my semi-revenge.

“No good at this kind of thing? You mean reading words and then following pictorial instructions?”

“Fuck off, you can’t do it either.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got the legs together. You’ve just sat there and done fuck-all.”

“This was your idea.” He was getting bizarrely angry at this point, and I decided to see how far I could take this. I know exactly how to wind Jake up. You have to put on a certain condescending tone and talk to him like he’s being completely stupid. Which, to be fair, he was. Finish that off by being really immature and you’re definitely going to get him raging.

“Why are you getting so worked up about this?”

“Because I hate these things. They make me feel dumb”

“Flat-pack furniture makes you feel dumb?”

“I can’t do it.”

“You can’t do flat-pack furniture? Are you an idiot?”

“Do not fucking call me an idiot.”

“Don’t be an idiot then.”

“Sorry, why did I invite you round?”

“Because you sub-consciously wanted me to build your furniture since you’re too much of an idiot to figure it out yourself?”

“Call me an idiot one more time and I swear to God I’ll…”

“… Fail to read words and follow pictorial instructions? Like an idiot?”

Normally these little tête à têtes will result in him getting really angry and insulting me in creative and hilarious ways. This time though, his failure to be able to put together pre-fab furniture induced a Hulk-like reaction and he properly went for me. I had to scramble to get the half-completed chair off my lap, and attempt to run away. I mean retreat and regroup… I didn’t manage to escape, and we started our fight to the death. I’m not sure what he was trying to achieve, but I wasn’t going to find out. Instead, I was going to taunt him some more.

“This is so fucking stupid. The kind of thing an idiot would do-GAH! Fucking hell, do not do that.” Of course, in our struggle he’d decided to intersperse causing me pain with tickling me. I decided this was my chance to see how ticklish he was so grabbed his sides. He reacted by making a strangled noise and punching me really hard in the arm. Okay, so this could be good. I didn’t have any feeling in my left arm but I did have some interesting findings.

“Are you ticklish?”

“No I am not, so fuck you.”

“Seems as if you might be. Seems as if you’re spinning me the sort of lie that only an idiot would believe… an idiot like you.”

With that he flattened me, stuck his hands under my arms and started to squeeze. Obviously I clamped my arms down and, in-between stifling my laughs (I would not give him the satisfaction) and involuntarily thrashing, managed to get the co-ordination to go for his sides again. He stopped tickling me, grabbed my wrists and let out a laugh. I stared up at him with an unintentionally evil smirk on my face. He looked quite worried.

“The worm has turned.” I said, in my most diabolical voice.

“Not really, since you’re the one on the ground.”

“Only because I feel bad for you. I’m the smart one, you’re the FUCK no, don’t!” He’d grabbed my hips and was squeezing them in the not-too-hard, not-too-soft-way that made me want to crawl out of my skin. I flipped myself over underneath him, which I was unimpressed to discover allowed him access to the back of my ribs. That’s a really ticklish spot on me, apparently. Being stuck on your front underneath a guy who already has the advantage of superior fighting abilities was really quite stupid. I hadn’t laughed once though, which I think was an achievement. He’d laughed already so I was the winner, right? I tried to roll over onto my back, but gave up on that when I managed to get on to my side and he put his hand under my t-shirt and raked his fingernails across my stomach. I rolled back over but then his hand was trapped under my body, doing this horrible scratchy massage over my abs. It tickled like fuck and I was at a loss as to what I should do next. It’s hard to think tactics when someone is tickling one of your worst spots, and you feel as if it might be your fault that this whole sorry situation even arose. I was still managing to not laugh though, countering the desire to be hysterical by swearing an awful lot.

“Get the fuck off me, you’re fucking hurting me you fucking little prick.”

“No Chance, I’m tickling you. This is what I plan to do every time you act like an arsehole, Which is all the fucking time.”

“It’s not fucking tickling me, you’re crushing my leg.” To be fair, he was doing that as well. He sat up a bit, taking the pressure off my legs and allowing me to roll over onto my back. I sat up and went for his ribs. He went absolutely mental, throwing his head forward and almost catching me square in the face.

