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I have everything ready long before he rolls on up.
Deeny handles the bike just fine, despite the slow drizzle. A dark-blue 350, plenty big enough for him since he don't go on the freeway. He pulls up close to the garage and cuts the ignition. His lips move, and I watch him nod... before he punches in the code on the keypad. The door opens up, and he backs the bike in slowly.
Kickstand down, helmet off his head and parked right there on the speedometer, jacket unzipped, cigarette started. He sits there, all peaceful, looking out at the trees.
A lot bigger than when I found him, four years ago. Motorcycle rider, carpenter's helper, boyfriend.
Abnormally ticklish armpits, thighs, knees...
He hasn't shaved in a couple days. And he isn't drunk. I'm gonna fix that. Friday night, and I know they're calling for some serious rain over the next few days. Thanks to that he's got a week off. Drey told me, when he returned my call a few hours ago.
He's loose. I knew the runt was planning on some fun, so Gloria must've done him right. I've snuck in on 'em, other times, and watched his technique. As relaxed as he is right now, the date must've been pretty damn successful.

He closes the garage door and walks in. Whistling. Gets a beer out of the fridge and looks around. I do believe he's waiting for me to jump him... so I'm holding off. That makes it even more of a charge. He gives a little shrug, and goes into the bathroom.
And then he screws up. Deeny doesn't brush his teeth. I'm gonna get him for that.
He walks into his bedroom, which is soundproofed to a T. Sits on the bed and pulls his boots off. Then his jacket. They get dropped on the floor. Scooting back on the bed, he turns the pillow and props his head up. Lights another smoke, drinks some beer...
And watches the door.
So I start closing it, real slowly.

A crazed whine slips out of him. "You son of a bitch!" Cocky fucker. The door is closing, but he don't move. Grinning like a thief. "I knew you wouldn't forget."
There. I close the door. Shoot the deadbolt...
Growl quietly.
He starts laughing.
"Cowpoke."
"Kicker."
"You know why I picked that name?" An old greeting.
"Because... you're gonna kick my ass." He's backed up, bracing himself. Big smile.
"What do I got here? A big guy. Locked up."
He shivers happily and tugs on his smoke. Getting himself ready.
"Got me an adult cowpoke."
"Finally."
"He's legal."
"Uh-oh," he squeals.
"And it's his birthday."
"Hee hee hee..."
I open the closet door. Bring out a dozen boxes, wrapped in plain black paper.

"Cool," he says... holding out his hands when I float a small box over to him. He tears the paper off in no time. And studied the letters -
"Nic...ess-k-ap. Eee. Esskapeee?" He looks up.
"Nic-escape. It's gum."
"Uh. Okay."
He looks all confused, and it makes me chuckle. "Help you quit smokin' those cigarettes."
Deeny's eyes open real big. "No way! I can buy 'em now, and it's legal and everything. I don't wanna -"
"Listen, shithead, your days as a smoker are coming to a close."
"Fuck you!" he laughs, when he realizes I'm messing with him.
"Watch your mouth," I say. "Don't know if I want you hangin' around with those mutherfuckin' construction workers."
"Yeah, yeah..." He reaches for the next gift.

Girlie magazines, a bottle of whiskey, two video game discs, a t-shirt with Fred Flintstone on it, a big box of his favorite cookies. The shirt makes him chuckle. So do the fuckrags... but it's a very different laugh.
"What did Drey get ya?"
"A calculator. And it's got some games. Hangman..." He's looking at one of the magazines, very intently. "He took me out to lunch today."
"How's Gloria?"
He bites his lip, but he blushes anyway. I haven't seen that in awhile.
"You two have fun tonight?"
He nods, and starts to laugh.
Drey thinks they're a good match. Gloria ain't no genius herself. And she pouts if he don't pay enough attention to her. But she doesn't push him around, and that's gotta count for something. She went to work at nine, and after tonight she's going west with her folks. Camping, family reunion. Gone for a week and a half, maybe two.
Deeny needs to be distracted, so he don't miss her. But I have a plan.
Hell, I've been waiting for this night for years.

The biggest box has a black cowboy hat.
"Wow! Thank you..."
Vest, and chaps. Western-style. No dude shit on 'em, just weathered cowhide. He looks like he's hypnotized.
"Put 'em on, hoss." I wait until he starts opening the vest, and casually say, "Let's see how that looks without a shirt."
He stops, and thinks about it. Giggles... and takes his hat off. And his t-shirt.
"There," I say.
He scoots into the chaps. "You're the best."
"I know." He puts the hat back on, and tilts it back. Looking more like a male stripper than a cowboy... "These are nighttime clothes, so you just wear 'em when I'm around here. Except maybe the hat."
"I wish it was my birthday every day."
I bring him a thin box...
A coil of rope.
He just snickers at it.
I pick it up and tie a slip knot. Twirl the loop slowly.

