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Push hung up the phone. Sighed. Looked around...
He was alone. Safe in his apartment.
Right.

He whimpered. Immediately made himself stop that shit. Doke lived for miserable sounds like that.
It was probably tipping him off. There was a change he couldn't quite pin down - air pressure? energy? - and that usually meant it was there, ogling him, about to grab on. No way to know for sure. At first it had been infuriating, but the ticklers had gotten so bold, for so long, that he didn't even get mad anymore. There was just no point.
Doke knew stuff well before Push found out. Even though he just got the news from his foreman that it would be a "few" weeks until the next job started up, it was likely Doke had been responsible. Whenever he got an unexpected month free...

Yeah, there was no doubt at all what kind of maddening shit he'd be going through. Kerry, the foreman, had been apologetic. Really sympathetic. He'd been puzzled at how a couple of other jobs had unexpectedly fallen apart...
This was bad news for Kerry too, and he had the same oh-shit tone in his voice when he sighed. He was in the crosshairs too, but he had three kids, so the nabs weren't nearly as long for him. Bone-crunching weekends. Doke might have dragged him into a kidnapping-van already.
No, more likely his boss would get a couple hours to arrange things. Then he'd get hauled to a dungeon. One of Doke's buddies was running Kerry's life now.
Three or four insanity-fueled days wasn't nearly enough for ol' Doke.
And it had a real fuckin' thing for Push.
"Don't do this," he said to the empty apartment.

He woke up there almost two years ago. Decent enough little place, on the edge of the Castro. Doke had moved his shit there - surprise, buddy. The walls were fortified with soundproofing foam that did the trick real well. On the ceiling of his bedroom there was even thicker padding that reminded him of a restaurant booth. It was darker now, because of the smoke. If Push stared at the padding too long he sported wood, which was just sick and totally understandable too.
Fred understood how it was. He'd been in a couple cells with padding like that, and nothing else to hold his attention. Pure confirmation of how smart the torturer was, right there.
Fred and Kerry were stuck too, and the team got larger all the time. Sometimes Push felt like he was... a carrier or something, infecting those around him. When Jenna dumped him, her life as a bottom began. Boots hadn't shown up since high school, but as soon as he did he was caught too.

It had gotten totally open about owning him. Everybody knew it. Most had seen him howl and flail around - little open-air demos at the coffee shop, outside the bar on the corner. He was that guy who was dragged around, from dungeon to dungeon, by Doke. Four or five years ago he would never have believed there were invisible sadists who hunted people like this.
There were so many dungeons in San Francisco, tucked away. And then Doke and the others had their own playrooms. New ones were built all the time, and Push had learned real damn well that when he got invited to an "opening" he'd better compliment the digs.

At first he'd been frustrated almost to rage by how bold Doke was. This here's my tickle-slave, you wanna see how sensitive he is? But the neighbors, whether they had enough compassion to look alarmed or were just baldly interested, hadn't been able to come up with anything like a solution to his situation.
Neither had the cops. Shit, two of the Ess Eff Pee Dee on the Castro beat had masters of their own now, and their eyes had shown how desperate they were to keep their secret.
Over time it didn't faze anybody anymore.

Doke was invisible, and it was strong. During the past couple years it had gotten downright brazen. This dude's my plaything, and nuthin's gonna change that.
He'd quit wondering if there were other marked men, in other cities, showed off like freakin' prized pets.
Doke had never let him slip the leash, and there didn't seem to be much chance that anybody else could get him out of its clutches. What he hadn't expected was that it would become... so damn up-front about owning him.
Or that so many of the other people he knew would end up in the crosshairs too.

