Hey Tumblr! I'm just an angel, standing in front of the internet, asking it to read her smut 😇
This blog will include a lot of my nsfw thoughts, MOODS, and submissive fantasies about being tickled and humiliated, along with some occasional ler-Angel chaos #justswitchthings
If that's your idea of a good time, and if you're over 18, welcome!
(m/f, mmm/f, non-con, demeaning, forced age regression, tickle/baby talk)
[I didn't expect a whole nine months between Part 1 and this sequel, but here we are. Hello again, Tumblr, I've missed being smutty here.
Link to Part 1]
~~Two months later~~
My next-door neighbor Eddie gives me the best tickles! He’s probably 20 years older than me, and I think of him as Uncle Eddie. He’s like the kind of older guy that you call an uncle because he knows how silly you can be sometimes – and he knows just how to deal with it!
Some people might find him off-putting because of his cringe comments, grubby clothes, and habit of talking to women’s chests, but not me. I love spending time with Uncle Eddie, sitting on his lap while he tickles me and trains me to be his giggly, well-behaved plaything. A small voice in the back of my mind occasionally protests that Eddie is, in fact, a dirty old man who has no business trying to train anyone, but that voice is always overridden by a warm flush of pleasure at the thought of Eddie’s hands roaming over my ticklish body.
Whenever Eddie invites his buddies over, he expects me to present myself at his doorstep at 7pm sharp wearing something revealing. Tonight I spotted the extra cars in Eddie’s driveway as I got home from work and felt all fluttery at the thought of a long summer night as the tickle toy of Uncle Eddie and his friends. I changed into a string bikini and cutoff shorts, and I carefully put my hair in pigtails before putting on my flip-flops and walking across the lawn to join the party.
Uncle Eddie came to the door wearing my favorite sweat-stained undershirt and trackpants. He set down the beer he was holding on a side table and wiggled his fingers in front of my mid-section. I blushed, giggled, and assumed the position, clasping my hands together behind my back and sticking my chest out.
“Tickle tickle tickle,” he cooed, spidering his fingers all over my tummy. “I’ve got your tickle tummy.”
I squirmed and danced in place. My girlish giggles filled the air. Uncle Eddie had gone straight for my most submissive tickle spot, leaving me no time to put up a token resistance or act shy about how much I loved his attentions. I immediately became a good little tickle-doll, compelled to obey Uncle Eddie’s every command with a vacuous grin. It was heaven.
I was still wiggling in the doorway, my laughter probably audible to our other neighbors. That small faraway voice in my head wondered if any of them could see me, but the thought was immediately replaced by the warm certainty that Uncle Eddie was my rightful master, and why shouldn’t people see me as the silly, ticklish little girl that I am?
Eddie’s hands were still maddeningly tickling my belly as he continued teasing me. “Coochie coochie coo,” he said.
An instinctive cry of “No!” escaped my lips, and Eddie swiftly covered my mouth with one hand, the other continuing to spider my tummy. He often liked to prevent me from doing big-girl things like talking back when he tickled me. “Little girls can’t talk to the grown-ups at the party – they just giggle. Isn’t that right?”
I nodded contritely. My hands were still firmly clasped behind me, and Uncle Eddie’s eyes on me made me helpless to do anything else but laugh and squirm.
“Good,” he said, switching to poking my middle. “But remember, the party guests can use you for their amusement tonight. They’ll also tickle your tum-tum whenever they want. And when they do, you’ll be a good girl and do everything they command, right?”
I nodded again, still squealing with laughter. My eyes were scrunched closed against his ruthless tickles and deliciously humiliating words.
Eddie finally stopped tickling me and let me inside. As I slipped out of my flip-flops and walked down the hallway toward the living room, I thought back to the weeks of training that I’d undergone that summer. Uncle Eddie had been so patient with my silly protests and initial reluctance.
When Eddie had finally freed me from his lap the first time he tickled me, it was on the condition that I come back the very next day so he could tickle me again. He’d held my mail and my flip-flops hostage, forcing me to stumble home with fewer possessions – and a lot less dignity – than I came with. After that evening’s ordeal, I’d been so rattled and desperate to get home that I agreed to his terms. I’d have done just about anything to escape those endless tickles, the sickening “coochie coos,” and the hungry way he looked at me. How little I knew then!
The next day, after work I changed into a long-sleeved shirt tucked into jeans, despite the June heat. I told myself that I’d march right past the old man, quickly grab my mail and shoes, and hightail it out of there, threatening to file a restraining order if he ever so much as looked at me again.
