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Bobby walks off. I have mixed feelings, because I asked him if I could bum a smoke and shook my head right away. I'd almost bought a couple packs at lunchtime. Old habit, whenever I stop at that bodega...
So I turn and start walking toward my car on Prospect, across from the ATM. It feels like somebody's nearby, walking up from behind, but I don't hear anything. That neighborhood is old and deserted. No decent bars left there.
Then something slides against my chest. I look down and see a bulge in my shirt pocket. Whew. Wait - huh?
After a second I reach up and pull out a pack of smokes. Open it up - well, most of a pack.
My brand, and Bobby's.

I look behind me, wondering how he could've pulled this off. But his car was a block up Ninth, which is behind me now. Somebody gave me these cigarettes. Helping me out. Nobody else was around when I almost bummed one just now, and I can't shake the idea that someone heard me. I scan the alley that's coming up - nope, I'm by my lonesome, but damn it feels like somebody's watching.
Did I actually buy these, and forget that I did? I didn't drink that much. Totally on autopilot, though. Cigarette hanging, lighter out and ready to use. This is who I am.

Aw, fuck it. I smoke the hell out of that cig. Oh, yeah. Until I get grabbed.

Hands latch on to my arms, all up and down. I mean, it feels just like hands. Strong ones. Black... gloves?
And I see even more of 'em zip around me.
I'm just barely done kicking out the smoke when they get personal. All of these fingers are digging in my armpits, squeezing my neck, feeling my ribs, raking my stomach. Not kidding around. I mean, they weren't out to hurt -
Oh, fuck no. They can't be tickling me. No way!
Uh-huh. I'm trying to yell, instead of laugh. I look back over my shoulder. Bobby's got to be driving home already, and there's not another fuckin' soul in the alley... but there's about six strong hands locked on my arms, as I twist and flop around, and more of 'em tickling now like they just can't get enough.
I manage to get one decent yell out before one of 'em clamps over my mouth. Leather glove, I guess. Now, suddenly, it's a lot more serious - and it ain't gonna be over in a few seconds.
The fuckers know where, and how, to really tickle. They I mean, they aren't new to this. Some of 'em got a death-grip on my arms, and most of 'em are making me crazy. I can't even yell for help, not that there's anyone else around.
They start hauling me forward.

It's one for the books. Brand new shit. I'm not scared, really. It's all happening too fast. And so fuckin' weird. Tickling? So many hands. This is not a couple of twisted dudes dragging me off. It's gloves, they're empty... no, screw that, there's strong hands inside 'em. Invisible hands.
I'm fighting as much as I can, but the distraction is making it harder to keep moving - or laughing. This tickler knows how to do it. Pretty determined fingers. Cigarettes end up in my pocket, and now this. Tickling, of all things - shit. I can't think straight... All these spots on my sides and gut are screaming. It isn't pain, but I'm just going nuts. Can't get any traction to pull back and run, can't shout like I want to.
Dragged to a door.
Wait a minute - there's a door right to my left, and it's open. One of the old, empty buildings on Sixth. Oh, fuck. It caught a good one. Can't grab the door frame, oh hell, it's on. This is for real.
Abandoned building. Inside, and I can't do a damn thing to stop 'em.
The fuckin' fingers are... really goin' at it.

Next thing I know, I'm in the dark and there's the sound of a metal door screeching behind me. Closing. That gets me fighting harder - everything I got - Clank. It sounds like a deadbolt. This is insane.
I sag, hooting like a fool. The tickling is too much. I don't know why I have to be such a fuckin' basket case...
And I've never been tickled like this before. I still can't get away from the fuckers. I'm dizzy - and being dragged again. Further into the dark.
Down some stairs...

Now it's taking everything I got just to breathe. The tickling is insane. I gotta get away from this hardcore freak, tickle tickle tickle, if there's anything like rope in here -
Another door creaks... Oh, fuck, it's behind my back. I'm in a room or something. No, no, I try to push backward. This is bad. Too much tickling. A pro. I can't do shit, it's wearing me out, help meeeee.
Light.
A lantern? No, more like an oil lamp. Down low -
Above a reclining bench. Big rings, straps. Cuffs. Ready for me.
The glove lets go of my mouth. Crazy laughter just barrels out. I'm unhinged...
But finally, oh yeah, the gloves are pulling off.
I just hang there, in the grip of all those hands, and catch my breath.