Carefully, he peeked in the bedroom. Looking for clues. He was relieved to see no straps laid out on the bed, no new crates or gear bags filled with toys, drugs, oils...
Doke didn't usually announce the uncoming fun quite that clearly, but it never hurt to look. Sometimes it wanted him to wander into his own fucking kitchen and see a few cordless buffers lying nonchalantly on the counter, still in their rigid plastic packaging, clean and new. Presents for him. Sometimes Doke would drop a big-ass clue like that and just laugh and laugh at his reaction.
That wouldn't necessarily mean he was about to be hauled off and see how those sweet new polishers felt. Not right then. Half the time it taunted and spooked him, strapped him in a straitjacket and a cock ring, loaded him up with some designer drug or another and then took off. Maybe it would return in the morning to haul him to a dungeon, or maybe it would let Fred or Chombo know that their friend Push was in restraints again, needing somebody to come and let him loose.
Push checked the closets. Nothing new in there...

He wanted a cigarette something fierce. That only made sense, since Doke had played with that addiction every way possible. Before sundown he could be starting a third pack, or getting thrashed for unconsciously helping himself to the Luckies that somehow ended up in his pocket, where they belonged, next to a lighter that was engraved with the outline of a glove giving a big thumbs-up.
The Zippo was the first gift Doke had ever given him, finally letting him walk out of that first impossible marathon, making him light a smoke with it and slapping him on the ass to get him moving.
Sometimes the pure ridiculousness of his life now made him wanna punch the wall.

He sat on the couch. Maybe Doke was looming right in front of him, and maybe it wasn't. Push picked up the TV remote, then decided he was way too restless to hang around and wait for that growly chuckle.
A cigarette sounded real good. Eleven days without one, fighting tooth and nail... But that was the only thing he had that felt anything like controlling his own life. He didn't wanna keep smoking, even if Doke usually insisted. That wasn't really a battle he could win, over the long haul, but all of the teasing and the threats made it seem like something he couldn't afford to just go along with.

He stood up and sighed. Get a pack from the corner store, then. See if Travis was there - yet another dude who had started in on the insane tickle-torture circuit since meeting Push, and like most he was too smart to buy that it was Push's fault in any way. A couple of years ago Doke had gotten interested in playing to Push's kinks and interests more, and that had become the trend for the other saps he knew. The invisible tops had become disturbingly good at baiting the hook, if their target swung that way.
Push also started to plan. If he found something to do in the East Bay, like a concert or something, it was just possible that Doke would raz him for a bit and then mess with somebody else tonight. It had never pulled him out of bed when he was getting laid, either - so he had a limited window of opportunity to hook up with some chick now, and maybe dodge a bullet.
So his thoughts were on the possibility of doing something, y'know, normal and fun when a cold stripe landed on his right wrist. Circling.
Making a soft ratcheting noise.
"No. Dammit," he said to the door, tensing right up.

His left arm was pulled back, and a handcuff caught that wrist too.
"Not today," he complained.
Doke chuckled a few times in that easy, rough, sinister way.
Push shivered.
The door opened wide, and invisible hands ushered him along.

"Leave me alone," Push said.
What he called the Doke-mood settled over him like a wet wool blanket - annoyed, resigned, completely in hands-on control now, with no way whatsoever to keep Doke from making him swagger around the neighborhood, extracting information that always came back to bite him in the ass. Likely as not there would be a van sitting in one of the rare parking spaces to take him to the next playroom, with yet another door swinging magically open as he approached...
Slamming closed when he was tucked inside.

He was thinking about one heavily secured cell in particular when he pitched forward. That got his attention right quick. The fuckin' stairs again -
"Noooo -"
A hand clamped over his mouth. It was just as solid as it was invisible.
He fell in slow-motion, and Doke knew that totally freakedhim out. But it couldn't have him pissing off the neighbors...
Every other time it hustled him out of the apartment, it pulled this shit.
When he was maybe ten inches from landing face-first on the stairs, Doke gave him a tug.
"Whoa, there," it said happily. "You okay?"
Push cussed it out with passion, but the hand sealing his mouth hadn't moved. Doke knew he hated this - from the very first day he'd walked out and discovered it had moved him into a second-floor walkup. And suddenly it had another way to yank his chain.
Yeah, he didn't like stairs. Particularly old, creaky ones.