"Oh, shit," he laughs, "oh no, oh no -"
"Last box," I announce, setting the rope down by his feet.
"Gimme." He digs in and throws the lid down. Then he stares.
I've made him a pair of brown satin gloves. Dark brown. The cuffs flare out, just a little bit. They're modelled after standard goatskin work gloves - and he gulps, forgetting to close his mouth.
"Try 'em on," I growl.
He looks around, beaming. Slowly shaking his head, he picks them up...
As soon as they're in place, I take charge of his hands.
"Hey!"
I make him reach over and get his cigarettes.
"Thought you didn't want me to smoke," he says, watching the pack shake one out.
"Hey, they're your hands."
I give him a light, and hold the right glove up - as the whiskey bottle comes to meet up with it.
"Uh... oh."

He's leaning back again, with his eyes half-closed. Feeling good.
New cowboy gear on him, two shots of booze in his gut, and a cigarette between his fingers.
"One tough customer," I say, making it sound like a threat. If that smile gets any bigger, it could get stuck that way. "But not tough enough..."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah." I bring his cigarette up for a long drag... Have him reach over and punch it out in the ashtray.
Lift his hands over him. Turn 'em, and slowly make 'em aim for his chest.
"Oooooooo," he goes, blowing smoke at the gloves. Starting to squirm. But there's nowhere to run... from his own hands.
His fingers slip under the vest - and grab his armpits.
"Kih hih hik kah hah heeeeee...."
I do my best growling chuckle. "I got you now. Right where I want ya."
He howls, and I run the fingers down his sides and back up. He rocks frantically, as if he was trying to throw a straitjacket off.
No chance. I race across and back down, and his hat falls off. Roaring his guts out, Deeny flops around, trying to roll, arching his back. My fingers stay right there. I'm dialed in - shit, I know the exact way to deal with these particular ribs, the edges of his armpits... and the fucker's only going to turn eighteen once.

When he's panting good and hard, I slow the gloves down to a crawl - and pick up the rope.
"Oh, fuck, nah hah hah nuh no..."
I toss the loop, and miss. Throw it again. A-ha. Pull it tight.
"Help me out, here. I'm tired of looking at these old fuckin' socks."
He shakes his head and wails happily, as I take his hands and reach down. Jerking back, over and over, but he can't stop my gloves - his fingers - from pulling off one sock, then the other.
"Here." I hold the rope in front of the right glove. It grabs on, and starts wrapping his ankles up. The glove on his left hand is helping too. Smooth as if I didn't have his hands caught inside. Now there's a sight I like. Satin and rope, catching some damn ticklish feet.
"Ooooo hooo oh shit, dammit, Kicker, you are so sick..."
"Nice and tight. So they can't get away."
He squeals, unable to talk.
"Maybe an extra knot." The gloves do it, and end with a hard tug - "There."
I make him reach a little further. Smooth fingertips, holding on to the outer sides, hooo yeah.
"You wouldn't," he chuckles. Knowing better.
"Go."
The gloves attack.

He kicks his legs, and I make the fingers follow along - and keep tickling him.
Deeny just screams laughter. Rolling don't help him. When he tries to stand up, I push him over. After a lot of hysterical struggling, he ends up on his back, kicking like a frog. So I tickle his sides again until his legs relax. When his knees are starting to bend, I push down a little and hold the rope - so these fuckin' feet are gonna stay in range.
"Noooooooooooo -"
And I have to chuckle, as I take his hands and move in. Damn, do I like it... Dancing on feet I know this well. All over, nice and slow.
It's hard to say who's enjoying it more.

Ten sweaty minutes, and finally I let go of him.
"Naw. You're doin' it all wrong," I say disgustedly.
A clip sneaks up and catches the rope holding his feet together. I pull the strap tight, slowly, until his heels are just off the end of the mattress.
"No," he gasps, "this is too much..." But he still hasn't stopped grinning.
"Fuckin' adult. No more lightweight bullshit. I'm just getting started on you."
With the gloves, I spread his arms wide, and lay 'em down over his head. He looks at each one, and tries to pull free... but I bring the cuffs up from under the bed. They're already clipped to the straps. Thick rawhide, creaking as I stretch 'em open, buckles jingling a little.
He hoots continuously, shaking his head, as I pin his wrists down.
"I'll show you how it's done..."
Deeny sees eight more gloves, just like his and shiny as fuck, cruise to the bed.
"Oh no."
I slip the new satin around some of my favorite places.