Things didn’t go quite as planned.
I stood on Eddie’s stoop and knocked firmly on the door. The late afternoon sun beat down on me as I heard his slow footsteps approaching, covering me in a film of sweat and magnifying the fatigue I already felt from everything I’d endured the night before.
My neighbour opened the door with a wide grin. “I knew you’d come back,” he said. “We had fun last night, didn’t we?”
Jesus, did he really think I’d felt anything but terror and disgust while he was torturing me? I didn’t want to waste one more unnecessary second on this sociopath’s property.
Ignoring his question, I said, “Give me my mail and my shoes, please.” I felt such revulsion that I was having a hard time keeping my voice neutral, but I was determined not to give Eddie anything to latch onto and prolong the conversation.
Eddie’s grin turned steely, and the sweat running down my back turned cold as ice. “Come inside, and I’ll get your mail from the living room. Your adorable flip-flops are on the shoe rack in the entryway – you can grab them yourself.”
Ugh, stepping into that house again was the last thing I wanted to do, but how much danger could I be in standing in the entrance while Eddie walked to the living room on his creaky old legs? I took a few cautious steps inside, turned toward the shoe rack on my left, and came face to face with Joe, Eddie’s mulletted friend from the night before. He got me in a headlock while another one of Eddie’s muscular cronies came up behind me, cuffed my wrists together behind my back, and then cuffed my ankles together.
No, not again! This couldn’t be happening. I didn’t deserve this. I’d done everything sensibly, treating Eddie like a human being even after what he’d done to me, and here I was, being forced back into his house of horrors.
The two men carried me all the way through the living room, where Eddie hadn’t even pretended to get my mail, and into what I can only assume was Eddie’s bedroom. I writhed in their arms, frantic to escape, but I was no match for their combined strength.
“Let me go, you fucking monsters,” I shouted. “Let me go right now or I’ll call the cops. You’ll spend the rest of your pathetic lives in prison.”
Their only response was to deposit me onto the bed, wrestle my shirt and jeans off me, and hold me down. Eddie came in holding my mail in one hand and a gag shaped like… was that a pacifier?... in the other. He silently placed the mail on a dresser and walked towards me, shoved the gag into my mouth, and fastened the strap behind my head. I tried to bite his hand, but his movements were swift, as if he’d done this hundreds of times before. God, what if he had? What if this demon who lived next door had mistreated scores of victims before me? Where were they all now?
I couldn’t spare more than a moment for these hypothetical victims. My own all-too-real torment was at hand, and damned if I was just going to lie there and take it. Behind my gag, I continued screaming, hoping some less deranged neighbour would hear me and send help. I bucked as much as I could beneath the weight of Eddie’s friends, but I couldn’t make any headway.
“You have so much to learn, little girl,” said Eddie.
I glared at him and unleashed a string of muffled curses that would have scandalized a sailor, if only they – or anyone else – could have heard me.
Eddie reached behind my back and released the clasp that linked my cuffed wrists. “Wayne,” he said to his mulletted friend, “keep hold of her right arm.”
Wayne grabbed my right arm in his iron grip, brought it from behind my back to my side and then forced it above my head. At my other side, Eddie was doing the same with my left arm while Joe sat on my thighs. Eddie secured first my left wrist cuff and then my right one to a clip on the headboard right above my head. I resisted with all my might, but it didn’t even slow him down. He and his goons held fast to my limbs, and as Eddie unbuttoned my shirt I realized I’d better save my strength for what was to come.
I let Joe and Wayne remove my jeans and secure my ankles to the footboard, one at each corner, with minimal protest. After all, it was pointless to tire myself out on a futile attempt to escape. But something in me whispered that I had another reason for submitting to the bondage. A tiny, docile voice was becoming audible within me, making this whole situation worse.
Let Eddie be in charge, it whispered. He’ll tell you how to earn your escape, and all you’ll have to do is obey him. He’ll be happy, and you’ll be happy.
There was something oddly soothing about the thought of everyone involved in this absurd scenario being happy. Sure, I wanted to spare myself from torture, but I had to admit that the idea of making someone else happy through my actions was a little seductive. But I couldn’t possibly care about my creepy neighbour’s happiness. What was going on here?
Once I was tied in an inverted Y shape, Eddie sat down by my left shoulder. Looking straight into my eyes, he said, “Listen closely, you naughty girl.”