His captor pulled him back up to the vertical position... and he floated into the air.
"Every single time," it teased. "And you're such a smooth fuckin' cat, Push. Except here. And when I do this -"
Fingers meandered under his t-shirt.
Push tensed up right away, squirming hard.
He kept rising until he was a couple meters up, over the fuckin' stairs -
"I got you," the bastard crooned into his left ear. Like a lover or something. "No way I'm ever gonna let you fall like that. Nut-case."
Pure frustration made him curse into the gag-hand again, and just like usual Doke "soothed" him... by rubbing his sides.

It was intimate, and horribly familiar, and he just wanted to explode with useless laughter.
"Good thing I was paying attention, huh? You're no use to me all banged up."
Then its hands were massaging his pecs too, and kneading just over his ribs - tracing his abs...
Push roared like a hysterical fool. The volume was muffled so much that it frustrated the hell out of him.
"Once again, you owe me, Push. I just saved your life," the bastard taunted.
It started lowering him back down.
He shook his head angrily as he laughed and laughed. So incredibly frustrating -
His boot-heels tapped the stair.
One by one, the molesting hands eased off.
Doke pushed his wrists a little, and he started walking down. Still giggling.

His face felt hot - was that rage, or did Doke make him blush again? Maybe both.
The fingers let go of his mouth, and the entry door swung open for him.
"I hate you," he said.
"No, you don't."
This trapped-animal mindset made him crazy, sometimes. Answering questions could be lethal, no matter what he said... and not answering was usually asking for more delirium and humiliation. Responding with the plain truth wasn't likely to get him out of its hands for the night, but more often than not it paid off.
"Fucker," he mumbled.
There was no immediate reaction - unlike the way it used to be. Doke had been really scary at first, overdoing the whole reform-school teacher thing, and so plainly... not-human. But then it took a real shine to Push. Confusing the snot out of him with gifts, and the occasional friendly conversation that didn't end with him wailing his guts out as it dragged him to a van...
It was still a fuckin' stone-cold psychopath that wanted to keep Push in the game for as long as possible. Maximum fever and pleasure-suffering. And to make matters worse it seemed to genuinely like him, and how he rolled with it all.

Outside, it looked like another typical overcast day in the City, pretty much the norm for January. Doke wasn't bringing a hoodie along, so it was definitely gonna have him locked up somewhere before the sun went down. It hardly ever forgot the sunglasses -
"Well? Where we headed?" it asked.
Such a total minefield, he thought. No response was ever, ever safe. There was also something unfailingly impressive about Doke's attention to detail. Just the tone of his voice could be the apparent trigger to fuck up the next month.
As usual, he realized that eventually you just had to give up trying to outsmart Doke and just hang with whatever it had in store. "Cigarettes," he muttered.
The hands turned him to the left. Toward the corner store. So that was a good thing.
"Maybe... find a concert," he said hopefully. "Get laid."
"Yeah? You think so?"
He sagged.
Doke chuckled - an easy, contented sound.
"Knucklehead. That'll have to wait. Hey, did you get a start date for the new jobsite yet?"
"You know I didn't," he said. "Because I bet you screwed that up yourself."
"Aw, now -"
"So I'd be free for a couple weeks."
"Hmmm. 'Couple' is such an imprecise word. Yeah. Maybe. Maybe not. Or is it just pure coincidence? Will the fun start in an hour, or sometime next week? Poor Kerry's been lookin' pretty tense - well hey there, Mr. Wilkes."
The little Armenian man from the next building over was in their path, and Doke made Push stop in his tracks.

