I hear jingling.
Chains.
Yeah, I'm pretty sure. So I hold real still and think to myself, I have gotta be dreaming this. Because if I'm not dreaming this, I am going to lose my fuckin' mind, or what's left of it. Go completely over the edge this time. It has to be a dream...
But my heart is racing now. Crap.
No problem. I'll think of other... dreams where my heart was pounding this hard. It's just a dream. It's not real.
Okay.
I open my eyes.
My stomach. No shirt.
I look at the eight feathers tattooed around my belly button, then at the black strap... nylon webbing, leading further up -
I lift my head.
Oh. I'm hanging. From the ceiling.
There are wide gauntlets around my forearms. And below my knees. Cushioned. The strap across my breastbone is padded, and so are... two others, high around my thighs.
One of those realistic dreams, then.
Concrete floor below me, painted black. Old paint.
Cinderblock walls. I try to look up, and see how the chains are attached, but I can't turn my head enough. The attempt makes me sway a little. Side to side. The chains creak very quietly.
So - in this dream, I get to swing. Thrash around and not get anywhere. This just sucks.
Then I start to turn. Pivoting around - and I keep going. Something... is pushing on my right leg. On the gauntlet.
With a big, disgusted sigh, I float back and forth.
"Whaddaya think?" a voice says, ready to snicker. Stoned-surfer voice.
"Not you again," I mutter.
"Uh-huh. That's an extra day, for being a rude fucker. Two days. Heh. So... overly sensitive dude... how do you like it? The way you're caught?"
"I - Uh, can't really tell from here. Get me down, and I'll have a better angle to see -"
It snorts at that. "But you just got here." Spoken confidentially. A pure threat.
I try twisting my wrists around. One time I broke a buckle that way.
"And I am in a real good mood. Not sure why. Maybe it's the way I rigged you up. Maybe it's just you."
"Please don't do this."
It sighs. "Now if only you were as happy to be here as I am."
I've fallen for that one before. Tried reverse psychology on it once. What a disaster. "But you said I'm... f-fun 'cause I hate it. Or are you having a change of heart?"
"Nnnnnaah. You got me. If you don't hate it, I'm definitely not tickling you hard enough."
My attempt to turn over comes to a halt when the chains sling me back around real fast. The sensation of falling makes me hold still until the worst of the twisting is over and done with.
There's something way underneath - white, against the dark floor.
Oh shit. Shit, no, no... wait, I already decided this was another dream, a totally fucked-up nightmare. Just a dream...
Shiny cloth. I hang there, and watch it float - up.
Expanding a little. Unfolding - little shapes. They'll be last. One end swells, kinda like... a snake with an egg in it.
Like a glove, with a hand in it. Sliding further and further inside.
Except, of course, there's no hand there.
Satin fingers are starting to stand up, as they're... occupied. And they pause.
"Dude. The look on your face."
I gulp. Real hard. I just can't help it.
The glove collapses.
"Know what? I'm in such a great mood tonight, I think I'm gonna let you in on a few... tricks of the trade."
"Fuck, no thanks, that's oka-"
The voice cuts me off. Doing an excellent imitation of... clearing its throat. Impatient, real annoyed. "If you shut the fuck up for a minute... I won't tickle you. For a minute. Just so I can tell you why you've got a real thing for gloves."
I open my mouth, and close it again.
"You're a dude," it says. I think it's a compliment. And it kicks out the most contented, satisfied sigh. Not in any rush... but of course it isn't. I stick around for a couple long weeks whenever it finds me again. "Okay."
The glove comes up by my face. Still empty. I hold down a whimper that suddenly wants to get out.
"Here's what we know. Dudes have a bigtime automatic response to being tied down. Like an animal. Wild animal." It cracks up. I roll my eyes - "Hey! I saw that. Two more days... Oh, yeah. I was sayin', you wild animals don't take to the leash too well. Now you just nod your head if you're with me so far - and if you think you're ready to show me some fuckin' respect and listen real hard."