“Getthefuckoffmeno!” he managed to blurt out before descending into laughter and frantic flailing. He was pushing at my shoulders and trying to get me off him, but I countered my pressing my chest against his, crossing my arms over his back and squeezing his ribs from either side. When I moved down to just below his ribs he lost it and started kicking his legs up. Getting hit in the balls wasn’t on my agenda so I went for his feet instead. I was wearing shoes and he wasn’t – fate was on my side. I grabbed his ankle and started to tickle his left foot, through a rather large hole in his socks just under his toes. Jackpot. He was thrashing around, trying to have me let go, whilst laughing like a little boy. I was enjoying having the upper hand so much that I stupidly forgot he was far stronger than me. He grabbed me round the neck and pulled me towards him so my back was against his chest. Then he returned to torturing my stomach. He started doing this light pinching thing on my hips, just above my jeans’ waistband that practically made me scream. All the fight went out of me and all I could do was push ineffectually against his legs.

“Truce! Fucking truce-hahahaha.”

“You can’t call truce now that I’m winning.”

“Please, tickle me somewhere else!”

‘How the fuck is your stomach so ticklish?”

“It’s not!”

“No, I’m pretty sure it is”

I’m not as good a liar as I am a wind-up merchant. Luckily I am resourceful though. I managed to override my body’s desire to flail around like an idiot and not do anything constructive and/or helpful. I grabbed Jake above the knees with each hand and squeezed. I was rewarded by a yell and a hard punch between my shoulder blades.

“You fucking arsehole, that really hurt!” I winced as I pushed myself away from him,

“Then don’t tickle my knees!”

“I didn’t punch you when you were tickling me.”

“I doubt you’d have had the co-ordination to do so.”

“It was all part of my strategy.”

“Your strategy was to laugh like a bitch and do pretty much nothing?”

“….. Yeah, that was part of it.”

He was making me laugh again so I decided to forgive him for the violent assault, but still use it as leverage to avoid being tickled by him ever again.

“Seriously though, please don’t tickle me. I really, really hate it.”

“How can you hate tickling? It’s such a minor thing to get so ragey about”

“You don’t enjoy it either – you punched me in the back.”

“Yeah but the knees are bad. That’s beyond tickling. That’s practically painful. I don’t mind the rest. Tickle fights are fun.”

“Not for me they’re not!”

“Because you lose and you can’t stand losing.”

“I’m going to fight the desire to quote The Police at you and merely politely disagree.”

“It’s the truth. You’re a bad loser and a control-freak and you need to get the fuck over a bit of tickling.”

“If I say that I’m a bad loser will you stop tickling me?”

“No, because you need to be trained in the art of losing.”

“I admit you’re a good one to teach me that since you’re practically a sensei at losing.”

“Big words for a massive, gaping vagina. Alright – test time. Each of us has to put their hands behind their head and keep them there for…. let’s say five minutes. The person who lasts the shortest amount of time is the loser.”

“No. That’s more tickling and exactly what I was trying to avoid. I said that about two minutes ago. Your stupid is showing again.”

“I’m going to ignore that because you’re trying to wind me up and distract me from this challenge. If you don’t agree then you’ll be a little bitch to me forever. I’ll change your name in my phonebook to “Little Bitch”, log in to your Facebook and change your name to “Little Bitch” so often that it’ll be permanent.”

“Does that even happen?”

“Yeah, my friend now has ‘Crusher’ as his middle name on Facebook. Forever. Anyway, when people see that your name is ‘Little Bitch’ then they’ll ask me why and I’ll tell them how ticklish you are.”

I was really struggling here. I am hugely competitive and, like Jake said, a really bad loser. I knew I had no chance in hell of winning this competition but I couldn’t back down. I knew he wouldn’t change my name on anything but I wouldn’t put him past him to tell everyone what happened. I was particularly concerned about him telling our female friends. I would never live that down, or be able to see any of them in person ever again. I’d seen what they’d done to our friend Jim when they’d discovered he had a ticklish neck. It wasn’t pretty. That was only his neck as well. Much easier to defend than practically your entire body.

“OK”, I finally agreed, “You have to go first though. Also, if I win, I never get tickled by you again.”