That snapped me out of my moment of compliance. My eyes flashed with indignation, but Eddie ignored this and continued.
“Surely you remember all those yummy tummy tickles I gave you yesterday. And surely you remember how much you loved them.” As he spoke, he grinned and wiggled his fingers in front of my face.
Even as I snarled beneath the gag that Eddie should be locked up in solitary confinement for the rest of his miserable life, the small traitorous part of me perked up. The gentler tickles had felt comparatively nice. But I couldn’t listen to those thoughts – Stockholm syndrome shouldn’t be setting in already. I shook my head angrily, trying to will Eddie’s disgusting words and his stupid wiggling fingers out of existence. My attitude, of course, didn’t faze him.
“Such a silly tickle toy,” he said mildly. “Now, I’m going to remove your gag, and I want you to tell me that you like my gentle tummy tickles. It’s only the truth, after all. Even a silly little baby like you should be able to manage that.”
I swear I am not a violent person, but I wanted to throttle Eddie until his head popped off his neck like a cartoon character. As he bent over me to take the pacifier gag from my mouth, I tried to headbutt him, but he dodged me.
Eddie popped the gag out of my mouth, and I started to say, “Go to h—” but the asshole began squeezing an especially ticklish spot on my ribs and my words dissolved into shrieks of laughter. He set the gag aside and now both his hands were on my ribs, forcing uncontrollable cackles from me.
“I’m not angry,” Eddie said, “just disappointed. I know you can be a good girl if you try. Go on and say you like my tummy tickles – you can do it. Just tell me the truth and this torture stops.”
My pride screamed in protest, but I couldn’t take much more of his rib tickling. Then, a new, much worse, sensation joined the onslaught. Joe had sat on my right thigh, facing away from me, and he began sawing a hairbrush back and forth over my foot at lightning speed.
I wailed like a woman possessed. Every nerve in my foot was on fire. I wanted to crawl out of my skin, gnaw off my own leg, do anything to stop the horrible tickling. I hated this more than I’ve ever hated anything in my entire life.
“I like it!” I cried. “You win! Stop, stop, I like it!”
Immediately, the tickling stopped, just like Eddie said it would. I was shocked that someone so odious had enough honour to keep his word, but I grew infinitely more shocked when Eddie began gently stroking my hair.
“That’s a good girl,” he said softly.
He repeated the motion and the words, almost rhythmically, as my heartrate slowed and my breathing returned to normal. I knew this must be part of his “good cop” contrast to his friends’ merciless “bad cop” personas, but damn, Eddie was good at hair stroking. Why couldn’t he act like this all the time? He’d be downright bearable as a neighbour if he did.
I fought to hold on to my anger under Eddie’s soothing touch and sweet words. I didn’t want to be his good girl; I wanted my autonomy back. Are you sure? asked the submissive voice within me.
After a few blessed minutes of Eddie’s gentleness, he asked, in the same soft tone, “What is it that you like, my good girl?”
Ah, there was the anger. I had almost forgotten what I’d said to make the horrible tickling stop. Despite how good it felt to be praised and preened, no way was I telling him that I liked it when he tickled my tummy. First of all, that was totally, 100%, untrue. I mean, it was infinitely less torturous than the hairbrush on my feet, but that didn’t mean I liked it. And second of all, I couldn’t forget that Eddie was a creep, and any moments of apparent kindness were just manipulation to keep me in his sweaty clutches. Don’t give in, I told myself.
In the most even voice I could manage, I said, “I’d like you to untie me and let me go home, now.”
Eddie sighed. He looked a little sad, as if I’d proposed canceling Christmas, and then nodded to his friends.
I braced myself for the jolt of the hairbrush on my right foot again, but I got a sinking feeling when I felt Wayne climb onto the bed and sit on my left leg. I nearly jumped out of my skin when I felt twin hairbrushes raking across both of my feet at the same time.
It took only a few seconds until I was begging for mercy this time. As before, I managed to say, “I’ll do anything” in between my incoherent laughter and shrieking. And as before, Eddie gave the signal to pause the tickling and calmly said, “Tell Uncle Eddie that you like his gentle tummy tickles.”
For a second, I actually considered saying it. After all, I told myself, I didn’t have to mean it. I’d just say the line, he’d cover my belly with the softest, gentlest tickles that would make me giggle almost happily, almost as if I didn’t mind him touching me like that—
Snap out of it, I admonished myself. Eddie wasn’t a man of honour that I could ever trust to be gentle. The realization gave me a surprising twinge of sadness, but I ignored it, hardening my heart against that perverse desire.