Mr. Wilkes paused and looked up, through thick eyeglasses, and then closed the remaining distance, leaning heavily on his cane. "Hello there."
A finger jabbed Push in the shoulder. "Hi," he said, suppressing an irritated sigh.
"Spoke, is it?"
"Doke," Push's master shot right back. "And you remember Push."
"Oh, yes," the old man said, with an amazed smile. "Of course I do. That tattoo."
"I know which one you mean," Doke said.
Push's thin black t-shirt was pulled up, exposing his belly button. Six gloves - hard-edged monochrome cartoons - looked ready to do some major damage. A couple of them were all but hidden by the waistband of his jeans, but their target was pretty damn obvious.
Push tried to remain impassive, but a sigh slipped out anyway.
Mr. Wilkes was mesmerized. "Incredible," he said. That was a pretty common reaction. How wild that a man would be so openly and completely owned by an invisible phantom...
"You'll have to excuse the perspiration," Doke said. "Can't keep my hands off this bastard." That thought plainly made Mr. Wilkes a little happier. "He ran out of smokes," Doke said, "and you know how they get. We'll see you later."
"Um. Would you, by any chance -"
The tickler interrupted with an easy laugh. "Why, yes, I would. You dog. Alright. How about you check your e-mail tomorrow. I may not get a chance to send 'em until the afternoon, but there's some new links that you're gonna love."
"Fantastic." Mr. Wilkes sorta waved his cane head in salute. "Many thanks."
"Be careful out there."
Doke's hands squeezed real hard, just for an instant, and shoved him along. Across the street there were two teenage girls watching Push truck on, and one of them was talking to the other with the posture of someone spilling a juicy secret. He looked away from them and watched the sidewalk.

"Links. For the old guy," he mumbled. "Guess there's no big mystery about that."
"Yeah?"
"Movies. Of me. Going crazy."
"We're making the old guy happy."
"We," he snorted. "Just great. Didn't think he was such a perv."
Doke snickered. "He's lived in the Castro his entire life. By choice. Do the math. You got the perfect tats for the hard-luck plaything I like to fuck over -"
"I never wanted 'em. But thanks to you, and Kapphold, and -"
"Plus he's got one of those digital photo frames. Nothing but abs. Six-packs, eight-packs - and lowlife tattoos. I'm gonna get you star billing there, sooner or later, but the competition's downright fierce. You've gotta lay off the ice cream."
Every time - and it was one of the very few subjects that pissed him the hell off. "The one thing I like," Push snapped, "in this whole crazy deal. Just give it a fuckin' rest about the ice cream!"
"Not until you at least try the alternatives they got out now. Federico swears he can't tell the difference -"
"Federico's a moron," Push said carelessly. "You got him wrapped around your finger."
"That's funny. Coming from you."
He had arrived at the store. Naturally, the door swung right open to admit him.

Travis was behind the register. He looked up and did a double-take. "Oh, no."
"Oh, yeah," Push said glumly. He rocked to a stop right at the counter.
Travis waited for a second or two, looking Push up and down, but then he apparently figured out that his customer's arms weren't gonna move. "You okay?"
Push made a confused gesture with his head. The concern was appreciated, but there wasn't any point in worrying Travis about what couldn't be helped. He was a good guy, maybe ten years younger than Push, and it seemed there was nothing anybody could do about their fucked-up lives now...
"This is just wrong," Travis said. He looked pained, but also like he was about to smirk.
Push knew how that was. He caught a flash of movement, behind the cashier's back. A pack of Luckies was hanging in the air, peeling open. The cellophane fell away. And some foil -
The pack made a smooth arc around Travis and slipped into his shirt pocket. Everything always moved as gracefully as can be. Never any hesitation, never a misstep...
"What the fuck are you doing loose?" Doke said.
"Oh, shit," Travis said, chuckling nervously. Doke was pretty damn fond of choosing its words carefully, and both men realized that Travis was now targeted for another wild time.
Real soon now. Confirmed as clear as anything -
"Push really needs a cigarette," Doke announced. "I keep leaving cartons around his crib and the stupid fucker forgets to buy more when they're gone. Help a brother out?"
Travis tried to figure out what Doke wanted. He looked up to the racked cigarettes there.
"Give him one of yours," the tickler ordered.
Travis stared at Push. His hand patted his chest - and found the cigarettes Doke had slipped in there. "How the hell do you do that?" he said, dazed. Admiringly.