I nod a few times. You bet I do.
"Good. So I lock up a tough fucker. Such as... yourself. Let's say, it's the first time you ever got caught. And you may or may not have an idea about how, or why, you end up bein' one immobilized dude. But you're expecting trouble. You just don't know what kind yet. So I'm torqued. Anything that doesn't look like it's part of a rescue attempt is gonna jack your pulse up that much more. You're just waiting for something. Maybe some... help. Aw, you'd like that. A team of commandos bustin' down the door. Trouble with that is, I didn't tell 'em where I was gonna tickle you. Did you tell anybody? I didn't.
"So I guess that's too much to hope for. Dude. Maybe just a little hint, then. A sign of what I've got planned for ya. Okay. And you gotta remember, we're talkin' about that first kickass time - so you get a big ol' clue, alright."
"Could be a feather. If I move it right, you get the picture. But you know what? Dudes get really fuckin' worked up over the sight of a glove.
"It's like your hand, sorta. And you can do all kinds of shit with your hands. That trusty right hand of yours. Am I right? Yeeeeeah. And here comes this... strange hand. A bunch of hands... They're just cruising around. Magic.
"They don't come anywhere near your restraints. So they must not be... commando gloves. Noooooo. If they were gonna help, they'd get you out of here, wouldn't they? But they don't even try to help you escape. Heh.
"You, cuffed down. And them - on the prowl. You don't like that. Not liking the looks of that... but all you can do is look. At 'em. Yeah. So, you gotta figure they're trouble. Not on your side. Uh. Heh, hoo hoo... You know what I mean. They will be on your side. All over, both your sides. Real soon now -"
"I get it," I snap, but it comes out more worried-sounding than I want it to.
There's a scary pause. "Yeah. You got that right. You're gettin' it... So anyway. I got you thinking about being kidnapped, and strapped down, by something you can't see. Can't outgun. And here comes a little old piece of shiny material." The glove shakes a little, fingers hanging down.
"I just slowly pull this fucker on..."
The sight of it - just makes me freak out. Every time.
"And you learn some new stuff. Like... how bad I'm gonna mock you, and those pinned hands of yours. Out of commission. But with mine, I can do anything I want."
I watch the fingers stretch a little, one by one. Going limp. It's got the act down cold. The glove peels off - like there's really something there to peel off from - and gets shaken a couple times. So it's ready to wear again.
"If I pull the gloves on, like I just did... pretending I have hands like yours... it says it all, brah. My hands are better than yours are. You can't change the fact I'm the winner, here. Pulling on the gloves. When I glove up, I'm about to get down to business. Get serious. Dressed up, or geared up. Time to shred.
"And if I just fill 'em slower, like this..." The glove looks a lot like a balloon, expanding - until the fingers start to flex.
"You get a whole different message. This says, I'm a magician. Anything is possible now. If I can make these gloves come to life - without just pulling 'em over mystical hands - I can make other shit go after you too. I'm gonna do some bodacious magic tricks for ya. Really fuck with your head... Uh-huh. Now you listen real good. I'm going to tell you something, but you didn't hear it from me. Okay." The voice gets close to my left ear, somehow. A mock whisper. "Hands are not my favorite thing to tickle with. Shit. And you never would've known it, all the gloves I got. But there's other shapes I like better. It takes serious practice to get good with these things..."
The glove makes a fist, and gives me a thumbs-up, utterly confident. "You're dyin' to know what could be worse, aren't ya? But I'm gonna keep you in suspense. Heh. Suspension." Another little shove rocks me forward, and back... "If you don't know by now, dude... You're too dumb to be out running the streets. I'm gonna keep catching you until wise up. Keep ya safe. Yeah, you know you belong here. Strung up, and ready for action! Hangin' loose."
I shut my eyes and sway gently.
