Inspired by a friend (knows who they are) over a thing that happened like a year ago that I never wrote about
dug this out of the draft TRENCHES y’all
probably the last POV story you’ll see from me for a while, unless I do one about the Brit (also knows who she is)
So, we’re on a road trip-4 hours long, to a concert with 2 other friends from school. I grin at you, sitting in the back seat even though my legs are so long I should probably be in the front-but well, you’re back here! I toss you a piece of gum, and get on my phone, putting on a weird playlist (you could’ve sworn you saw a SpongeBob rap song on there…) and sitting back.
The first hour or so is, decently normal. Everyone is chill, and most discussions are centered around stuff like the return of phineas and Ferb, how ass classes have been, and which country would have the best chances to win a war if only their homeless population could fight in it with ww2 weaponry. Then we pull up to a gas station-I offer to pump the gas, and get out of the car, while the driver gets snacks for everyone. You can see me out the window typing something with one hand while paying the machine with the other. Just as I begin to put gas into the car, you see a text appear on your phone. Five words, simple really, but somehow so very mean.
“I’m gonna tickle you soon”
WHAAAAAT???? Right now? In front of the other two? They’re not in the community, really they have no idea how much you like being tickled, and how much I like tickling you. And how soon is soon? 6 seconds later, another text
Oh, so I just want you to die…
I get back in the car, the driver returns with the snacks, and we’re off on the road again. Not 5 minutes from the time we pull out of the gas station, you feel a hand resting on your side. Not tickling yet. Just present. A silent threat that’s already hard not to start giggling from in anticipation. The hand stays there for another minute. Two. Three. Then it leaves the side, which you had braced, and pokes your ribcage, near your armpits. You let out a frankly mortifying squeak, and even the driver looks back. I look like I’m trying not to laugh as if my life is at stake, and the other two look genuinely concerned. After you ensure them you’re alight, it happens again. Another poke. This time, you’re expecting it, and you keep your composure. My hand goes to your side, poking, tracing, tapping at random intervals, until I decide to be a lot more mean. I squeeze at your tummy, just as an incredibly interesting conversation about something the entire group knows you’re interested in begins. The hand doesn’t move from the spot Unlesd someone else is looking, and you’re forced to keep your composure, and insist the red on your face is nothing but needing more AC back here. That was bad, but at least it was over….until the person in the passenger’s side falls asleep. The driver has to keep their eyes on the road, and you don’t even have to look at me to see me smirking at you.
this time my hand goes for the kill , skittering along your tummy as fast as I can, going between your ribs to your hips to your sides to your thighs, and back to your belly in quick succession. With the other hand, I send you about 15 reels in quick succession. You’re behind the driver, so they can’t see what’s going on, but any time they ask why you’re so giggly, I cut in for you and tell them I was just sending you a funny reel-I have the reel already sent, so it checks out.
2 hours. You spend 2 hours in this unique hell, unable to squirm away too much because of your seatbelt, Unable to fight back without alerting our friends of your predicament, unable to even laugh more than light giggling, lest you wake up the one sleeping. About 10 minutes before we get there, I finally stop, and you can breathe…but the blush doesn’t go away quite yet. Another text appears:
“same thing when we go back?”