"Nnnnnnnnnnnooooooooooooooo!"
Very loud. He's straining to break the straps. Almost as if he was serious... So I pull the gloves off.
He looks at them, all puzzled. "Hey."
"What."
"Uh..."
He's disappointed.
I knew it. The little freak.
"You didn't say the word," I growl.
"Wha- I know," he barks. "Stupid fucker."
"Oh," I chuckle. "You're gonna wish you were never born."
He giggles again.
"Simon says, tell me the stop-word, jackass."
He rolls his eyes. "Vavavava voovoovoovoo." He never makes a 'V' sound when he's laughing...
"Right. You wanna use it? Now?"
Deeny sucks in air, eyes shining.
"Alright, then."
I set those gloves back down, and have me some major fun.

Twenty, thirty minutes.
Deeny catches his breath. When his eyes stay open, he's got that glazed look. Beyond happy. Wet hair stuck to his forehead, hands getting restless...
He gives the cigarettes a meaningful look. Wishing real hard.
I get him one.
"Water?"
He thinks about it. "Yeah."
Watching me open a bottle, he kicks out a big ol' sigh.
After he sucks it down, and I put the smoke back between his lips -
"Did you close the garage door?" I ask.

He throws his head back, and a little whine leaks out of him. Already, he's on to me. "Yeeeaahh."
"Oh." I let him take another drag. "Take the trash out?"
"Yes."
"Pay the electricity bill?"
"Kicker -"
"Did you?"
"Yeah."
I grunt quietly. "Did you brush you teeth?"
His smile goes away.
"Well?" Whatever answer he gives, he's fucked. Because I know.
"Uh..."
With a little growl, I take away his smoke.
"Oh, crap," he wails, tracking it as it floats to the ashtray. "Here we go again."
My gloves make slow fists as I bring 'em back.
"What are you, too cool to brush your teeth?"
He cackles at the gloves, flattening himself as much as he can.
That don't stop me. It never does.

I know my way around Deeny, and how to make it hurt a little. His face says it all. This is punishment time.
After a few minutes, I slow the fingers down until he stops laughing. Gonna make him sweat for a while, gulping air. Not exactly the kind of tickling he goes for.
Badass massage, with an edge...
Forty-five minutes go by before I know it.

He's zoned, so I keep him there while I unlock the door and get a few things. Hell, I get the cuffs off without getting caught - not until I slip my gloves under his arms and sit him up. He starts laughing, but winds back down when I let go...
A cereal bowl touches down on his chest.
I squeeze some toothpaste out of the tube, and load up his toothbrush...
Shaky fingers get around the handle, and the look on his face makes me wanna laugh out loud. "Right now. Or else."

I open up the closet again.
Deeny watches me bring out... the biggest goatskin gloves I could find. Oiled up and ready to go.
"What now?"
"Birthday tradition," I tell him, grabbing his arms. He squirms when I show him more rope.
"Kicker. C'mon. You can't tickle me all night," he says - and we both break up.
"Real funny guy." His wrists are tied in a flash, and I pull the rope under the ankle-knots and cinch it good. "And now I've got him hog-tied. Wanna know why?"
"I think I know," he mumbles, squirming around.
"No you don't." I pick him up... and rotate him.
"Hey..."
His nose is pointed at the mattress. More important, his ass is way up in the air.
I take one of the gloves and park it higher still. The other one reaches for his balls.
"Oh, shit."
But he watches it. I lay it just under his nuts - not touching him - and curl the fingers. He snickers a few times. If he wiggles, I've got him. Or if...
"How's Gloria?" I ask.
"Okay." He's suspicious now.
"She give you a birthday present?"
"Lighter."
"Oh. I wondered when you got that." He's not taking his eyes off that glove. "Anything else?"
"No."
"She get you a card?"
"Oh. Yeah."
"Give you a kiss?"
He nods, and starts shifting around...
And his cock gets a little bigger.