"You know it. I know it. So... What the hell was I talkin' ab- Oh! Heh. Why we take gloves to ya. Alright, we found out, early on. What you guys see, there, in your little animal-brains, when we're laying down some major tickling runs. Even if they never saw any real gear - when we used totally invisible shit to tickle 'em, all different shapes and sizes... You know what they always picture, in their skulls? While we totally climb the curl all over their ass?"
The glove waves at me.
"Give that man a cigar! Later on. Remind me. They see hands, dude. Every one of 'em. We asked. And you know they were real glad to talk when we got through with 'em. Heh. Tell us the whole truth. And it wasn't like, hey, did you think of gloves while I thrashed ya... We're smarter than that. No hints - more like, were you seeing anything, then, in your head? Oh yeah? Such as... what?" It laughs a couple times.
"And they finally say, it was hands. Oh, wait, it gets better. I heard three of 'em say, it was gloves. I shit you not. Hit 'em with brushes - invisible brushes - and they end up seeing gloves. So I had a whole lotta fun making their dream come true. Looky here, see what I got for ya. Are these gloves like the ones you were thinkin' about?" The voice laughs again, and I get the impression it was remembering...
"Now there's some dudes out there, somewhere, that maybe don't picture hands... I don't know what they think about, fifteen minutes into their new recreational hobby. Laughin' their ass off. But as soon as we show 'em gloves - let 'em see - well, you know what they're gonna visualize from then on. I know you do. Yeeeeeah. So the glove-thing works either way.
"Now, here's what you're gonna dream about, when you're too stoked to open your eyes."
The fingers touch my nipple!
Slide down to my belly button, and start digging. I try to rear back, and the chains swing me part of the way around.
The glove has no trouble riding along. The fingers get a few dozen licks in, little scratching motions, so I'm hooting and slamming around.
And then they sit still. Pressing down a little - or up, actually, since I had to look down to see the glove. Under me. On my gut.
"This empty glove, it's bein' used by your enemy. Even before it tickles you. Way before you know how fuckin' strong I am. Your brain says, dude, get away. Or fight it. But - oh fuck - you ain't gonna do either one, strung up here like this. You following this?"
"Yup."
Whoever's got this glove on has got another option for you. And it's sweet. Could even be the glove itself, for all you know... Acting like there's somebody pulling it on. Messin' with your head. No way - you don't get to fight it, and you sure as hell don't get to book. Only one thing left, brah. And you're not gonna like it. You are so gonna shit when you figure it out. You're gonna... stick around. Right here. As long as I want. Take what you got coming."
"Ooooh," I groan. "You're making sense."
"Yeah, well, that's the deal. Whoa... freaky shit. Some big-time magic tickler, harshin' your ass. Shows you only what it wants you to see. Makin' sure you get a good look. See the gloves? Watch 'em. They're gettin' ready for action. Follow 'em down to your big fuckin' feet. And you got some great feet, did I ever tell you that? They're killer ticklish, and I got 'em rigged up so they're here for the duration. Can't beat a combination like that.
"The kind of glove sets you up, too. I'm serious. Gets you thinkin', huh? Take a guy, strip him down, anchor him right... and if I pull on a few leather gloves, he's probably worried most about his meat. If the gloves got metal on 'em, and, say... he's tied to a chair, or hung up by his wrists, he looks at 'em like they're gonna use him for a punching bag. Just totally beat the shit out of him.
"Rubber gloves? Get him thinkin' - medical stuff. Real personal procedures... exams. Check the plumbing, see how well it works. Strokin' him off. He'll think about that when he sees a few rubber gloves, if he goes for that kinda shit anyway.
"But these..." And it sighs again.
The fingers snuggle down, lowering the slippery palm. That big patch of agonizing contact, getting closer -
"Anything with nylon. Or silk. A really tight cotton - and you dudes, you just don't know what to make of that." It chuckles again. "Not at first."
The palm of the glove lands. Rotating. I hiss in air and swing back, as the chains start to jingle.