We're all so whacked out here, Push thought, as Travis wasted no time tapping a cigarette out of the pack. He held it out, unsure whether he was actually supposed to stick it between Push's lips or not.
Doke ended the uncertainty by grabbing it and planting it where it belonged. Invisible fingers dug into Push's front pocket and got his lighter. The lid clinked open, and then the flame sprung up.
As Push's smoke was lit, another one slid out of the pack in Travis' hand.
"Uh, now, I - against the law," he babbled.
Doke made a sound. Fuck-that, dismissive, as easygoing as could be. The Lucky went up to Travis' mouth.
The cashier finally took hold of it, and reached for one of the disposable lighters on display.
"Good call," Doke said.
Three more packs of Luckies slapped down on the counter.
A fifty was pulled out of Push's pocket. It hadn't been there before. Money was never an issue for Doke and its pals. The guys watched the money float over and get stuffed into Travis' shirt pocket. "Get yourself some more lube."
"Oh, man," Travis whined.
His eyes met Push's.

They all had secrets - at least, they used to - and what would've been a mortifying moment was eased considerably by repetition. They'd talked a few times before, usually right there at the counter. And probably with a tickler hanging silently overhead, eager for every clue it could get...
Push fought the urge to apologize. Again. As if he wanted Travis to get his heart's desire, this way. He thought about his last drunken apology-jag with Fred, the former bike messenger, who laughed and told Push about a number of distinct advantages that had come along with the forced play sessions. Scrambler, who laid claim to Fred, seemed a lot nicer than Doke - but Fred had hinted pretty damn clearly that the friendliness took on a much darker tone when the dungeon door was closed. Still, the ticklers had really taken the time to win Fred over, and that could've been only to snag his friends more easily.
The only thing that kept Push from going totally nuts when he really thought about it was that Fred looked at the bright side of things. He was enjoying life as a bottom. And he totally got that they were all in for the whole fuckin' ride anyway, whether they got off on it or not.
"Stay frosty, Trav," Push said. The cigarettes lifted off the counter and found new homes in the pockets of his jeans, and before they were all tucked away it started dragging him backward. Time to go.
"You too," Travis said uncertainly. He grinned at Push - how fucked up is this? And that definitely helped Push relax, for some reason. Crazy as can be. So he wasn't completely brainwashed or anything...

Push nodded once as he was turned around. He took a meditative drag, calming down, as Doke walked him down toward 18th.
"Spill it," his owner ordered.
"Spill what?"
A low chuckle. "Even the way you kick out a couple of words, there - right before I marched you out - just says way too much. What's your problem?"
"Fuck," he said reflexively. Not believing this shit. Well, maybe it's being ushered off for weeks or months of insane stimulation. Again. Or being a fuckin' pet. Even worse - Doke really wanted to know. It would very likely adjust whatever was in store, like that would help...
Hands curled ever-so-gently around his ribs.
"Aw hell," he sputtered, giggling like a fool. Trying to keep it quiet, tripping over his own feet, getting smoke in his eyes.
"Push...over," Doke said with approval. "This just never gets old." The fingers tightened a little - making his shirt press down - and relaxed.
He coughed a few times. Doke didn't take the cigarette away. Bastard... "Don't. For once, please, don't embarrass the hell out of me like you do. In the Castro. Okay?"
"I'll think about it." The hands lifted off. "Now talk."
"You... you got no idea how screwed up a guy gets. When you stalk him. What that does to his head."
A pack of Luckies was snagged from his right rear pocket. He watched it get torn open. Apparently he was gonna chain-smoke today.
Just fuckin' swell.