“No,” I said. “Untie m—”
Before I could finish my sentence, Joe and Wayne had descended on me again. I thrashed and screamed while the fiery touch of the hairbrushes covered every inch of my soles. After only a minute, they abruptly stopped, and I heard something being squirted out of a bottle, followed by the two meatheads chuckling. I flinched at the touch of their hands rubbing something cold and wet onto my feet. No sooner did I recognize the scent of baby oil than the hairbrushes returned to my soles, skating across them with devastating ease. I didn’t think it was possible, but the oil made it tickle even worse. My feet were trapped in their iron grips, each bristle of the hairbrush locked onto an overstimulated nerve ending. I shook my head from side to side, cackling wildly, my hair whipping around me in a sweaty halo. I couldn’t take another second of this torture.
“I’ll say it!” I cried. “Whatever you want, I’ll say it.”
I was panting hard, and my throat was getting hoarse from screaming. I needed to get out of this fucked-up house. Surely no moments of praise or hair-stroking could make up for the agony I’d just suffered… no matter how tempting it was to do as my neighbour wished and melt under the glow of his approval.
Mercifully, the hairbrushes stopped. Eddie leaned down, tilted my chin up with one finger, and said, “You brought this all on yourself, naughty girl. You know what Uncle Eddie wants to hear.”
There was a long pause while I tried to catch my breath. Although I knew it was my only chance to make the tickle torture stop for good, now that the moment had come I just couldn’t bring myself to say those words. It would be crossing a line, putting myself even more fully in Eddie’s power than I already was. I didn’t dare say no to him again, but I just couldn’t say yes. I could only stare up at him with pleading eyes.
Eddie simply shook his head, snapped his fingers, and placed his hand over my mouth. Instantly, Joe and Wayne resumed scraping the hairbrushes across my oiled soles, and I was back in hell. One of Eddie’s big, sweaty hands muffled my cries, which grew even more hysterical as his other hand reached down to squeeze my thigh. Of course, he knew the exact spot right above my knee where it tickled the most, and he kneaded it with military precision. Desperation kept me straining against my bondage, but exhaustion was setting in. My muscles burned with the futility of my flailing. My lungs ached from wave after wave of silent laughter.
I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t make it stop. My energy was draining away, and with it the last of my defiance. The tiny voice in my head whispered that Eddie and his friends would never see me as anything but a plaything. He controlled everything I felt, and I was powerless to do anything about it. He’ll be gentle if you just give in. Be his good girl, and you can rest.
Tears streamed from my eyes, and from behind Eddie’s hand I began sobbing.
“Aww, does that tickle too much, little girl?” he asked, his squeezes still sending ticklish jolts through my thigh.
My muffled cries grew louder.
“Have you finally learned to be a good tickle toy for Uncle Eddie?”
Through my sobs, I nodded meekly. The hairbrushes were still tickling my feet unbearably, but I didn’t have the strength to struggle anymore.
“You want my gentle tummy tickles instead of these mean tickles, don’t you?”
I nodded again. Any form of gentleness would be like water in the desert compared to what I’d just suffered.
“And are you ready to ask nicely for them?”
I nodded more emphatically. I was just about ready to sell a kidney for them.
Eddie smiled, releasing his dual grips on my thigh and my mouth. “Take five, boys,” he told Joe and Wayne, who silently dropped the hairbrushes, got off my legs, and shuffled out of the room.
Eddie gave me a tissue to dry my eyes with and let me sip water from a cup on the nightstand. The tenderness of these gestures, along with the fact that his thuggish friends were out of sight, made my helplessness somehow easier to accept.
Gazing down at my sweaty, flushed face, my neighbour didn’t have to remind me what to say this time. He just made a clawing motion with his hand hovering above my belly, and I giggled shyly.
The words came out easily after all: “Please tickle my tummy, Uncle Eddie. I—I like your gentle tummy tickles.”
With that, Eddie picked up one of the hairbrushes. Panic flooded me, and I began to whimper. “Please,” I begged, “no more hairbrushes. Please tickle my tummy. I’ll be good, Uncle Eddie. I’ll do anything you want, I promise. Please, please, tickle my tummy instead!”
To my surprise, instead of tormenting my poor feet again, my neighbour started brushing my hair in soothing, rhythmic strokes. The sudden relief and emotional whiplash of it brought fresh tears to my eyes.