A little bottle of water floats up to my mouth. There's a invisible freak here, and it's got me good. Cellar room. Hidden away, and I can't fuckin' believe what the reason is.
Apparently it knows that I need to eat and drink. As soon as I can I suck that damn bottle dry. Considerate sadist? No, it wants me awake and feeling everything. The cigarettes slide out of my pocket, and I get one. A clink, from in front of me, turns out to be a Zippo. Plain silver, moving in so I can light up. There's no hand holding the fuckin' thing.
I manage to suck in. And still, more than anything else, I'm just blown away.
Eventually I'll see why it wants me smokin'. Aw hell, this kind of shit just doesn't happen.

Kidnapped, by - what? A ghost? No. This isn't creepy. The vibes around me are more about... feeding an addiction. One-upping me. Bigger guy, scoring another win. Haw haw. It was after somebody who's good and ticklish, and here comes a former gym-rat, all by his lonesome. Wrong place, at the wrong time. Victory. It's got so many hands...
I chuckle at the fuckin' frame in front of me. It's a rack. Nothing flimsy, here. There's no way this can be really happening. Maybe that's why I'm not fuckin' terrified. Or it's the smokes. The gloves grabbed me after I fired one up. Checked to see if I've got what it wants.
A glove floats over to the side of the room and points.
I see a cart roll over from there. It stops next to the rack. There's a sheet or something over it, shiny black material, which suddenly zips away.
Brushes, feathers, a bowl of oil. Rubber gloves, shiny gloves, some kind of gloves with little rubber nibs everywhere.
Shake my head, rear back, but fuck - I'm doomed.
Hardcore tickling.
"Noooooo," I wail, watching the smoke leak out of me. This ain't gonna be a quick ordeal.

But the hands drag me to the rack and turn me around. Sit my ass down.
I'm trying to think of what I can say to make the invisible asshole pause, since I can't do shit. Nobody else knows I'm stuck down here - and when they get those cuffs on me, it's probably gonna be on for a long fuckin' time. Get to know every inch of me. There's about a dozen cardboard boxes along the wall, and probably that many behind the rack. Food - oh, hell, and more tickling shit.
It's gonna happen. Sure looks that way. No stopping it.
"C'mon," I say, wondering if there's even anyone hearing me. Then I'm at a loss, so I take a drag. Is begging gonna do any good? The magic fucker hauled me down here. Just fuckin' doomed. Maybe there's some kind of a deal I can make...

This is really gonna happen. Unbelievable.
Not just a little tickling. The whole shooting match. Who's gonna hear me howl? Way down here? Nobody's gonna know. Shit.
In one of the boxes, I'm pretty sure I see some definite confirmation. I freeze, right there, and confirm that I'm fuckin' staring at the end of four or five cartons of smokes. My brand, though it's one of the most popular ones. In-between the major-league tickling? How long would I -
"No way," I say, trying to get my damn arms free. "Not gonna... do this. Get some guy who likes -"
There's a loud click. Another deadbolt. I look back at the door right away, even more shocked than before. The fucking door was just locked again.
There's my answer.
Perfect timing. The mysterious fucker can hear me.

"You bastard," I say, before I even stop to think if it's gonna make things even worse. "Get somebody else. I'm not that ti- uh, I'm not into this shit. Not at all."
I eat smoke. No response.
"Look," I yell, "you surprised me, out there - but I'm... now, you gotta be able do a lot better than me."
But I just give it up. The magician knows I'm bullshitting it.

I can't even deal with the thought of those fingers starting back in. Fuck!
Taking another drag - and really needing it, right about now - the hands pull me down. Get my arms out over my head...
Yeah, I am dizzy. It's not from getting nuked right now, though. I'm fighting all those hands, but it's too much effort. All useless. This is gonna happen. Even when I try to thrash around, though, I'm -
Oh, fuck. The water. Did it drug me?
"Son of a bitch," I sigh.