"You're talkin' about Travis?"
"Let the guy be. You're changing him."
"Not this it's-all-my-fault shit again," Doke sighed. "Really?"
"He didn't even smoke," Push shouted. "Much less like having stuff jammed up his -"
"Travis turned eighteen," Doke interrupted. "There's lots of things he hadn't tried yet. We gave him a fine education, badass. And a choice. We really can be patient... when it suits us. Didn't take too much persuading, and he was like okay, whatever. So we forced a few things on him - and stepped back. Let him decide what he liked." Push shook his head irritably. "He's had it a lot easier than you."
"You corrupted him."
"Oh, fuck you. He was doomed anyway. Those guns... Wait. Why the hell am I going over this again? Quit being so noble. You lowlife. Got me a philosophical scumbag, I do, and he's way more trouble than I usually put up with."
His shirt was pulled up... and all the way over his head. It laid over the handcuffs. That little bit of secrecy didn't do much to reassure Push, because he had a pretty good idea of where he was being taken.
"It's a little chilly -"
The hands returned. Oh, shit! Very slowly roaming, hardly even making contact.
"Staaa-haa-haaap," he begged.
"Thought you were cold," Doke shot back.
He shook his head, trying not to laugh. As usual there was no safe response... nothing he could do that the tickler wouldn't turn against him. Worse, this was life as he expected it to be.
Eight years and counting. Pathetic.

Doke half-carried him across Noe. A cigarette landed on his bottom lip. With a last quick exhalation, Push composed himself enough to take the Lucky and keep on walking.
The lighter came and went. Doke just held on, with all those hands. There had to be six or eight of 'em laying there, pecs and belly, in addition to his sides. Push was relieved, for the moment, but that could evaporate any second now. Doke would start moving 'em around anytime it felt like it, and the fucker knew his body way too well...
The no-win frustration was so bone-deep familiar that Push didn't even try to talk anymore. He tugged on the smoke.
Three guys and a woman at Philz were openly staring as he approached, because he was a lot more interesting than the fancy coffee drinks sitting on their table.
"Excuse me," one of them said.
And Doke, the sadistic asshole, made Push stop.
He glared at the guy who'd piped up.
"Handcuffs?"
Push tugged on the cigarette again. "That obvious, huh?"
"Your arms aren't moving. Seen it, uh, before. Enough times -"
"Wait," another one of the coffee guys said suddenly. The youngest one. He turned to the woman. "You were right? He's got... uh -"
"One of those subs," the woman said. "With a top that's invisible. A super-top."
Suckup, Push thought.
"See?" Doke said. The gang at the table jumped - all except one guy, maybe mid-forties, mellow and sorta intense, who hadn't taken his eyes off Push. "They know how to get their coffee comped."
Invisible fingers dug into his jeans again, past one of the unopened packs of Luckies, and pulled out a twenty.
"Whoa," the youngest guy laughed.

"Appreciate it," the calm guy drawled, looking at... A-ha. Push figured there were indentations in his right bicep from one of Doke's hands.
It snickered quietly, maybe just for Push to hear -
And that guy gasped. Jerking to one side.
The spasm didn't seem to be the end of his ordeal, though. He was suddenly, intensely fighting hard not to laugh. His friends looked at him like he was contagious.
"Oh, you appreciate it, do ya?" Doke said.
Then one of the woman's arms went straight up in the air. She went from shock to desperate giggling in no time flat. Bucking like a trout on the line. The older guy finally let loose with some ragged laughter too, fighting to get out of his seat.
Well, why not tickle everyone in Philz while you're at it, Push thought - but he stopped himself from saying it out loud, because Doke was... well, there were some things you just didn't joke about when you knew Doke was in a mood.
"Hello, little dom," it said. "You sure are ticklish." The formerly calm man shook his head violently. "A marked man, now."
"Stop," Push whined.
"Do me!" the young idiot said. "Me next!"
Push just stared in disbelief.

So did the third guy, who hadn't said anything yet. He actually scooted his chair back and got ready to bolt. Push envied him, and therefore sorta hated him -
"Huh," Doke said smugly. The kid started to squeal - trying to stand up, and then slamming back down. Hooting, as he wriggled around, eyes darting this way and that. "Gotta give the people... what they... want."
The woman was apparently released. After the kid lunged forward and almost slammed his head on the table, Doke let him go too. But the dom who'd been considerate enough to thank Doke for the coffee snickered for a few more desperate seconds.
"I'd sleep with one eye open, if I were you," Doke growled. "You got it bad."
No one said a word as Push was shoved forward. It hadn't been clear about who the last remarks were meant for. Just leaving 'em to worry - or hope?
This was classic Doke, pretty much. Hunting all day long, when it wasn't working over Push or some other poor slob.

