Cosquillas - A Tickling Meet-Cute (m/f)
This is a story based in an actual experience I had rehearsing a play - ultimately highly fictionalized, but it's one of the biggest "what-ifs" of my life. Enjoy!
He’d said it in his head a million times and yet something about hearing it out loud made the word seem foreign – which it was, given it was one of only a few Spanish words in his lexicon. The gleam in her eye as it passed over her lips – “cosquillas?”- disarmed him to such an extent that he wasn’t sure how long he let it hang in the air before he responded, “huh?”
Many things happened at once. There was the cover – the act that he’d not understood the word. There was the too-quick attempt to move past the moment by turning toward one of their castmates standing across the rehearsal room chatting away what was left of their ten-minute break. And there was also the eye contact that followed, evidence later acknowledged by both of them, that Whitney had struck a nerve.
“Do you know what that means?” she said.
“Nope,” he said. He considered inquiring just to hear her explain it, but self-consciousness intervened.
“Oh, ok. Just guitar, huh?” She was talking about the fingernails on his right hand. He looked down.
“OH,” Cam turned his fingers over to show them off. Since college he’d kept them long, and though they were for playing finger-style folk music, in the few times he’d had someone laughing under his hands, they’d come in handy, and he liked to think they signified a secret sign to anyone who might share his proclivities. In fact, that seemed to be what was happening now. But he was so flustered, he bungled the whole thing.
“Yeah, just for guitar haha.”
It took twenty minutes before his heart-rate calmed back down. But it didn’t stay down for long. That day, they were rehearsing a series of lifts in one of Whitney’s songs. She was to stand on a bench, a male dancer on either side, who were to place hands under her arms and lift her down to the stage. Cam had clocked her outfit when they’d arrived that morning. A loose-fitting tank-top over a little bra-let and a pair of shorts.
She was up on the bench, singing about something but Cam couldn’t concentrate on the words. He was watching the tank-top ride up her midriff with the choreo, and admiring the smooth skin under her arms every time she touched her hair. The moment came for the lift and she stopped to slow the movements down. The two dancers flanked her and she T-ed out her arms. “You guys, I’m fucking ticklish, okay?” she said. Cam nearly fell over. “Why do you think they call me Whit The Pit?”
Everyone chuckled. Cam blushed hot and red and watched her squirm and giggle in their arms all the way down to the floor. It happened over and over that day. He’d turn to watch as their hands snuck into the hollows of her armpits and in this lovely, pleasurable way, she was tickled town to the floor where she continued her number. They ran it five times. The fifth time, before they began, she asked, too loudly, “does my costume have sleeves? I’m gonna laugh my ass off the whole way down.” Everyone laughed and Cam self-consciously looked around. In fact, while he was looking around, he almost missed her check in with him out of the corner of her eye as she spread out her arms again and allowed her castmates to tickle her down to the floor again.
That night, Cam couldn’t sleep. He sat looking at his phone wondering how the hell he was supposed to move on with his life with this woman in the world who so casually mentioned, at work, no less, his deepest secret. Not only mentioned but relished the actual experience. He picked up the phone. It was nearly midnight, but he didn’t care.
C: Ok, I know what it means.
W: You’re up late. You know what what means?
W: Suddenly become bilingual? Or just google it?
C: Haha, I knew it when you said it.
W: That’s interesting. Why would you lie about that?
His heart was beating so fast he had to stand up.
C: I was just caught off guard.
W: Huh. Well alright. See you tomorrow!
He blinked at the phone. Fuck. Had he misread the whole thing? He slept about two hours and got to the theatre ridiculously early. He pretended not to notice when she walked in.
She dropped her stuff on a chair in the corner and took off her sweatshirt. Another sleeveless top and leggings. He opened his script and pretended to read it. When he looked up, she was standing in front of him.
“Careful with those things, k?” She said, smiling, and bounced away into rehearsal. He looked down at his hand and blushed.
That evening, as he was walking out, Cam’s phone buzzed.
He sat down at the far end of the bar and waited for her. It had been a long time since he’d been so nervous. It felt like he was rolling downhill in a thick fog – like something was happening to him that he could neither stop nor control.
“Yo,” she said, plopping down on the stool beside him.
“I haven’t ordered anything. What do you want?”
“Well alright.” He walked to the middle of the bar and ordered. Once he looked back at her. She didn’t seem to be preoccupied the way he was. But then again, she never seemed concerned about anything. If she was nervous, it wasn’t showing.
“Copycat,” she said, when Cam came back with two identical drinks.
“Game recognizes game, what can I say?”
They clinked glasses and sipped. “You think this show is gonna suck?” she asked.
“Uh-huh, I think probably it is,” Cam said.
“Dang. At least the company is okay.”