“Uh uh, no more crying. Let’s turn that frown upside-down,” Eddie said, pausing his brushing to tickle me softly under my chin. His words and the tickly sensation made me chuckle and scrunch up my neck. It was a ridiculous thing to say in the face of my distress, but in a twisted way it gave me hope that the worst was over and Eddie really did want to make me happy.
“What a cute little thing you are,” said Eddie. “Now, who wants a tummy tickle?”
“I do, I do!” I said, eager as a child being offered an ice cream cone. I knew it was what Eddie wanted to hear, but I realized in that moment that it was also true. I did want him to tickle my tummy in that gentle way he had that made me feel silly and playful. Heaven help me, but after the rough treatment I’d endured I was actually looking forward to it, especially since I knew that I could please him with my submission.
“Good girl,” Eddie said, making his hand into a claw again and this time lowering it so that the clawing motion grazed my waiting belly.
Immediately I erupted in giggles. My body had come to expect the harsh squeezing and scratching tickles that I’d been subjected to all evening, but I was defenseless against the soft, skittering tickles that now covered my tummy.
Eddie’s fingers tickled so much, but in a fun way. I didn’t want to scream or run away. I only wanted to squirm feebly until the last of my strength gave out, and then just lie there giggling and taking my tickles like a good girl.
Eddie seemed to read my mind, demanding nothing of me but giggles for long minutes at a time. He kept up his playful teases while I laughed myself silly.
“Tickle toy loves my coochie coos.”
“I think this is your good-girl spot. Good little girls get their tummies tickled.”
“What a terribly ticklish little tum-tum.”
When Eddie did pause his tummy tickling, I couldn’t help but give a soft moan of protest. I feared he would go back to being mean, and all my laughter had given me an adrenaline rush that kept a goofy grin on my face.
“I wonder,” said Eddie, “if this little girl would like more of these nice tummy tickles. Or does she want the hairbrushes back on her feet?”
Traumatized from the foot tickling and lulled from the tummy tickling, I had no more resistance in me. Automatically I said, “I want more nice tummy tickles, please!”
I felt too dazed to bother saying that what I really wanted all along was to get the hell out of there… or to ask myself if that was even true anymore.
I didn’t have a chance to ponder that or anything else. With a “Coochie coochie coo,” Eddie’s skillful fingers resumed their feathery spidering over my tummy, and all rational thought was drowned in helpless giggles.
I protested no more that night. With a worn-out body and a shattered will, I submitted to Eddie’s gentle tickling for another hour before he finally untied me. The whole time, I could only feel a hazy sort of relief that I’d “earned” mere humiliation instead of more unbearable torture.
“Look who’s finally turning into a happy, giggly little thing,” said Eddie, lazily dragging a finger down my side. “It feels nice to be a good girl, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” I replied dreamily, barely even squirming anymore. “It feels so nice.”
I was still in a fog when Eddie helped me up from the bed, handed me my mail and shoes, and scooted me out the door with a gentle pat on my bum.
“You’ll be good for Uncle Eddie and come back for more tummy tickles tomorrow, won’t you, tickle toy?”
In that moment – tortured, teased, tickled, and finally trained – I couldn’t think of anything better.
“Oh, yes, Uncle Eddie. I’ll come back for more tickles. I’ll be so good for you.”
I entered the living room to catcalls and whistles, and I beamed as Uncle Eddie announced, “The tickle toy has arrived!”
He sat down in his armchair and wordlessly pulled me onto his lap. I sat with my legs sideways across his and kicked my feet excitedly. He made a clawing motion with his right hand, and I squealed as he slowly brought it closer to me. I couldn’t wait for his tummy tickles, but clever Uncle Eddie tricked me! At the last second, he reached up and tickled under my chin instead, making me chuckle and shake my pigtails from side to side.
“Such a good little girl,” said Uncle Eddie.
“Let’s see about that,” said Joe, laughing along with me. He walked over and knelt down at my feet, which were still weakly flailing. “Remember when you were naughty and we had to hold you down?”
By now, I knew how each one of Uncle Eddie’s friends liked to use me, and as Joe spoke I lowered my gaze and nodded meekly. He ran a finger slowly up and down my sole, and I did my best to hold my foot still for him. That task became even harder when Joe put my big toe in his mouth, worming his tongue all around it.
I yelped and flinched, and Uncle Eddie cleared his throat meaningfully. Immediately contrite, I managed to squeak out “I’m sorry, Joe, sir!” in between peals of laughter.