Way back when it had started messing with him, Doke had been sneaky. Now it didn't have to lay low at all. It just talked to anybody it felt like, especially in this part of town. Paying for drinks, making a list of future victims - showing off its favorite sub.
The whole attack at the coffee place had been a little over-the-top... and Push wondered if it hadn't been done to reinforce a lesson - that he wasn't responsible for anybody else getting tortured. Or getting out of being tickled. Doke had brought the subject up plenty of times, because he did tend to blame himself.

What was it that Tree had said, that one time on Broadway? If they were responsible for being caught, over and over again, it came as close as any of 'em could get to having some kind of power over their situation...
"If I said I wanted to call Tree," Push said suddenly, looking away from some guys having a smoke outside the Moby Dick, "would that automatically make anything worse for him?"
"Nope," Doke said. "Do ya good."
Yeah, as usual, it was about ten steps ahead...

He made it almost another block before the hands stopped him in his tracks. "One sec." A quick tug resulted in another twenty flying away from his pocket, and toward the bank.

At the intersection, Doke made him wait for the light to change.
"There's a sunglass place right there," and he cocked his head toward it.
"Huh?"
"Sunglasses. You didn't have to steal these. I mean, right off somebody -"
"They don't carry KD's. Too low of a profit margin. Ten bucks, tops. Your victim of personal theft, back there, just made a profit. These are your brand, nutria, it's gotta be another sign I'm g-"
"I'm not an otter," Push grumbled. "For fuck's sake. Stop calling me that!"
"Otter," it shot back. "No, actually you're not pretty enough."
If you bring up the ice cream now, he thought, I'm gonna really flip my shit...

But the light changed just then, and Doke slapped him on the ass. Not too fiercely, but the message was clear enough. Yeah, terrific - his owner was in a good mood. "He had a shirt and tie on. But they didn't look right on him. And they're way too respectable for these fine-ass shades. Yuppie-wannabe. Yuck. The vibe was wrong - unless, maybe, it was a job interview?"
"Doke."
"I wonder how it went. You think he's ready for a career change? A comedian, like yourself?"
"Doke -"
"A-list comedian, that's ol' Push." He waited, saying nothing, because it was talking itself into going back and grabbing the poor slob. And sure enough - "I'd bet good money he's ticklish as hell. And if he had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, like he should -"
"Let him go."
"And a few days' stubble. Hair all crazy. And that maddened look in his eyes, as he laughs... and feels the stimulation... all weekend. Mmm-mm. Hah! Well, anyway. I got Push in my grasp again - and damn, you're a beast. I never get tired of trying to make you see how mutherfuckin' great you turned out," it said. "Every muscle group. And you're hairtrigger-sensitive, every-freakin'-where. Tatted-up right..."
Yeah, it was gonna park him and show him off again. And after that, he was goin' into a dungeon somewhere. He was hard-pressed to say which was less appealing.
There better be some weed hidden around there, Push thought. The good stuff.
The hands started moving on him - aw, hell. Enjoying his skin.
He bit back a squeal. Marched on...

His distress, however much he tried to hide it, had caused a couple of people to stare. Doke usually kept the tickling fairly light when he was out in public. It might own the Castro - make that, it thought it ran the place now - but the risk of Push being rescued was a lot closer to zero when it didn't make a major scene.
It made him walk him to the bench near the Museum. This had been the usual parking spot since the summer...
He sat down with relief. Doke wasn't gonna stop caressing his torso, apparently, but at least he didn't have to worry about stumbling now -
Doke stopped the hands. "Ooooh." It chuckled. "Two o'clock. Spiky blonde hair. See her?"
"Uh... yeah."
"She just checked you out."
"Please, Doke. I'm not in the mood."
"Asshole. She's with the redhead. They're a thing. No chance for you there. But she just told her honey - and I shit you not, this is a quote - 'If I had to go back, he's the type. So wrong for me, it's right.'"
He blinked, sorting that out. "Truth?"
"Total fuckin' truth. And I didn't put her up to it or anything. That beauty she's with is ticklish, though. I can prit'near feel it..."
Push watched the women walk toward the corner - probably veering toward the north Walgreens, he decided - and smirked. It was so ridiculous that he decided it probably was true. Doke was stroking his ego, as well as his sides, and at just the right time a total stranger who didn't even like dudes took notice of him.
It caught breaks like that all day long. When there was one slim chance of being spared from another tortuous marathon, Push could fuckin' count on the opportunity evaporating before his eyes. Every damn time. It was so reliable, so miserably certain, that he just expected to lose now.

