It’s been three minutes since you first saw the text:
“Come upstairs so I can tickle you <3”
I figured it might take you a minute or two to regain your composure and build up enough of a courageous ticklee facade to make your way upstairs. And, just on cue, I hear the door quietly creak open.
“Hi sweetheart,” I say, all smiles as I get up from the bed.
“Hi.” You respond, trying but failing to keep that goofy smile off your face. Your eyes meet mine for only a moment before averting to the floor, a blush now added to your smile. I feel you shiver gently when I put my hands on your hips.
“So,” I begin, “I just want to get this straight. You were downstairs, happily minding your own business. But then, upon seeing my text, you stopped what you were doing and walked into this room, knowing full well how much you’d get tickled when you did.”
You shift side to side as your nervous smile widens, still looking down. No answer.
“You knowingly walked right into the tickle monster’s den,” I tease, gently pulling you in closer, “and into the tickle monster’s arms.”
Still hearing no answer but feeling the heat burning from your face as I move my head closer, I continue, now whispering directly into your ear. “Darling… would you like me to tickle you?”
What an unfair question that we both know you can’t answer. But, speechlessly, you press your blushing face firmly into my shoulder, and I feel your head just slightly shake up and down as your arms tighten around me in shyness.
You feel a kiss on the top of your head before you’re gently lifted off the ground, then tossed onto the bed behind you. You seemingly instinctively put your hands behind your head as I crawl atop you.
“Wow, someone just can’t wait to be tickled, hm?” I tease, and in response your outstretched arms pull the pillow from under your head on top of your face so I can’t see your embarrassed blush.
“You can’t hide from me now, silly,” I reply, prompting a stream of giggly whines from underneath the pillow. “That time passed as soon as you adorably tiptoed through this door to get tickled.”
More whines. I continue. “No, the tickle monster’s got you now.” You hear the mischief dripping in my voice as fingers begin to make wispy patterns over your shirt. “And I might just never let you go.”
Suddenly, the gentle traces turn to scribbles and squeezes all up and down your sides and tummy as you burst into pillow-muffled laughter. Those deviously gentle fingers eventually finding their way under your shirt when your laughter doesn’t seem quite ecstatic enough for my (or your) liking.
“Can you believe you asked for this? To be all helpless and ticklish?” You respond simply by pressing the pillow harder onto your face. “It’s all just too cute, I don’t even know what to do with you. Well, except this-”
With that, I pull the pillow from your face prompting a squeak from my beloved ticklee and bury my face in your neck, nibbling and kissing in any ticklish way I can as you squeal with delighted giggles and scrunch up to no avail. All the while, my fingers maintain their scribbly, squeezy mission of filling your tummy with tickly little butterflies while you wiggle helplessly under this unending ticklish onslaught you purposefully walked yourself right into.
Isn’t it lovely sharing a home with your tickle monster?
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