Joe relinquished my foot and smirked. “I think somebody forgot her tickle training. Maybe we should tie you up and give you another good-girl lesson tonight.”
Eddie took up the idea, saying, “A tickle toy can never have too many lessons. Prove you want to be a good girl and ask for more tickle training.”
Ew, a small voice inside me whispered. Joe is so gross. They’re all gross. What am I doing here? Then I looked up at Eddie’s wiggling fingers, and the small voice was silenced for good. Uncle Eddie always knew best. A blissful calm descended over me as I grinned and said, “Please give me more tickle training, Uncle Eddie!”
My giggles and squeals filled the air as his fingers found my tummy once more.
Gang tickled but I’m sat in the middle seat of a car, a long journey awaiting me, hands tied behind my head. One ler either side of me, my feet sat in the lap of the passenger. The driver coos and teases me the whole drive, and I have no idea how long I’ll be stuck there at their mercy (or lack thereof).
No Nut November but I get to edge and tease you every day and if you give up and demand to finish, I get to tickle you to tears every day for the rest of the month.
Go look at yourself in the mirror and repeat these out loud if you feel you need to! (substitute every mention of the word tickle and its variants with t-word if you can't say it)
Lee Affirmations
Lers would love to tickle me
I am fun to tickle
My laugh is cute
My body is cute and tickleable
I deserve to be tickled in the ways I want it the most.
I deserve to have a ler that makes me feel safe.
Ler Affirmations
I am skilled at tickling others
I give great teases
I deserve to have a lee that makes me feel safe.
I am allowed to have preferences in how I tickle others and where.
I am allowed to become fatigued during long sessions
I deserve aftercare just as much as my lee does
Switch Affirmations
I am allowed to be in specific moods at specific times
I deserve to have my current mood treated seriously by my play partners
I am a fun play partner
I am allowed to reject advances that require me to be in a specific mood
It is okay for me to switch during a session
My current mood does not define me
General Affirmations for Everyone
I deserve to be treated with kindness
I am allowed to pause a session if I need a break
I deserve to have my boundaries respected
I am allowed to reject advances from others
I am more than my kinks
It is okay for me to not be in the mood to play with others
Please comment and reblog with your favorite affirmations that you don't see here!
You shared some tickle-edging stories from literotica that you enjoyed a while ago and I LOVED them but I've been struggling to find anything similar. Do you have any more/new recommendations for stories?
Hi!! I’m glad you enjoyed the other ones I’ve shared! :D
Okay.. it is actually so hard to find good erotica for edging / clit tickling (or I’m just really picky).. I have only one other story to share.. and this one actually jumpscared me with unexpected clit tickling… which was the most magical, wonderful thing.. HNGGG— 😫💦
⚠️ This story contains Reluctance/NonConsent themes.
yeah yeah so what if I get a little turned on when you’re tickling my tummy and hips all over and then your hand squeezes at just the right spot on my waist when I’m squirming and unable to stop wiggling beneath you
(m/f, non-con, demeaning, forced age regression, tickle/baby talk)
My next-door neighbor Eddie gave me the creeps. He was probably 20 years older than me, and I think he generally tried for an uncle vibe whenever he saw me, but it definitely came across as inappropriate uncle who tells off-color jokes and never fails to mention how well I fill out my t-shirt and jeans. Ugh, who even says stuff like “fill out” anymore?
Maybe some people out there find him charming in a boomer way, or at least as the kind of cuddly jokester who’s always the life of the party. Full of confidence despite his cringe comments and poor personal hygiene. I always tried to make my conversations with him as short as possible, but I found him mostly harmless.
Whenever Eddie invited his buddies over, a few hours into the festivities he’d amble over to my house on his creaky old legs, offer me a beer – or rather, thrust it at my chest – and invite me to join them. Slurring his words, he’d say, “A pretty girl like you shouldn’t spend the night alone. C’mon over to my place where there’s plenty of warm bodies.” I’d politely say no thanks, and to my relief he’d shrug and go back to his party.
Tonight I spotted the extra cars in Eddie’s driveway as I got home from work, and I braced myself for a long summer night of overhearing loud laughter, louder belches, and blaring dad rock. I changed into a cropped t-shirt and shorts, ate dinner, and was getting ready to watch a movie when I remembered that Eddie had collected my mail for a few days while I’d been out of town this week, and I hadn’t picked it up yet. I was expecting an important letter, so I really should go and see if it came. I groaned, hating that I’d have to go over there when Eddie was in full entertaining mode, but I put on my flip flops and walked over to his front door. I could hear Springsteen playing inside and hoped my knocking would be audible over the music.