Doke had thought over a delirous, fevered remark of Push's, several years ago, and concocted a whole riff about fate and destiny that had really cooked Zhao's goose. That dude was locked in tight, last time Push had seen him -
"Hey," he panted. "Wait. Is Zhao still caught?"
"Zhao? Oh, man. That takes me back." It stopped rubbing him. Whew! "Zhao the Monk."
"You're such a fuckin' bastard, I swear -"
"Safe in the monastery."
"I figured as much," he said bitterly. "So he doesn't leave the place. Ever."
"Well, not too often. Now ask me if he wants to -"
"Hey," a man said, in a tone of voice that said he was determined to get Push's attention. "You've... Those are my sunglasses, aren't they?"
Doke kicked out a very low, very happy growling sound.

Fuck. No, no, no...
This guy is toast, Push thought. Already gone.
Doke had been too interested. Too damn thoughtful. He was about to become owned, if he had a tickle-receptor anywhere on him. Then Doke tugged hard on the handcuff chain - as in, don't you dare misbehave, prisoner! And Push gave it a little nod in return.
"Uh, probably," he finally said to the guy. "Sure. Take 'em, and please - you wanna get your ass out of here, fast."
The guy - thirtyish, not exactly tall, maybe a jock back in high school but not exactly Men's Health cover material now - started to reach for the sunglasses. "Was that a threat, or a warning?"
"Whatever works," Push said, with a sigh.
Shit. The guy had an attitude. That just figured. Doke had pinned people to the ground and made 'em piss their pants for less.
"Who were you talking to? When I walked up, you -"
"Myself. Just take the KD's back and run for your life. I'm not your problem now."
"O-kay," the guy said. He had a puzzled expression on his face now. The edge was gone, and fuck, he was starting to look concerned. About Push, maybe. Not himself. Hell, who worries about unseeable torturers checking 'em out in the middle of the day? This was the kind of takedown that haunted Push when he couldn't get to sleep. A true asshole would've grabbed the sunglasses, snapped off a couple of insults - and been on his way already. But this stupid son of a bitch was debating if maybe he was supposed to help Push - and that was gonna get him caught.
"Keep the shades. I just..." Finally he shook his head and started to back away. So damn close to escaping -
But two magical events were taking place behind him.
Welcome to San Francisco, tickle-meat.

Doke raised the dude's wallet high in the air, flipping it open -
And a red metal tube raced over from behind Push's bench.
Such a bastard, he thought... because the cylinder looked sorta like a cheap LED flashlight, or at least the case did. But it was a sprayer. Spritzer?
Atomizer - that was the word.
Push took another grim drag. He'd seen this enough times before.
"Denny!" Doke said, just like it had spotted a long-lost friend.
The guy's head turned.
After a quick little course correction, the damn nozzle sprayed twice, low on his face.
The guy reeled backward, coughed, waved a hand reflexively in front of his nose -
And Denny's eyes got big as four black leather gloves flew up from behind the bench and grabbed him. Armpits, lower ribs.

Denny exploded with laughter. Shocked, brawling cackles.
He flew backward, teetering, but Doke's gloves weren't going anywhere now. "Knew he was eligible," the tickler said in Push's ear.
"Uh-huh." No doubt.

On to Part 2

07apr13