"Maybe a few kisses. Am I right?"
"Uh..."
"And then? I think you're not telling me everything. Let me see, now... You kissed her, and you kissed her again... A whole bunch of times. Let your hands start to... move. They probably ended up under her shirt. Some of them fingers sneaking down into her panties. Adult entertainment."
It's working. The natural course of things. Deeny's remembering another birthday present, three hours old. I've got the fingers leaning way over - but they're not making contact.
"Hey, now," he says.
"She's got nice fuckin' tits."
"Kicker!"
"Well, she does. You like to feel 'em, huh?"
Deeny groans quietly.
"I bet you two had a good celebration. For your birthday."
"Dammit..."
He's getting hard. No defense against it.
"You used a rubber, didn't you?"
"Yeah," he snaps. "Every time, just like you told me."
"Good. You better. Roll that fucker on, and get busy."
Another moan - and his cock touches my glove. I didn't move 'em at all. Didn't have to - just get him thinking, and his dick comes right to me. He tightens his stomach muscles, lifting it away. But he's not at full salute yet. "Hey!"
"Felt good, huh?" He closes his eyes. "You fuck her hard, Deeny?"
A little thrust... and it's there. Right up against the oiled fingers. So I curl 'em -
"Kicker!"
I just hold on, and bring the other glove down. Right by his side. I use it to flip him off. "Know what I'm gonna do next?"
"You're so... sick."
"Give you a birthday spanking."

There's a great fuckin' pause. "No way."
The goatskin fingers wiggle at him, and I bring it up. "Count 'em off."
"What?"
I sigh. "Bonehead. You gotta count. One, two, three.... Or else I start over. From one."
"Shit," he says, sounding worried.
"You can count to eighteen, right? Here goes." I give him a slap on the ass. Solid. Not too hard. He jumps, and looks relieved... that I didn't spank him harder.
"Deeny."
He cranes his neck, looking at the glove in the air. Ready to spank him again. "What's wrong?"
"You didn't say 'one'."
"One," he finally barks.
"Gotta be quicker than that. Say it before I spank you the next time, or else I g-"
"You gotta start all over," he interrupts. "I get it."
"This man's got a big mouth." I spank him - and he giggles.
"One."
"That's better." Slap...
"Ow. Two." He drops his head -
And sees four gloves, the brown satin he likes so much, about to attack.
"Noooooo!"
I spank him, and start fingering his ribs.
"Oh hah hah hah nooo hooo hooooooo -"
Slap.
"Uh-oh," I laugh.
He moves his head - and his eyes open wide. He hoots louder, and squirms real nice.
Slap.
"Wuh huh huh -"
I speed it up a little.
He makes it to five. That's when I start rubbing his feet too.
The squawk I'm hearing don't sound nothin' like "six", so I start over again.

"Dumb cowpoke," I tell him. "We're gonna be here all night."
"Ay ay eight hah haw haw hooooo."
"You understand me? No matter how long it takes." Spank.
"Nuh huh n-neye nine nuh huh huh huh."
"I mean that. Shit, I ain't got anywhere to be. You? Naw, hold on - that's right, I'm not lettin' you outa here tonight."
The glove spanks him a little harder -
And satin traces around the tip of his cock.
He bucks. A low, ragged howl, chortling like a fool.
Spank.
I sigh in his ear. Slap his butt again.
"Starting over..."

He gets so feverish that he forgets to count for a long time.
I keep spanking, just like I said I would. Move the tickling around, add ten more fingers. Keep a firm hold on his rod.

If I hadn't reminded him - and slowed the gloves down - he never would've made it to eighteen.
Only took four smoke breaks, two liters of water, and almost two hours of solid fun.

So I set him down, and get the cuffs back on.
"Whew," he says, exhaling smoke.
"Does your butt hurt?"
"Yeah."
"Good."
I have two of the gloves start playing with his nipples. Still trapped in my fingers, his cock tries to thrust - again.
"Good?" he complains.
"That's a birthday spanking."
"Ow..."
He watches the cigarette get taken away.
"I better get your mind off it."
"No! No no no..."
Two gloves, for each foot. Moving slow. Solid coverage -
He whoops and slams his head against the mattress.

After an hour of that, he's laughing silently. Sweating like it's the fourth of July.

I pour more water down him, and get the whiskey.
He sees the bottle, and snickers at it.
"Gonna get drunk, hoss," I tell him. "Shoot your gun off."
"And then?" he says, baiting me.
"Well... Then, I've got eight gloves that are gonna remind you how much more ticklish you get, after you squirt."
"Only eight?"
"You little... I got a box of rubber gloves here. Make you a fuckin' suit out of 'em."
"Oh no, no," Deeny wails. "Not again. I can't... Let me go."
"Okay," I shoot back. "What's the magic word?"
He takes another drag. "Fuck you. That's the only word I got for you."
That calls for another growl.
When he hears me, he nods his head. "Insane fuckin' bastard."
I hold his smoke and put the bottle to his lips. Cradling his head while he drinks it.
His eyes wander down... and watch my gloves, as they unwrap a studded condom.