“Deal, but only because I know there’s no danger of you winning.” Jake put his hands behind his head and brought his elbows back so his arms were parallel above his shoulders. I set my phone to time five minutes and turned back to him. He was trying to look unmoved but I could see that he involuntarily sucked his stomach in when I moved my hands towards his torso. I pressed ‘Go’ on the timer and got stuck in.

First I tried his stomach. I put my hands under his t-shirt and scrabbled my nails above and below his navel. He went a bit goosepimply and twisted his torso to the side but there wasn’t a hint of a laugh or anything. I moved towards his sides and started squeezing between his hipbone and bottom rib. The boy has very soft skin. I became aware of how close I was standing to my best friend, of how good he smelled. This was weird. I still felt like an 8-year-old with him most of the time.

As expected, his sides got a better reaction. He closed his eyes, wincing and opened them to stare up at the ceiling. He’d started to rock from side to side and back and forth too, trying to get away from my hands without wimping out. I checked the timer and saw that 45 seconds had gone past. I needed to up my game.

I moved my hands up his ribcage, before swooping down and grabbing his hips. He giggled at that, and brought his head forward to rest on my shoulders.

“This is technically cheating because, although your hands are still above your head, they are lower than they were before.”

“Sh-hahaha-ha-hut up”, was his answer, although he did straighten up and set his jaw in a determined fashion,

1 minute 20 had gone past. I didn’t think I could do two minutes so I had to do something to him. Throwing caution to the wind, I decided to try a place I was 99% sure would have an effect. His pits.

I abandoned his hips, shooting straight up to his armpits. Jake wasn’t a particularly hairy guy but his pits were fairly fuzzy. They were full of very soft, light brown hair. They were also incredibly ticklish. He lost it after the first couple of scratchy-pokes in the centre, grabbing my hands and pulling them out from under his arms. I pulled a wrist free and stopped the timer. 1 minute 28! What a fucking loser.

“Well that was one of the more pathetic things I’ve seen in my life.”

“I have no idea what happened. I’m not that ticklish! I think it was the earlier stuff that bugged me out.”

“Whatever it was, I only have 1 minute 28 to beat.”

“You still have no chance at all. Ha, Chance-At-All.”

“Hilarious.”

I put my hands behind my head in the same position Jake had been in a minute earlier. I felt my t-shirt ride up above the waitsband of my jeans and started to realise that I’d made a huge mistake. I could feel air moving around my hips and lower stomach. There was no way I could last any number of seconds. He’d tickle me, I’d bring my hands down, check the timer and it’d probably say 0.8 seconds. This was going to be humiliating.

“Ready?”

“Yeah. Bring it.” I stared at the corner of a picture frame behind his head. If I could focus on something that wasn’t my skin then maybe I’d have a chance. A Chance-A-Lot. Nice pun on my name there. Keep distracting yourself, keep distra-

“Gah! No, fuck no, nonononono.” Jake was playing to win and had decided to go after the exposed part of my stomach. I’d almost lost it and all he’d done was stroke his fingertips from hip to hip. I’d instantly broken out into goosebumps and it was all I could do not to pull my hands down and, preferably, snap off his hands so he could never tickle me again.

“Well Chance, you’re not doing so well here.” I had to bite my lip because I could feel the laughs building up in me. I had to last longer than 1 minute and 28 seconds.

Jake started to scratch his short, blunt nails against either side of my stomach, moving them in little circles whilst my muscles jumped futilely. I was in such distress but couldn’t do a thing about it because otherwise I’d lose and that was even worse than the tickling. Maybe.

“Who’s ticklish? Who’sa ticklish boy? You are! Say it, Chance, say what you are.”

“This…. this isn’t fair! I didn’t tease you when it was my go.”

“Guess I’m better at this than you then. Are your nipples ticklish?” With that he flicked his fingertips over my nipples. His hands were really cold and my nipples were really fucking ticklish. I started to moan through very gritted teeth and squeeze the back of my head very hard with my hands.

“It’s time to go on a magical journey – to your armpits!” Before I could react he was under my arms, scrabbling away like a man possessed, I was laughing now, but into my arm. I’d turned my face into my bicep, trying my best to muffle the cackles I was involuntarily emitting.

