you guys are in trouble because… i’m in a maniacal mood this particular time of day… and you’re just trying to go to the chiropractor—
“NEXT PATIENT PLEASE!”
oh look, it’s your turn already… go ahead, step into the realignment room. nothing to be afraid of, surely. just a routine stretch session.
once you’ve stepped into the room, the green walls that are supposed to be considered calming are just a bit bright for comfort. there is a little brown counter in the corner, complete with a sink, a couple of free hanging cabinets up top that probably store gloves and hand sanitizer, and cabinets below the sink that— probably store the same stuff. maybe some air freshener. soap.
you shuffle your feet across the carpeted floor to the desk that sits opposite of the counter. a smiling face is sitting across the desk, waiting for you to join them in the empty chair that’s been calling your name. that’s right, the chiropractic clinician is patiently awaiting your butt’s arrival to that chair, as they have been for the past 15 minutes. you’re late. how rude.
“hello there, i will be your chiropractor for today… let’s skip the initial exam consultation and jump right in, since we’re running a bit behind schedule… please, follow me.”
she stands up from the desk and steps sideways to begin walking over to a contraption that you’ve never seen before in all your years of coming to the same office. it must be a new development in chiropractic bodily science, you feel a concerning sensation brewing deep in your gut. the machine that she guides you to is described as a “posture correction and ligament stretching machine”, her words, not mine. i just work here, supposedly. unfortunately for you—
“please, sit down, place your arms into the suspension rig and we’ll get you fastened in… this machine will help you correct your posture as we run through a couple of basic, repetitive exercises. up and down arm movements and such… nothing fancy.”
her smile is so warm and comforting, you’re feeling completely safe at this point and that gut feeling has subsided, for now. you place your arms into the rig in front of you, there are about four or five tight buckles that constrict both of your arms straight and stretched out directly ahead. one more buckle is fastened around your middle, securing you into the chair completely. you shift slightly, testing the bounds of which you’ve just been locked into, they’re tight around your arms and you’d definitely need assistance to come out of that blasted machine alive.
“comfortable?…” she asks, reassuring you that there’s nothing to be afraid of and how highly successful this machine has been in assisting people with back pain. so successful even, that clients never come back— never come back? huh… wow, this machine must be magical.
the practitioner stands up and walks over to the wall, you watch as her hand goes to press a big yellow button that’s labeled ‘lift/lower’.
“once i press this button, your arms will be lifted above your head as high as they can go. this is a stretch used on all of our patients and has 100% success rate of significantly reducing lower back pain. here we go.”
press—
the machine whirs as it begins to lift your arms up slowly, raising them higher and higher above your head, until…
BEeEEeeeEpP!!!!
it comes to a halt, a loud buzzer sounds to let the physician know that you’re pulled up tight and ready to begin your session. the position you’re in is, very vulnerable. it’s okay, no need to fret or sweat, your physician knows boundaries and is extremely professional…
too bad she’s just stepped out of the room~
the fluorescent lights beam and buzz overhead as you flick your wrists back and forth above the machine. you look around the room, puzzled as to where that lady just ran off to. she didn’t even say anything, but she did leave the door cracked… hopefully she’ll be back soon. for your sake.
a couple of minutes have passed, and the physician still hasn’t come back to check on you. those suspended arms are beginning to get wobbly and weak against the restraints. aching even. you begin to wriggle uncomfortably. all you need is for someone to press that yellow button again to release you from the tight hold of that mechanical rig. the hissing from the machine’s hydraulic system is becoming louder with every agonizing minute that slips by.
you peer over to the door, and just as you look at the slightly parted crack, a twitchy set of fingers grip the thick wood… slowly pushing it open into your exam room.
and there i am, standing, with a broom in hand and a lollipop in my mouth. i flash you a sharp smile as the candy clinks against my teeth.
“hello…” i say, closing the door quietly behind myself. “i am the janitor, just here to… sweep the floor.”
“um, the floor in this room is carpet…” you say suspiciously as i look down to my shoes and beyond them to the obviously carpeted floor. “actually, i don’t think there’s a single room or space in this office that isn’t carpet…” your furrowed, confused eyebrows look delicious as i realize my cover just might’ve been blown. fuck, rookie mistake. it’s alright though, you’re not going anywhere anytime soon…
i continue my little janitor act, beginning to sweep the already freshly vacuumed carpet. there isn’t a crumb in sight, but i keep on sweeping. you sit, suspended in suspense and absolute silence as you watch me rigorously sweep against the rough, clinically brown carpet. the sound of those scratchy broom bristles against the scruffy carpet sound like nails on a chalkboard.
ssssshhhhhhkkkk— SSSSSHHHKKKK—
“u- um, excuse me… mister… er— miss? um, janitor person. excuse me…” you interrupt my absolute god like flow state of sweeping the carpet. i stop and look up at you, playing with the lollipop in my mouth that i totally didn’t steal from the front desk out of a jar that says ‘free candy, for kids :)’.