The last water of the night has a pill dissolved in it - safe to mix with the booze, though Deeny's worked off most of the alcohol anyway.

"You wanna cigarette?" I ask him.
"Y-yeah," he pants.
"Fuck that. You're gonna fall asleep before you have time to finish it."
"Please?"
"No. How you feelin'?"
"Tired."
"Well, I don't see why."
He chuckles. "Did I pee?"
"Where have you been? Yeah, you peed. But don't w-"
"Aw, man."
"That's it. You're a man now. They always pee."
That makes him think. "Really?"
"If I'm ridin' their ass right. Adult-style. Nobody ever makes it through the second hour. Yeah, they piss every time. I'm used to it. That's just part of marathon fuckin' tickling. I've told you that before." I think for a second and add, "You gotta remember, I'm the magical asskicker that's got 'em. I do whatever I want. And they can't do shit to stop me."
"I know that." But he looks doubtful. I don't want him having nightmares about Drey tickling him - and definitely not now. After the night we had, and the week I got set up for him...

"Smoke up," I say, getting him one. "Let's settle this once and for all." And he's fading, sure enough, so I pick up a pair of gloves and clamp 'em over his feet so the thumbs can work on his heels.
He grins, and starts to fidget.
"I want you to pay attention for a minute." Deeny takes a shaky drag, and tries to curl his toes. "Do I got your attention?"
"Yessir."
Aw, I can't resist. "You sure?" I pull his cigarette and let it hang over his chest. A little adrenaline will help him concentrate...
The fingers let go, and I make all of 'em rub faster.
"Oh fuh huh haw haaaw haw haw haw."
"You gonna listen hard?" He nods frantically. "Real hard? Or else I'm gonna keep doing this -" And I use one of the patterns that gets to him the most, only slower.

His limbs tense up, and he crows at the ceiling, eyes shut tight. I keep stickin' it to him until he shakes his head nice and hard. Then I scale it back down, though I don't want to...
He needs a minute to catch his breath. Staring at the cigarette... When he nods, I put it back between his lips.
"Close your eyes. But don't nod off," I warn him.
"I'll try."
"No. Don't try. Just listen, and I'm gonna make up a story. Five more minutes." He nods. "I'll let you have one more smoke." Just as he's told, he keeps his eyes shut and sucks it into life. "I want you to pretend you're somebody else."
"Who am I pretending to be?"
"Li-" I stop myself. Instead of one of his friends, I get a great idea. "You're Drey."
He smiles.
"Twenty-two, big as an ox, not afraid of nobody. The last time you were tickled... you were in bed with a good-looking woman, couple months ago. She got playful, but it was easy to make her stop. Distract her. You know what I'm talkin' about. So you're Drey, and you're drivin' home from work, same as usual. Get home, watch some TV, get really stoned... And you go to bed. So far so good?"
"Uh-oh," he chuckles.
"Damn right. You got it - I'm on the hunt. Sneak into your window. Now, you gotta remember, Drey, no tickler's ever gotten hold of you before. And you're used to being an adult. And a jock. Okay? I'm a total stranger... and I'm a lot bigger than you. Right?"
"Bigger."
"And badder. I'm gonna tickle you. Not just a little. No, I got major fuckin' plans. Brought something with me. A little green pill. I crunch it up and sprinkle it on your tongue - and because you're so stoned, you don't even wake up. The pill makes you keep on dreaming, as I take you out to your truck. Drive ya way out in the country, where I've got an old farmhouse all ready..."
"I like this story," Deeny says.

"Stay with me. Don't picture yourself there. Think about Drey. He finally wakes up, and discovers what I'm gonna do. And it's the biggest fuckin' surprise in the world."
"Oh."
"He don't know me. All he finds out is that I'm gonna do whatever I want, and he's gonna lay right there, tied down. So I show him ten or twelve gloves, and lay into him! He goes from being scared, to mad, to just knowing he's in for a whole ration of shit. Right? You know. Nothing he can say or do about it. It's like a ghost has got him. And it tickles him, and tickles him. He's gotta pee eventually - everybody does - but he don't wanna just lay there and piss all over himself. Of course not. But here's the big difference... I'm a stranger. Makin' him sweat."
"And... pee."
"And everything else, dude. I call the shots, you're gonna go along, and you can't even hope I'll go easy on ya 'cause we're friends. Fuckin' balls-out tickling for big dudes. That's what they get. So if you're Drey, there, all you know is there's a maniac tickling you. Instead of?"
"Your br-... Somebody you like."
There. He gets it.