“Why does tickling make you laugh? It’s a strange reaction to have to something you obviously can’t stand.” I wasn’t in any mood to discuss the finer points of physiology so ignored him. I still hadn’t put my arms down even though I was dying. Jake moved his face down to my exposed chest and gave my left nipple a lick and a gentle bite. I shouted in shock and instantly dropped to my knees in a squat position, pulling down my shirt and rubbing my violated nipple.

“That was cheating! That was fucking cheating!”

Jake had stopped the timer and was showing me the screen. 1 minute 24 seconds. Fuck. I’d lost. Fuck!

“You lost, boy-o.”

“You cheated!”

“I don’t call it cheating. I call it winning.”

“Licking and/or biting were not allowed.”

“Did it tickle?”

“No. Not really. I guess in a way it did.”

“Tickling was allowed and that’s what I did.”

“I’m not letting that be counted.”

“So I guess this now means I get to tickle you whenever I want to and tell everyone we know how ticklish you are.”

“I will genuinely end you if you tell anyone.”

“But you’re ok with me tickling you whenever I want to?”

No. Fuck this, I’m going home.”

“It’s past 1 in the morning and it’s pissing it down. Stay here. I’ll lend you some clothes in the morning.”

“I don’t want to stay here.”

“Is that because staying at a friend’s house is only for big boys.”

“…. Fuck you.”

“Come to bed. I’ll let you tickle me if it makes you feel better.”

“Again, I don’t need your charity.”

“Get to bed, dickhead.”

I trudged down the hallway to Jake’s room. He was right, it was a dumb idea going home at this time and in this rain. I could borrow some clothes of his tomorrow and… and now my friend is taking off his clothes in front of me. Why does this feel so weird all of a sudden? Why am I looking anywhere but at his body? Now why am I staring at him? Christ, act normal!

“You can sleep in this.” Jake had thrown a worn but clean t-shirt at me. I half-turned away, took off my t-shirt, folded it and dropped it on the floor.

“Wait, is this one new?” Jake pulled me round to face him by my wrist, lifted my arm and lightly grazed his fingers across a small tattoo on my bicep, near the top of my arm.

“Fairly. I got it maybe… six months ago.”

“Why didn’t you show me?”

“Because I’m not shirtless around you very often?”

“That needs to change.” I had no idea how to respond so decided to take my shoes and then my jeans off instead. If in doubt, take your jeans off. So I’m standing there in just my boxers, looking at my best friend who’s climbing into bed wearing just his boxers. My life feels very complex at that moment. I pull on the t-shirt and get into his bed, clinging to the outside edge in a way I hope isn’t too obvious.

“Are my feet cold?” Jake pulled his feet up and pushed his toes into the front of my thighs.

“Jesus, yes! How the fuck is that even possible?”

“As payment for staying in my bed, you must warm them for me.” He scooted down to the end of the bed so he was lying the opposite way to me. I gave him a foot rub, occasionally accidentally-on-purpose grazing under his toes with my fingernails, or rubbing a little too lightly on his arch. He always rewarded me with a flinch, a sharp intake of breath or a giggle, but didn’t move away.

“We should do this more often.” He muttered sleepily.

“What? You should make me regress to my early childhood via tickling and I should reward you with a foot rub?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Next time can I tie you to the bed?”

“No you fucking can’t, pervert.”

“Alright, we’ll see.” He pulled his feet away and moved back to be lying the correct way in bed. I fell asleep pretty fast and only woke up at 7am when my alarm went off. I heard Jake let out an unhappy grunt behind me. He rolled over and put his arm over my side, spooning me. My t-shirt had ridden up in the night so he was lazily stroking his fingers across my stomach. It tickled a bit but it also felt really nice.

“I like your skin.”

‘Thanks. My skin fucking hates you. I need to get home and get ready for work.”

“Stay! You can shower here and I can lend you clothes for work.”

“Yeah I dunno… I should get back…” Then he started to nuzzle the back of my neck and my resolve abandoned me. I changed my alarm for 7.45 and went back to sleep.