Featherscape Tickle Story Collection

Ticklish Weekend at Auntie's - Part 2

The drive home became an enlightened familiarity for Valerie over the following weeks; a bittersweet ritual of reflection. The landmarks that passed both going to and coming from her aunt’s house became much more recognizable. The teenage girl relied much less heavily on the use of her phone’s GPS and more on an ingrained constance of repetition. Valerie learned the way to her aunt’s house and back home as easily as navigating her own home town within a month. The four weeks succeeding her first weekend away at Auntie Marilyn’s house, Valerie kept in friendly contact with the woman. Every friday, she would drive the four hours after school to go stay with her aunt, only to return home the Sunday afternoon, filled with refreshing invigoration. Grinning with complacency, Valerie drove home, one arm hanging out of the open window, thinking how tickle torture at the hands of her aunt, as strange as it seemed, felt better than any massage she had ever received before in her life.

With the rushing of the wind and a track by AC/DC turned up to maximum volume, Valerie almost failed to notice her phone start to ring beside her. She quickly rolled up her window and turned down the radio. She checked the screen to see that it was her mother.

“Hey mom,” said Valerie, holding the phone up to her ear with one hand.

“Hey, Val,” replied Cynthia. “When do you think you’ll make it home tonight?”

“I’m about an hour away now,” said Valerie. “Why?”

“Your father and I are taking Gary to the hospital,” said Cynthia. “He’s not feeling well.”

“Oh no, is he all right?” asked Valerie.

“Yeah, your dad and I think it’s just a little stomach bug, but we’re going to go double check anyway,” said Cynthia. “I’ll need you to keep an eye on Conner tonight if we don’t make it back by the time you get here.” Valerie sighed.

“Fine,” said Valerie. “Sure, of course. Just don’t take too long.”

“We’ll try not to,” said Cynthia. “Get home as soon as you can. Fix whatever you want in the kitchen tonight for dinner. Drive safe.”

“Yes, mom,” said Valerie, mocking the shallow anguish of youth in her voice.

“I love you,” said Cynthia. Valerie smiled.

“Love you too,” said Valerie. “Bye.” Valerie hung up before she heard her mother repeat back her deviation from the conversation. The remainder of the drive was spent in complacent remembrance of her weekends spent at her aunt's house to a string of 1980s classics. Valerie never imagined an insignificant act such as tickling to be the catalyst for such a dramatic shift in her attitude and perspective. She found herself smiling more throughout the week. She appreciated more in life, taking fewer and fewer treasures for granted. Valerie paid better attention in class and helped out more around the house. Those closest to her began taking notice and asking questions about her change in mood, to which she would stammer out a cover for the truth, too embarrassed to let anyone know that she was her aunt’s personal tickle toy.

Valerie most recently spent the majority of her Saturday night, and subsequently her Sunday morning, attached to device resembling closely a medieval torture rack, with her arms and legs splayed out and immobilized. Her aunt took to having Valerie dress in short, thin gowns while accompanying her in the room.Her underarms, tummy, soles, and toes were covered with a sensitizing agent and sprinkled with her Auntie’s homemade itching powder, creating a mixture invoking constant ticklish sensations across the delicate skin, easily stimulated by the swipe of a feather. Before she left, Marilyn gave the girl a single jar of each by her request, so that Valerie could still experience those same tickling feelings at home. With her elbow hanging out of the driver’s side window, Valerie allowed the rushing breeze to brush up against what still remained of the mixture inside her armpit, causing her to giggle in her own ticklish glee the entire rest of the drive home.