Eddie came to the door wearing sweatpants and a grease-stained t-shirt. When he saw it was me, he looked me up and down and his eyes lit up.
“Well, look who’s finally come to join the party. Come on in!” he said, ushering me inside and closing the door behind me.
Before I could ask about the mail, Eddie was leading me into his living room and announcing to his four pals, “This is my neighbor. Ain’t she the cutest?” As he said this, he reached out a beefy finger and poked me in the ribs. I squeaked in surprise and flinched away. His buddies laughed, and one of them even whistled appreciatively. I started to say, “Eddie, don’t do that!” but he just chuckled and replied, “Nice of you to tease us with a little skin tonight. Can I grab you a beer?”
“No,” I replied quickly. “I can’t stay. I’ve just come to pick up my mail. Could I have it please?” I wrapped my arms around myself protectively. Ugh, he was such a jerk. He’d never gone so far as to touch me before – this was a new low, one that I couldn’t just shrug off. I’d have to make different arrangements for my mail next time I went on vacation.
Eddie grinned. “Oh, no problem,” he said. “But you’ll have to get it yourself. I put it on top of the shelf here, and the old knee injury is bothering me today, so I need to sit back down.” And with that, he lowered himself into a big squishy armchair next to a tall bookshelf.
I glanced up, saw a stack of envelopes at the top corner of the bookshelf closest to where Eddie was sitting, and glared at my neighbor. I’d have to stand on tiptoe to reach my mail, stretching my body right in front of where Eddie was sitting, and in front of all his gross friends. They were openly leering at me by now, but what could I do? I needed my mail.
I took a deep breath, walked over to the bookshelf, and reached up, placing one arm on a shelf just above my head to steady myself and the other hand grasping further up for the letters on the top shelf. I had almost reached them when I felt another poke in my ribs, quickly followed by five of Eddie’s fingers lightly tickling my exposed side.
“Hey, stop it!” I cried. What the hell was Eddie doing? He was seriously crossing a line now. It tickled maddeningly, but damned if I was going to lower my arms and leave this place without my mail.
Eddie just replied, “Not when your ticklish body is right there and you’re teasing us all with your short shorts and that silly little top.”
I was silently cursing myself for not changing into less-revealing clothes before going over there. But as I heard the chorus of “That’s right” and “She’s asking for it” from Eddie’s idiot friends, I came to my senses and reminded myself that Eddie was a creep, and that he clearly hadn’t needed an excuse – just an opportunity – to start groping me.
“Don’t touch me, you pervert,” I said, struggling not to laugh as I reached frantically for my mail. “Get your fucking hands off me right now.”
“Tsk tsk, that’s not a very nice thing to say to your sweet old neighbor who collected your mail for you,” Eddie said, while his friends sniggered. “I think you need an attitude adjustment, young lady.”
I desperately didn’t want to give these losers the satisfaction of hearing me laugh or seeing me squirm, but Eddie wasn’t stopping, and my composure was slipping. I wouldn’t have thought Eddie had any skill whatsoever when it comes to touching other human beings, but he seemed to know just where to wiggle his fingers and just how much pressure to apply as he slowly traced along my hips.
“Coochie coochie coo,” he said, tickling right in the middle of my tummy.
Oh no.
Not that spot, not that teasing.
I couldn’t help the high-pitched, girlish giggles and the “No, stop, please!” that tumbled out of me. And I couldn’t help but try to twist away from my neighbor’s tickling fingers, just as my hand finally closed around the envelopes.
Eddie was laughing along with me in triumph. “I knew it,” he said. “All I have to do is tickle your belly and treat you like the silly little girl that you are, and I can make you beg.”
A feeling of dread crept down my spine. Little girl? Beg? What kind of sick game was he playing? I hated being so ticklish and vulnerable, and I hated him. I also hated his equally douchey friends, who cheered him on, shouting, “That’s it, Eddie!” “Make her bounce!” and “I think she likes it!”
As if strengthened by his buddies’ jeering, Eddie full-on attacked my sides with both hands. I shrieked, crumpled, and fell sideways onto the worst possible place: Eddie’s lap. My letters fluttered to the floor all round us, but I couldn’t reach them. I felt Eddie’s boner under me, and my dread increased. This tickling power-trip thing was clearly sexual for him, and who knew how far he’d try to take it. Weak, flustered, and off-balance as I was from his tickles, I didn’t have the strength to stop him from trapping my legs in between his.