I see his eyes open a little, and his face is still all relaxed.
"Good for you. Drey. I don't care if you look up to me or not. I'm just your tickler. Kidnapper. You're gonna respect me, and you're gonna have lots of wild dreams about me, later. But you don't trust me, and you never will. That's o-kay."
"Drill sergeant."
I tickle a few laughs out of him, and take the cigarette away. "That is a very good example, Deeny."
"Thank you," he says, all smug.
"Or... If Drey got drunk and puked all over himself, would he be more embarrassed... if his girlfriend's watching?"
"Yup."
"But I got him out in that old farmhouse where nobody's gonna see what happens. Ain't nobody gonna hear him yell for help. Laugh his ass off. So when he pisses - later, when he shoots his gun off - he might get mad. The first time. But I'm not gonna stop tickling. College-boy tickling, for this thug... So it don't matter if he pees a hundred times. That's just part of the deal. He's paying attention to the tickling, just like I want. That's all that matters. For the next month or two."
He sighs.

"And now, you tell me something that Drey's learned."
"He's ticklish," Deeny giggles.
"Fuck, yeah, he is. What else?"
"He's gonna laugh for a long, long time."
"So..."
"After a while, he forgets all about peeing. Too busy."
"That's right. I'm drillin' his ass. And am I his ol' childhood buddy?"
He thinks hard, and yawns. I'm anxious to see what he comes up with. "N-nope. You're a kidnapper."
"Very mysterious tickler. Drey's too busy to worry about what I think of him, and other shit that don't matter right now. What he cares about... is..."
"What you're doin'."
I pat him on the head.
"Too busy gettin' tickled... to think straight," he says happily, yawning real big.
"And I ain't gonna stop because of a little pee on the bed."
"You sure ain't."
"He'll find out quick enough. Even shit don't matter to me at all. I just clean it all up and keep on ticklin' him. Like all the other big guys I caught... long before I followed him home."
"Big dudes," he says vaguely. "Tickle 'em harder."
"You know it. Adults."
"Longer..."
He drifts off to sleep.

While he's out - and staying there, thanks to one of those little green pills - I get out the tat gun.
 
 

"Ow..." Before he even opens his eyes. Moaning and groaning...
Then he yawns, blinks a few times - and checks out the room.
"Kicker?"
"Cowpoke-asskicker, more like."
He relaxes. "Where..."
"Take a guess."
He studies the cuff holding his right wrist. Black leather. Black vinyl, under his arm. Thick iron chair.
I watch him, real close. His lips move, and he gets it right. Two syllables. But he don't say it out loud. Then he starts to smirk...
The brown satin gloves are still on his hands. They're darker. Still damp. He moves his fingers a little and yawns. Then I watch him, as he looks at his vest, and chaps -
There. He sees it. Right arm.
"Hey!"
"What?"
"You... bastard!"
His head whips around, and he sees his other arm.
"Watch your fuckin' mouth," I tease him.
"Are those tattoos?"
"Oh, c'mon. What do you think?"
"Good grief," he says. Excited. "Wow."
"You like 'em?"
"Yeah. You bet."
"You freak. You're not lyin' to me, are ya?"
"Kicker."
"Okay."

Last year, I put my logo on the inside of his right arm. Some new ticklers had come around, and I didn't like his chances. A rough time wasn't what he needed, just then - not when his reading was improving by the week, and long division was finally making sense. So I marked him, and put out the word. Not yet - this one's mine.
Drey came real fuckin' close. More than once. He has no idea what kind of strings I had to pull, just to keep Deeny's dumbass big brother out of a nice cozy cell. Months of howling... When I explained his situation to him, he let me pull his shirt off - but he drew the line at the leather cuffs I'd brought along. Just in case.
I laid my tat down on his left shoulder. As soon as Deeny saw it, sure enough, he just thought it was the coolest thing. Wouldn't shut up about it. Please, Kicker, can I, can I, pleeeeeze. And hell, it made sure nobody interrupted his schoolwork.
So they have matching tats. Deeny ran back home and showed it off. And Drey, he was pissed... until I slid a pack of smokes into his shirt pocket. That mellowed him out in a hurry. He'd managed to quit smokin' a couple months before. They sat up half the night and talked - back porch, six-pack, too many cigarettes, one fat joint. And I was listening. Gotta give him credit... Drey was good. He managed to ask about me - and actually listen to what Deeny said. Turning the conversation to sex, and bondage... "people" who might wanna play with Deeny someday - and Drey never let on that he'd been dealing with me directly for the last year. Smooth.
Yeah, I guess he turned out okay.