The gloves pull my clothes off like it's something they've done plenty of times before. Lay me out, and press down... not hard enough to hurt, but I can't do nuthin'.
It could be meaner, if it wanted to. Tickle-fucker won, it's in charge. It's happy. Smug.
I watch one of the wrist-cuffs float over toward my right hand.

About three minutes, and I'm anchored. Stretched taut. A few inches of memory-foam in the mattress case under me, and another lump cradling my head. Can't do a damn thing, no matter how much I tug. And I know why.
"Don't do this," I say. "C'mon."
But something floats over from behind the rack - a plastic pouch. When it gets to the cart, gloves are pushed over to make room. It's unzipped. Shaving cream, razors, scissors.
Yup. Tickling like I've never even imagined.
"Please don't do this," I beg.

Oh, fuck, this is gonna be so incredibly bad. All naked, except for my shoes - teasing me, I think. This bastard knows how ticklish I am, and this is what it's into. Ain't it, now.
"Please," I say again, trying to strain at the cuffs. I can't protect a single fuckin' spot, laid out like this. All kinds of tickling stuff right here -
Something is coming, and I try to pull away. But it's just another smoke.
"You're a... a real piece of work," I tell the cigarette.

So while I try to get the damn straps to loosen a little, I get a couple more cigarettes. Hell, there's even another bottle of water coming.
I'm definitely too calm. Some kind of downer, I guess.
No one's ever gonna believe this... which works real well for the phantom wearing all the gloves.

The thought of what's gonna happen is further away, probably because of the drug. It hasn't dug into me... carelessly, too hard. Boxes and boxes of shit to use. No rush at all. A serious expert. Prepped this fuckin' room - not for a hour or two full-on, but a whole night. Ramp things up, keep the water coming.
One night? Hah. It's really into this -
"Hey, I'm not into it," I groan. "You know that, right?"
And - shit! - a feather lifts off the cart. Floats over me.
I take a drag and sigh it back out. Dammit. So unfair. And I'm so completely screwed. Stuck tight. It wants to tickle... show me what real tickling is. Let me catch my breath, and start back in again. It's not like I'm goin' anywhere.

Easing out smoke, I watch the feather. Yeah, it caught a live one. Study this shady fucker's belly. Learn all about his ribs. Pecs, legs - and it'll get my shoes off...
Not a damn thing I can do. This is right where the fucker wants me - with no one else finding out. Marathon tickling. The most unbearable thing, long and deep, customized just for me.
"I gotta get out of this," I say to myself.
The feather sorta cruises overhead. Pausing sometimes. Mine, all mine.
Distracting myself at all, or tuning out the heat it'll rub and squeeze into me, is easy to prevent. It's been at this a while, I bet. More and more ticklish. All over. Nips, thighs, knees. It's got me. All set. In for the longest, most intense night of my miserable life, and I can't do a fuckin' thing to stop this. Nobody can. And it's only the first night...

And I'm so loopy - so help me, I start to chuckle.
"D-don't," I say. Snickering. So doomed, here.
My cigarette is taken away. That's scary - because the unbearable torture is closer now. Tickling. So many hands! Aw, hell. I can't take this... but I will take it. Gloves. Here they come.
"No, no, no! Help!"
Like it's a dream that can't possibly be real, I watch these bad boys spread out on my gut, lay down on my thighs... snuggle up to my calves, and naturally there's two of 'em settling their too-fuckin'-solid fingertips in each of my armpits.
"C'mon. No. Duh-don't-deh heh heh heh heh..." I can't stop chuckling. Crazy, insane shit, any second now - a passionate fucker's ready to rock. Wow.
My head is lifted up by a pair of gloves. Water bottle. Now? Oh, this bastard can't be serious...