He smiled and nodded. “Yeah, it’s not bad.” They sipped again in silence. Then he turned in his stool toward her. “Hey, sorry I texted you so late.”
“Last night, I texted you at like midnight.”
“Oh, yeah, cosquillas!” She said it so casually, Cam almost winced.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m uh…not sure why I did that.”
“Really?” she said. Did my predicament with the dancers remind you what it meant?”
“Yeah me laughing my face off with their hands in my pits all afternoon.”
He was worried he was sweating. “Oh, yeah, that was…funny.”
“Funny for who?” she said.
“No, I mean, it was cute.” He was lost now, floundering.
“Cute? It was cute, Cam?”
“You know what I mean.” He was sure he was sweating now.
“Cute? It was cute watching me get tickled by those dudes?”
He laughed awkwardly and shook his head. He downed the rest of his drink and got up. “I need another one of these.” He stopped when she grabbed his wrist.
“You liked it. When that happened, you liked it.”
He felt his eyes grow three sizes.
She smiled sympathetically. “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it. I thought you wanted to.”
Cam had an odd, pained look on his face as he walked down to the bartender to order another round. He stared at the corner of the bar and listened to the chunk of the ice scoop. He looked down the bar at her. This time, she was looking right at him and smiling inquisitively. Cam grabbed the glasses, steeled himself and walked back to her, knowing a decision had been made. He placed her drink down and said, “yeah, I liked it. I liked when that happened.”
She grinned coyly and sipped her whiskey. “I thought so. That’s okay. I liked it too.”
“Mm-hmm. And I like that you liked it.”
“Well okay.” Cam said. The smiled at each other. “How did you know?”
“That I liked watching that.”
“Just a feeling. Your nails kindof – but that wasn’t really it. I looked over after the first time those boys put me down and your mouth was hanging open.”
“It’s sweet. Made me feel good.”
“I’ve never…talked about this with anyone.”
She raised her eyebrows and blinked at him. Then, without speaking, she took off her sweat shirt, tucking it beneath her on the stool. She rested her elbows on the bar and turned toward him sweetly.
“This is so exciting,” she said.
“You um…seem to have talked about this a lot.”
“Not a lot. But some. I decided a long time ago I wouldn’t hide it. You’d be shocked how many people come out of the woodwork when you’re just honest about it.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think I could ever be that confident.”
She frowned. “Oh please. Tickle me.”
He jumped at the word. “What? Now?”
“Now. Right now. Don’t you want to?”
He looked around. “I mean, yes, but…there’s people around.”
“Listen. If you’re too chicken to do it here, you’re certainly not coming up to my room later.”
He grinned and shook his head again. “You’re crazy, you know that?”
“So are you, and you know it.”
He downed the rest of his drink and started inching his hand down the bar toward her elbow. Her eyes were boring into his. “Uh-huh, that’s it,” she said. “Do it.” He was about two inches from her armpit when she inhaled sharply. “Just…” He paused. “Gently. You’ve seen how um…”
“Yes, I have,” Cam said. And he let his eyes wander from her face down to the stippled skin under her arm. When his finger landed, he felt her tense, but her elbow didn’t leave the bar. Her laughter started low and breathy – quiet enough that Cam ever-so-slightly upped the pressure. Her eyes widened and her whole body jolted on the stool. “OOHHKAY!” she said and wrenched her arm down. “You’re bad.”
“Yeah, but you did it,” she smiled and rubbed the spot his finger had grazed. “I’m telling you it’s…crazy.”
“How ticklish I am,” she said and he saw her watch him for a response.
“Is that the worst spot?”
She finished her drink and slid her glass to it clinked into his. “Sir, that’s a very personal question. Ladies don’t discuss those things in public.”
“What are the rules here?”
“Shut up, we’re leaving.”
Outside, the air was cool. As the walked the two blocks to their hotel, she asked, “So, your whole life?”
“What? Oh. The…thing? Yeah, my whole life. You?”
“The thing.” She laughed. “You don’t like saying the word.”
“Because you don’t know what to do about it. It gives me such power.” They turned into the lobby. “Like, I love being tickled.” Cam closed one eye and raised his shoulders in discomfort. “See?! You can’t handle it! It’s delicious. I LOVE being tickled and I want you to tickle me.”
“You know,” Cam said, “these are dangerous words for someone who can’t even do normal choreography without laughing in rehearsal.”
Whitney opened her mouth in mock offense. They were exiting the elevator and had turned down toward her room. She was moving quicker now and he was trying playfully to keep up. “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were enjoying my little performance.”
“Who says I wasn’t?”
“I hope you were, I was doing it just for you.”
“I wondered! Who mentions their ticklishness to a room full of co-workers?”