"Most of you. So clueless. Until it comes down on ya. Leather gloves, rubber gloves, feathers, and better stuff you can't even see -"
Oh, fuck. It's sliding.
"You gotta be shown..."
I whoop once, fighting it hard. And then I start to cackle -
Damn fingers. Squeezing... again. Just a little. They spread out. Leaning in... and creeping.
One, two, three more wads of white cloth are floating up.
Being worked over - again - by hands that aren't all there. It's done so easily. Taunting me.
I shake my head and let it fall. Chuckling harder.
As soon as more fingers touch me - before they start to get busy - I go into a preemptive fit of roaring...
Which becomes mandatory, a few seconds later.
My ribs... oh shit. And my knees -
I kick and flail my arms, while I howl. Spinning, until the recoil slings me back... and that doesn't trouble the gloves at all. They're already on me. Latched on. Getting into it.
And it's gonna get so much more intense -
I howl, weakly, and let my head fall. And I hate to even think this - but the tickler is right. Those guys must've told the truth. I bet they were motivated...
I can't manage to watch the gloves, even though I want to. So my eyes close, all by themselves - and fuck, there they are. I'm picturing them, alright. Gloves. Never stopping to rest. Gleaming, the way they do. Satin, or oil. My knees. They're glad to be covering my ribs again. And that's all I can see, in my mind...
Where they are. Where they're going. A few other spots keep showing up - this quick shot of my feet, and the cuffs, as gloves start tickling. My cock. Naturally. Armpits. And the memory is never as fierce as the real thing.
I hate it when they're right. And they are. I'm not about to admit it, out loud. Not here.
But I've thought it over a lot. This fucker was not the first one to catch me. It was years ago...
And there weren't any gloves there. None that I could see. Nothing. Not even a feather. I brayed until my voice was gone, though.
Hard tickling, both feet. Invisible. All over. Dots and points and edges. Something that felt like a belt sander... maybe a rag, like a shoe-shine guy would use. Polishing a shoe. On the bottom of my feet, not the top. I've avoided those shoe-shine guys, ever since.
I guess I couldn't keep up with all that... variety. Without actually deciding to, I just picked a shape I could imagine. Busy on my feet. All over my body. I had to watch something, I guess.
Right away, before I saw any toys. No coaching. No quick flashes to set the hook. That whole endless weekend, and hundreds of nightmares afterward. My mental image wasn't a perfect match for the tools I felt all over me. But I always pictured the same impossible enemies, even though I hadn't see 'em. Carefully driving me bonkers. Not tearing... but stroking me apart.
They were black, too. The ones I thought up for myself. So black. Shiny.
The symbols I chose, to "watch" my adversary - imaginary hands, slick feel.
Hell. The first time I saw gloves that were... made just for tickling, brought over to be used on me, I was almost relieved. They matched my nightmare. Somehow it made sense. My worst fear was right on the mark.
Since then, of course, there have been so many gloves that I see 'em all the time. Lurking whenever I close my eyes. Pouncing, again a-
I can't think now. I wanna roar.
Yeeeeeeaaaahh...
They've got my knees - Shit! The tendons. That just makes me insane... So I buck - again, now. Real hard. And swing to the side. Spinning.
They didn't get thrown off, though. Fuck. Maybe if I arrrrrch...
No.
Pinching my ribs, below the chest-strap, working their way over it. I hate that. I have to howl again when they do that -
And I'm really swinging now! I'm moving. Tease, tease. The illusion of getting away. The gloves come too. So I howl again. They're gonna ride along. Giving it to me. They go at it... like they mean it. I whoop like a big dog. Coasting back, and forth.
Fuck me. The excitement is too much, far too much. Increasing. The surfer's got me again, and it's way too happy.
Mean magic gloves. Tickling. Real solid now. Riding me as I swing. Nowhere, goin' nowhere. That makes it worse. Being anchored to a mattress is pretty damn bad, and this is frustrating in a whole different way. Carefully fucking me over. And over, and over.
13oct2001