He'd go pale if he knew how many fuckheads have my logo on 'em - the cowboy boots being grabbed by black leather gloves, and thrown aside. Barbed-wire around it, and my name underneath. Thick, black letters.
I added some rope for Deeny, winding around from under my name. Up the back of his arm, with a magic feather pointing at one sweet fuckin' armpit. On his left tricep I gave him a thinner lasso, spinning with no hand holding it - just those little motion-marks - and a pair of brown gloves holding a cowboy hat, a beer bottle and a pack of smokes.
Yeah, Drey's gonna shit his pants. Fuck him.
Deeny can't stop staring. Big ol' smirk on his face.
"Don't you get too cocky, now. Biker."
"I got more tattoos than Drey!"
"Uh-huh."
"Wait 'til he sees."
I just sigh. "And Gloria?"
"She likes my Kicker-tat. Rubs it a lot." I've watched her do that. Seen the look on his face...
"Uh-oh, look out. You want some water?"
"Maybe a little."
After I free his right hand, I open a bottle and hand it to him. Set his new lighter and an open pack on his leg. He nods. "Listen."
"What?"
"No. I mean, shut up and listen to me. I gotta tell you some stuff."
He nods again.

"You've worked real hard, for a long time. And I am so proud of you, buddy. Drey is, too -"
"He told me."
Damn well better tell you, I think to myself. Often. Or else. "Ssssshh. Let me talk. You've done so well that I got a problem. I mean, shit, you're as smart as most of the guys you work with. And I'm not just saying that to make you feel good. That last year of school... you learned more than I ever thought you would. And now you're a good employee, and you pay your bills. Put a rubber on before you and Gloria have your fun."
He grins at his cigarette.
"When your mom took off last year, I sorta wondered if you could learn enough to be on your own. But you sure showed me. You did good. Now I got another worry. All these other ticklers... Well, they'd love to get their gloves on you. Stop giggling, dipshit." But I don't mean it. And he can tell. "I don't want them to tickle you - yet - because you got a job and a house." Which I made Drey buy for him, with my money. But still. "If some tickler locks you up for a couple weeks, or a whole month - or longer - you'd lose your job. And maybe all the stuff you've worked so hard for."
He looks worried. Try a year, I think. As ticklish as he is. Maybe two... But no way I'm gonna tell him that.
"You got my tattoo. But I'm gonna make absolutely sure you don't get locked up by anybody else. Not until you're ready. Is this getting through to you?"
He thinks for a second. "I'm just like the other guys now. Or pretty close anyway. So any tickler might grab me... But then you make it sound like you think I'm not ready for that."
"Smart fucker." That makes him smile. "You might change your tune if it was somebody other than me. No stop-words, Deeny. We hardly ever use 'em. You and me, okay... But think about it. Even if it was me, and I tore into you for a month straight, all day long, every day - and if I plumb refused to stop? Well. I ain't gonna do that to ya... but I can just about guarantee you that any other tickler won't listen. Stop-words are rare, in my world. We just wanna tickle you dudes silly. I gotta make sure none of us tickle you so much that you end up losing all the good shit you got goin' now."
"Damn," he mutters.
"I want you to do something for me - no, for you. So I can keep you... safe."
"You got it, Kicker."
"Now here's what we're gonna do..."

"Got it," he says. "Let's go."
"You sure you understand?"
"Uh-huh," he nods. "If I do this, you'll always be in charge."
"Fuck. You're mine, camper. I already own your ass... No, really, I just want you to have a normal life. When you're not howlin', that is. Job, house, girlfriend. Motorcycle."
"Cool."
I check the camera, just to make sure it's rolling. "I'm still gonna come and fuck you up bigtime. Either way."
"You are, huh?"
"Oh yeah. It's those other freaks I'm worried about. You can laugh it up with them later. That's my advice. But it has to be your decision."
"I trust ya... What do I say?"
"That's my cowpoke."
"That's my cowpoke," he repeats. And he cracks up.
"Smartass. What have I done?" I groan. "Created a fuckin' smartass."
"Up yours," he fires back.
"Have a smoke." I put a sheet of posterboard below the two-way mirror, and pull the cap off a marker. Start drawing on it, as he lights up...