“can i help you with something, can’t you see i’m busy here?… i’m ready to go home, but i was sent into this dreadful room to ‘check the status of the patient’. strictly going off of my own professional visual assessment, i’d say you’re fine. so, i think i’ll continue my very useful sweeping until your chiro comes back in.”
SHHHKKKKK—
“EXCUSE ME!!!!” you finally yell, your arms are burning at this point and you’re dying to get out of that machine. “could you please step over to that yellow button on the wall and press it, my arms are killing me. please, i’m begging you.”
i straighten up my stance and actually take a really good look at your entire situation. your head is slightly hung over while your arms are pulled rigorously straight above your head, you cannot move an inch and it’s a wickedly beautiful sight for someone with ulterior intentions such as i. it really is. i lean the broom against the desk and walk over to the flashing yellow button.
“you mean, this button?…” i point at it, pretending to be completely oblivious. “this button is only for authorized personnel to press… unfortunately i am not one of those people. i am just the janitor that is one more call out away from getting fired, i’m not trying to test my luck today. you’ll have to wait for your physician to come back… but until then…” my voice is dripping with malice while i make my way over to your compromised position, you begin to shift as far away from me as physically possible, but i continue to creep closer to you.
“how does this machine feel?… secure? tight? does this machine make you feel particularly vulnerable in any specific places?… maybe, your underarms? they seem to be a bit exposed right now… how are you coping with that? do you feel more or less vulnerable with me in the room? why?” i begin to spout stupid, gut wrenching questions at you while i circle the contraption sat in the middle of the room. your eyebrow twitches and you begin to involuntarily blush at my flustering, bombarding, totally deranged questions.
finally, i stop behind you, completely out of sight. the questions stop. it all stops. all that can be heard is the hissing of that god awful machine that’s forcing you to experience mild muscle strain in your arms, considering how long you’ve been in there. 5 minutes, you complete weakling.
“your back looks so much straighter already… let’s see how your posture holds up against some physical pressure… shall we?” i snark from behind you. then you see them. those same twitchy fingers that pushed the door open? they’re hovering, wiggling beside both of your outstretched and delicate underarms. good thing you wore a short sleeve shirt, that ought to give you some type of covera—
—yoink!
my pointer fingers slide directly into the cotton tshirt you decided to wear for your appointment today, hooking both of the loose sleeves and pulling them downwards, exposing your entirely too soft for composure and delectably irresistible underarm skin to the elements. those elements being MY SQUIRMY FINGERS.
i don’t strike yet. oh no, that would be too easy. the sound of your ragged, pleading breath is music to my ears. your head is desperately trying to twist around and get a glimpse of the menacing smile i wear behind you. too bad for you, you can’t see a thing of me, just the big, bright, beaming window of total freedom directly ahead. if only you had jumped out of it before even making eye contact with that blasted, disappearing act magician physician.
“w- wait— wait, we can talk about this… WAIT. FUCKING WAIT PLEASSE PLEASE WAIT. WHAT IS THIS. I CAME HERE FOR A ROUTINE SPINAL REALIGNMENT AND FINISHING MASSAGE… NOT— WHATEVER THIS IS!!!” i continue to smirk quietly as you hear that damn lollipop clinking against my big chompy teeth, once again. i just have my pointer fingers extended now, bent in a hook shape that is aimed perfectly toward your quivering hollows. i wiggle them slowly, giving you a fabulously clear visual of what’s about to unleash into the deepest parts of your axillary cavities. you let your head swing backwards, kicking your legs and feet violently against the chair.
“this is standard procedure for this machine… didn’t the chiro tell you that?… consider this your ‘finishing massage’, or whatever you were going on about… hold still.”
you bite your lower lip hard while your eyes are locked onto my fingers that are just millimeters away from your deepest weakness. you can’t decide which hand to focus on, causing you to frantically thrash your head from side to side, trying to calculate which finger is going to make contact first.
“FUCK STOP P- P- PLEASE!!!! THIS BETTER NOT BE AN EXTRA CHARGE OR SO HELP ME GOD—“
“tips are always welcomed. fingertips, that is. heh.”
DIG—
those threatening fingertips finally dropped into your heavily nerve filled crevices, digging incessantly into the deepest hollows that are your outstretched underarms. and you’re forced to sit there and take it. your laughter absolutely explodes into the fluorescently lit room, those eyes crinkle and well up with tears almost instantaneously. you weren’t ready for that tight little bubble of anticipation to pop at such breakneck speed. back and forth, your head shakes as you pull at those relentless restraints, begging that some type of miracle happens and the machine releases you mid torment. but, don’t worry. that won’t be happening.