But I can't quite figure out how to put up any kind of a fight. Drugged. Uh-huh. Here comes maximum tickling. Keep the victim calm, make sure he can't flop around - as the fingers dig in and squeeze. Make him feel it so fuckin' hard.
I drink most of the water, and watch the bottle float back to the cart.
"This is... really gonna happen," I say to the glove parked in my left armpit. "F-fuckin' hell."
My hair moves. It's like a hand pulled my bangs out of my eyes. Of all things, it's a kind gesture. There's no other way to take it. The psycho that's about to tickle-torture me until I'm absolutely fuckin' nuts - well, it took the time to, y'know, answer me. Sort of. Reassure me? It's like, I'm gonna rock your world, asshole, but I'm real fuckin' careful. I got this. Don't you worry about a thing. Just try to deal with even a fraction of this intolerable, endless tickling I've got in store.
"F-fuck," I laugh. "Here we go."
And the fingers start in. There's my answer. Yup.

Insane fire - armpits, all up and down my legs - solid and slow. This is already making me laugh like a fool and jump around...
They're gonna stick it to me so much harder than this.
Everything's ready. I can't move -
Oh, hell, my armpits are just killing me. Magic gloves are serious about making me go absolutely insane and I can't even roll around. I'm just roaring. Nobody else can hear me. The bastard made real sure of that. No help coming.
Just more fingers.
Sliding around, scrabbling under my knees -
Oh, fuck, they're exploring my ribs again.
I just totally lose it.

They're not stopping. No way I can put up with this. The bastard knows - it can fuckin' see - how much this is killing me. Just barking laughter like a fuckin' loon. Hands kneading, fingering, petting everywhere. I can't fuckin' take this.
It's serious about making me feel every touch. Just exactly what it wanted. Here I am, and I'm helpless, and the fingers are making me howl and thrash around. Too much stimulation. Very intentional.
Just the beginning...

"Whaaah hah hah huh huh tuh taaaa-alkkk hee hee hee hee..."
I imagine the fucker's fingers are slowing down. Whew.
Hold on, they're pausing. Everywhere. That gets me hooting at the ceiling.
And here comes a fuckin' cigarette.
"Whaah hah haaah www-hooo... Aw, wow," I manage, before clamping on to that filter. The Zippo cruises up.
As I'm kickin' out smoke, a low chucking voice seems to be right over me. "Yeah, I... Heh heh heh heh heh heh."
"I'm goin' out of my m-mind, aaaah hah hah hah haaaaah. Happy?"
"Yeeeeah." Steady. Contented. Oh, fuck.

"Oooooh," I moan, managing to take a real drag. Good thing the tickler is happy, I decide. How twisted is that? "Whooo-oooh. So I needed a break, huh? Already?"
"Nope."
I wait for more. Then, "This is mindblowing. You're not new to this, are ya?"
Easy little laughs. "Nope."
"What do I call you?" No answer. "Got a name?"
A glove zips up, and clamps around my throat.
"No tuh-talk. Hhhh-hard."
The newest grip seems like a warning. "Ah. Whooh. Anything helps."
It made a surprising sound - as if it couldn't help itself. A quiet, frustrated growl.
Right then I got the stupidest idea. Think fast, lowlife... "Okay. I'm gonna go with this. You gave me some smokes. Water. And when you moved the hair away from my eyes, that seemed... nice. Another nice thing." I took a deep breath. "So if you wanna, y'know, practice on me. That, too," and I chuckled. "Practice talking."
Another growl. The fingers tightened around my neck. Uh-oh.
"Wait." I was looking all around. "I mean, I had to learn how, too."
The glove relaxed!
"No f-fun," it said. "You no fun m-me. No, no."
I took a drag and thought that over. "Mock you? No. Never." I had to look around the room, and snort. "That's your job. I'm cuffed down. Good at all this shit. Way too good," I half-wailed at the glove in my left armpit.
Light snickering.
Okay, then. I ate more smoke, and ended up shaking my head a little. "I got nothing to lose, here, and probably nothing to gain. You run the show. A super-tickler. Dammit. But if - if - you wanna practice talking, ask me what this word or that one means... it would be something I'd fuckin' prefer. Other guys must babble too. When you're playin' with 'em."
"Haw haw haw." It was teasing me.

My attention has been locked right on my poor feet for a long time now. The socks are off, and some fuckin' oil went on. More gloves got busy too...

jan2020