“Joe,” Eddie called to one of his friends, “grab her arms!”
Joe, a burly giant with a greying red mullet, took hold of my wrists and tied them behind my back with an old long-sleeved shirt that was lying around. With my legs sandwiched between Eddie’s big thighs, my arms pinned between my back and the arm of the chair, and my chest and stomach thrust up toward Eddie’s waiting hands, I was in for a long night.
I don’t know how long I was in that chair, with Eddie poking, prodding, goosing, spidering, and teasing me. His disgusting beer breath in my face, on my neck, whispering in my ear. And his useless friends, they never seemed to get bored of watching me suffer. They just kept egging him on – not that he needed it.
It certainly wasn’t long before I started begging again, but it wasn’t doing any good. Any time I could manage to say, “Please stop,” Eddie would coo, “Give Uncle Eddie a giggle,” and he’d tickle me under my chin to make me gurgle with forced laughter. “That’s a good girl.”
Eddie would encourage me when I “behaved” and gave in to the laughter, as if tickle-torturing me was a perfectly normal way to establish good neighborly relations. “There you go,” he said gently, as he traced maddening lines up and down my sides. “Isn’t it better to be a friendly, giggly, well-mannered girl than a rude little sourpuss?” I could only nod miserably in reply as I laughed helplessly.
Eddie would ask the most degrading questions and make me respond to them in equally degrading ways. I resisted at first, of course, but my yelling, protesting, swearing, and writhing only amused his friends and made him tickle me harder. As I lost all track of time, it became clear that compliance was the only way I’d ever make it off Eddie’s lap and back home. I was getting so desperate for him to let me go that I was ready to say just about anything.
“You clearly haven’t learned to dress yourself properly yet,” he said, tickling my exposed lower back with his left hand. “I’ll have to teach you how to pick out clothes that fit you properly.”
His right hand snaked under my shorts, squeezing the top of my leg just under my butt, and making me snicker and squirm frantically. “And these tiny shorts are no better,” he added. “Do you need me to pick out your clothes for you, huh?”
I flopped around on his lap, unable to escape his big hands or his belittling words. I was getting out of breath, but his tickling was relentless. He asked again, “Do you need me to pick out your clothes, little girl?” and blushing with shame I managed to whisper, “Y-yes.”
Running a finger up and down my trapped feet: “Who’s my ticklish little girl?”
“Ugh, you asshole.”
Scrabbling all ten fingers along the balls of my feet while his buddies held me down: “Try that again, and this time without the attitude.”
“Ohmigod! Stop, stop! Ok, ok, please! I’m your ticklish little girl.”
Goosing my ribs: “What happens to silly girls who wear cropped tops?”
“Silly girls in cropped tops get tickled.”
Tickling my tummy, again and again: “Who’s got giggles in her belly?”
“I’ve got giggles in my belly.”
“We have to get all the giggles out, don’t we, silly girl?”
“Yes, we have to get all the giggles out of my belly.”
“Say please, silly girl.”
“No, c’mon Eddie, don’t make me.”
“Say it, or I’ll go for your feet again.”
With tears in my eyes, I was forced to surrender each time.
“Please,” I whimpered, “please tickle all the giggles out of my belly.”
“That’s my good girl. Coochie coo.”
And I’d giggle and giggle.
He’d only give me breaks for water or to use the bathroom when I called him Uncle Eddie. Saying it felt absolutely disgusting – especially in front of his friends – but I had no choice. While his skilled hands roamed all over my body, he continued his obedience training.
“Does that tickle, little girl?”
“It tickles, Uncle Eddie, it tickles!”
“Who makes you giggle?”
“Uncle Eddie makes me giggle.”
And worst of all, “Does the silly girl love Uncle Eddie’s coochie coos?”
“I love your coochie coos, Uncle Eddie.”
Then he’d reply, “Uncle Eddie loves to coochie coochie coo,” and he’d squeeze my knees until I screamed before finally pausing to let me catch my breath.
At some point that night I started laughing whenever he wiggled his fingers in front of me, before he even touched me. I could feel his merciless hands pulling laughter from me even during the too-short breaks, and I could feel how powerless I was to stop him from tickling me. Uncle Eddie controlled my body, and in his lap I really was nothing but a silly little girl with a ticklish body and a too-short top. And silly little girls needed to be tickled.