“Ah, so you CAN say it!” And with that she swung open the door and they rushed in, one after the other. She sprinted toward the bed and flung herself on the mattress. “What are you gonna do, cosquillas?”
“You know EXACTLY what I’m gonna do,” Cam said. He climbed up on the bed with her. She straightened herself out in the center of the bed and raised her bare arms over her head. “You can, I’ll allow it,” she said. Her tank was up around her rib cage. Cam straddled her hips and looked down at her. If he wasn’t so happy, he’d have wondered how on earth he’d gotten here, gazing into the gleaming eyes of this wonder beneath him, somehow ready to submit to whatever his fingers had in store for her.
“Do they really call you Whit The Pit?” he said, tracing light circles up her sides with his index fingers.
“Unngghhhaha….well…kindof. That’s what I called myself growing up to get people to – oh fuuuhuhuhuhahahhak.” He lightly grazed a rib. “…to get people to tickle me. I’ve found announcing my ticklishness is often…oh god…hahahahahaha is often perceived as an invitation.”
“I see,” said Cam getting closer to the armpits over which he’d been obsessing. “It seems to have worked fairly well in this instance.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, widening her big brown eyes. “It’s pretty reliableeehhehehhehehahahahahahahahahahahahha.” He was using the outside of his ring fingers to rim the edges of her underarms – slowly dragging them up around to her upper arms, carefully avoiding the most sensitive spots. He was amazed at how much she was already laughing – and at her ability to keep her arms above her head. He increased to three fingers on each hand, still above the armpits. She arched her back, and opened her mouth wide. She was laughing hard – it seemed like she WANTED to laugh harder, like she was interested in how hard each flick of his finger could make her laugh.
“Oh fuck, don’t…” she said, breathlessly. He stopped.
“Sorry, I’ll give you a break.”
“Oh god, what the hell, don’t stop,” she said.
“Safeword is ‘cosquillas’ okay? But I won’t say it.”
“Definitely. I will say all other things. I will beg and plead but unless you hear ‘cosquillas,’” she leaned into him and whispered, “you do not have to stop tickling me unless you think I’ve had enough.” She lay her head back down on the bed, raised her arms high above her, and waited. Her flushed cheeks, her shining eyes – Cam felt suddenly like he wanted to devour her. He said,
“As you wish.” And without any warning at all, he brought his hands down into the center of her armpits, wriggling all ten fingers as quickly as he could. She screamed at the top of her lungs but the scream quickly dissolved into peals of helpless laughter. Immediately her arms flew to her sides, trapping his hands in place. She tried to roll over but his weight was too much.
“Oh god noooohohohohohohahahahahahaha,” she brought her knees up and tried to kick him off, but it was no use. His hands slid down the sides of her breasts to her ribcage and dug in. Silently, she shook beneath him, trying to let go and allow him to torture her, but constantly giving in and reflexively, desperately, shoving his hands from their work. She was, he thought, in that moment, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He stopped after several minutes to let her breathe.
“Oh jesus fuck,” she gasped.
“I told you!” she said. “I’m FUCKING ticklish.”
“What’s the worst tickling you’ve ever had?”
She sat up and looked at him. “I’ll tell you that story, but I’m gonna tell it my way.”
“Okay, what does that mean?” he said.
“Over text message. And it’s gonna take a while.”
“Look, for ten minutes you just turned me into a blabbering, hysterical mess. I have to have some power in this relationship. So I’m gonna torture you for a few days.”
“A few days?!” he was incredulous.
“Uh-huh. It’ll be worth it, I swear.”
“That’s the idea. My cruelty will equal yours. And you were pretty evil just now.” He snuck his hands down to her sides and she yelped. “When I finish the story, you can come back and tickle me again.”
“Not till then? Are you kicking me out?”
“Uh-huh,” she said dismissively. “I’ll tell you the story of the worst tickle torture of my life, and when I’m finished, you can come back.”
“I’m going to want to be your new worst time.”
“I mean, you definitely can’t. It’ll never be beat.”
“You’re very good at this teasing thing.”
“I know. Okay, bedtime. I’m tired from laughing so hard, you asshole.”
As he walked to his room from the elevator, his legs were like jelly. He could still hear her laughter in his ears and feel her delicate ribcage squirming in his hands when his phone pinged. He reached for the nightstand.
W: Here’s all you’re getting tonight: College Party.
C: Come on, you gotta give me more than that!
W: Nope. I’ll let your imagination run wild.
There was a lull for a moment. Then:
W: Gotta say, this show is suddenly really fun.
C: You know, it really is.
W: I like that you’re thinking about it.
C: Just remember the longer you prolong this story, the meaner my revenge will be.
origamiaround
stormborns
dailybridgerton
areudirty