“tickle, tickle, tickle… awwwhhh— is this the most horrid and unimaginable feeling your little underarms have ever been forced to endure in your entire existence?… please, do tell… i hope the answer is a guttural cry for mercy—“
you continue to shake your head side to side, tears streaming down your face as you thrash and scream for assistance.
“WHHWHEWHAAAATTT IHIHISSSS THIHISSSAAAAHAHAHAAH!!!!— PLEEEEEHEHEHEAAASSEEE QUIHIT DOING THHAAATTT!!! GAHAH CUHUHUT IT OUUUTTT!!! SOMEBODyYYY HEHEHEEELLPPP MEEEE!!!”
you arch your back helplessly against the leather padded chair and belts that keep you fastened into your intolerable demise, forcing your to ingest the scribbling mayhem that is currently being unleashed into those highly defenseless armpits. my fingers dig so deeply into the overstimulated muscles, you begin to choke on your own breathless laughter. it’s delicious. really. it is.
i’m eating you alive and you can’t do anything about it.
you can feel my lips brush against your ear as i whisper— “does it tickle?… how badly?…”
“GAAAAHAAHHHAHAH MERRRRCCYYYYYAHAHAHAHA!!!! FUHUHUHCCNJKKKK!!! GEHEHEEETTT MEHEEEE OUUUT OHOHOFFF HEHEHEEERREEE!!!”
you’re so adorable, aren’t you?… so incredibly, adorably HELPLESS and you have fallen directly into the wrong, advantage-taking hands… haven’t you?…
finally, i pull my squirmy fingers back and step away to admire my terrifyingly well done work. i walk around to the front of the chair to see you, sweaty and head hung low in defeat. its actually eatable. edible. it’s fucking divine, how out of breath and still giggly you are. you’ll twitch after every second or two that passes, heaving heavily, hoping my fingers don’t suddenly return to tickle the snot out of you once more. are the phantom tickles still clouding your banging brain? i bet they are…
“you pass! you’ve done it. you passed the test that i totally just made up on the spot and holds no real relevance to your chiropractic appointment today, congratulations.”
after i say that, you slowly lift your head to look at me through your stringy, sweat drenched hair. still, a looming smile is plastered onto your face, all thanks to me. you’re welcome.
“i— aaahaah— i wahahant—” you begin to say quietly through the reflexive giggles and stomach contractions.
“yeeeessss… you want?… MORE? YOU WANT SOME MORE?” your head jerks up right when those words leave my malicious, smiling mouth as your body instinctually tries so desperately to turn away from me and my suspiciously casual stride back over to you.
“I WANT TO SPEAK WITH YOUR MANAGER!!!” you squeakily scream out into the hot, sticky air that surrounds you. i stop in front of you, grabbing the broom that i strolled in here with and leaning against it smugly.
“manager?…m- MANAGER? HAHAHHAAAAA— HAH!!!! HAHAHAHAH!!! HAH!! hah… ha.. ahem. good one. guess what?… jokes on you—“ i twirl the broom in my hand and look at you with a sparkly little tear in my eye, born entirely from laughing so hard at your stupidity, “i don’t even work here.”
your eyes widen as i wipe the tear from my eye and wink at you charmingly. i then give your underarms another little poke, one in each hollow, just to hear you scream one last time before turning to leave through the same door that i snuck in through.
you’re left alone, entirely too giggly and dumbfounded at the this whole situation, and yet you’re still… stuck. in the same exact, tendon stretching situation you started with. you hang your head again, beginning to laugh and shake your head in utter disbelief. what kind of business are these people RUNNING?!!
“i am so sorry, i hope i wasn’t gone for too long—“ someone walks through the doorway just after i’ve left the pitiful crime scene. it’s the physician. that fucking physician that initially left you to squirm against my fingers, unbeknownst to her of course.
“let’s get you out of this machi—“ she starts, but you cut her off out of pure unforgiving rage.
“YOU DID THIS!!!!! YOUUUUU!!! YOUUHAHAAYOU DID THIS TO ME!!!!” you scream at her through sweat and tears as she reaches for the button.
she stares at you confused and in shock of your extremely fatigued state, completely forgetting to press the button and release you.
“oh goodness, let me get my manager—” she darts out of the door again. and there you are. STILL FUCKING STUCK. you just can’t catch a break, can you?…
right when you lift your head again to look out the open door into the waiting room, there i am. standing in the doorway, wiggling my fingers in your direction just to tease you.
“tickle tickle…” i smirk.
“HELP!! HEEEELLPPPP!!! SOMEBODY HELP MEEEE!!!—“
“haha, maybe we should go for a second round?… what do you say?”
“HELLLLLLPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!”
“here comes the tickle monster~”
so, are you available around this time next year for your yearly visit? let me know, so i can put you on the schedule… i won’t tickle you… that hard.
-rib :3 <3