"Who is that?"
"You'll see." I write some numbers, nice and big. "Read that."
"9984."
"That's your number."
After a pause, he says quietly, "Do I have to know it by heart?"
"Not today. Maybe I'll spank it into ya -"
"Oooooo-hoo."
I underline the number. "Let's give it a try. If you mess up, don't worry. We'll just do it again."
"You're gonna tell me what to say. Right?"
"Uh-huh. Word for word. It ain't a test. There aren't any questions. If something don't make sense, ask me and I'll explain it. This has to be truthful."
"Okay."
"Repeat after me... Kicker is gonna tickle the fuck out of me."
He laughs.
"Last night was nuthin'. That was little kid stuff, compared to what it's gonna do to me today."
"Oh, fuck," he yells. "Kicker's crazy. Somebody help me, it wants to tickle me some more."
"Wants to? Shit. I'm going to." I sketch a few feathers, and he gets interested. "No backing out of it. You wanted to visit the place, so here you are." And I add a pack of gloves to the drawing, ready to grab the stick figure in the usual places...

Close to his ear, real quiet, I say his number. Then I tap his chest. Your turn.
"9984," Deeny says.
"Louder," I tell him, and he repeats it. "VVU."
He nods. I just got done explaining what it means. "VVU..."

It takes us about ten minutes. That shows me, again, how far he's come.
Twice, he paused and thought for a few seconds... but his face cleared, and he repeated the words I told him, nodding his head as he did.
By the end, he was grinning real big, showing his teeth.
"Now you're really in for tickling, Kicker-style," I tell him. "That's a promise."
I open the door, and roll in the cage.

Thick iron bars. Leather cuffs.
"I'm gonna get it," he laughs, watching the lid swing down.
"And now I lock it up," I tell him. "Like so."
Deeny looks through the top bars. "Why can't I wear my cowboy stuff?"
"I told you - you'll get it back later. Shit. Not even those chaps are gonna get in my way, badass. No street clothes allowed. I wanna be able to touch down... anywhere I want. All I want."
"Help -"
"Nothin's gonna help you now."
I start rolling the cage. Out the door, and down the hall. He pulls at the cuffs.
"Nope. You're not going to escape. I use the cage for guys who already know they're not gonna get away. Not for first-timers. They wake up in the tickle-cell, all strapped down. All ready." I turn a corner. He's looking all around... but I can tell he's listening real hard. "Not you. The cage is for fuckers who know what's in store for 'em at the end of this little trip. And you know, don't you?"
He giggles wildly. Trying to slam around.
"Sure ya do. Got me a cowpoke who knows. You can count on me."
"Oh noooooo..." And right after that, in his everyday voice - "This place is big."
"Not fuckin' big enough. We're gonna add a room for every asshole who... made fun of the other guys at school."
He whistles. "I wish. Naw... Is there, uh, somebody there? In each one?"
"Locked away. Gettin' the business." He chortles at that. "Not every single door, but most of 'em. Yeah. Think of how many ticklers there are. So now, maybe, you see why I had you join up. Volunteer."
"VVU?"
"That's right. VVU."

His strains to turn himself over, and gives it up. "If I didn't, there's no telling which one would get me. Today. Instead of you."
"Smartass. Yup."
One more turn. But Deeny acts like it's a fuckin' roller coaster ride.
"You see that door? Right at the end of the hall?"
"Help," he squeals. Trembling.
"That's a special room. Reserved for you. So I can welcome number 9984 to MATI Tulsa."
More laughter. "Oh, fuck, you can't." He pulls at the cuffs, even though it won't do him any good. And he don't really want me to back off, anyway. He's so excited it's making me nuts.
"Over and over again -"
"Nooooooo. Somebody - anybody. Help. Kicker's got me. Oh, shit, it's g-gonna tickle me!"
I growl over him, and end up chuckling as I roll the cage along.
Open the door, and push him in...
The boxes are here, full of tools.
We'll try out the stocks first, I think. Yeah. He's never seen stocks before. There are five other devices in there to keep him from flopping around, plus the bed. And we're going to use 'em all.
I push a button - and weak light shines on the footboard of the stocks.
Deeny stares. Breathing hard... Other than that, he don't fuckin' move.
That makes me chuckle again. He looks up, at the sound - and laughs.
I close the door. Pick up the padlock, put it in place and snap it closed.

Back to Part 1

MATI