Post's Ticklish Home Invasion

The roommate was out. A full weekend of having the house to myself. Three whole days of charading independence and quiet solitude. I could breathe freely and wholly me. I could watch what I wanted in the common room. Truth be told, I’d probably still just stick to falling asleep at my desk in the third bedroom we had made an office, but the important thing was that I could. I could play music as loud as I wanted, but would still just probably read. I could watch common room tv and play games as late and as loosely as I wanted, but would probably just go to bed at the same time anyway. I could do these things, which made not doing these things just a little bit better. 

Not that I ever really had a problem with my roommate. Beth was always about as timid as I am when it comes to domestic courtesy. It had long since been a routine, ever since college. We’d clean up after ourselves pretty much the moment we were done doing whatever it was that made the mess. We’d be mindful as to how loud we were if the other was sleeping. We’d stay out of each other's spaces and have clearly defined ‘things’ that belonged to each of us. She would even help take care of my dog when I needed it with little to no fuss at all. Honestly, not having her around wasn’t much different than her being there, with how much time she spent locked away in her room, not unlike how I am in the office most of the time that I’m home. You really couldn’t ask for a better roommate.

Beth was gone visiting family, wanting to get in just that last little bit of summer vacation with her little brother back up in Pennsylvania. Not being somewhere where it’s skin frying-ly hot and the air isn’t like trying to breathe through syrup would have been a nice getaway. I actually envied her and almost asked to go too, not that I really know her family. But no, I wouldn’t know what to do with Percy (my chub-faced little fur angel) and was looking forward to using this as an excuse to enjoy a little free ‘common area’ time. 

The two of us had always taken good care of the common area like the living room and the kitchen and whatnot. Neither of us really used it when it was just us over. I use it to host my weekly d&d nights and she’ll use it to have little baking parties with her friends and coworkers. When there weren’t other people involved, we kept it clean and mostly vacant, save for the inevitable trip to the kitchen to figure out what to bring back to the bedroom to eat. This was our unspoken way of preserving boundaries, even if it did get a little silly from time to time. Like, there’s a big tv in the living room that hardly ever gets turned on. But all that’s beside the point.

With Beth gone for a bit, I was far more compelled to occupy that space usually used for passive travel and dust collection. Call it anxiety or a compulsion to keep things tidy for someone else, far more than I do myself as seven water bottles and three empty cans of Diet Coke could attest, but that’s always been the language of the pair of us. We still hung out, usually going out to a theme park or something once or twice a month, but the home stayed mostly quiet and respectful. However, as she had announced she would be gone for the weekend, I found myself far more drawn to that comfy and reasonably priced couch and the television that pretty much only ever played music or The Office for some light noise when I would cook. 

It was after a long day at work that I came home and knew where I would be spending most of the evening. Beth’s car was absent from the driveway. I opened the door to see my little pug come scampering down the hard-floor hallway, his nails tapping madly with each scrambled step. I greeted him down on one knee, running my fingers across his head and through his ears. He greeted me with licks that wiped the sweat off of my cheeks. 

“Daww, my good boy,” I coddled. “Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good pug?” He stared back at me with large eyes, single-minded on impulsive love and excitement. When I stood, he ran back down the hallway and waited for me to come home properly. I kicked off my shoes by the door and came inside, setting my stuff briefly down at the table we had set by the kitchen, next to some of my my D&D stuff still laid about ready to pick up the next session where the last one left off. How I wished to be a player again. 

I texted Beth just before hopping into the shower that I hope she has a safe drive and great time with her family. After a long, cool shower, I slipped into an old and loose Billabong tee shirt and my favorite pair of pink sweats. We kept the resting temperature relatively refreshing, usually with the aid of many fans. While neither of us were really that big a fan of the cold, the Florida heat creeping up onto the walls at all hours, day and night, was perpetually something to remedy. Walking back out into the empty common area, I looked upon a space that felt, oddly enough, mind to do with what I wanted.

My bare toes sank into the plush, cool carpet. I walked into the kitchen and made myself a mug of warm ginger tea. I glanced at the clock, gauging just how many hours I’d have left in the day to do what I would before I’d fall right to sleep. Enough to properly unwind. I noted the box macaroni I would probably have for dinner sitting upright in the pantry before taking my tea to the couch. I plopped down heavily with a long sigh. I took a moment, throwing my phone upon the coffee table to keep myself from immediately doom-scrolling TikTok, and simply closed my eyes. I felt the plush back of the couch press against my head, my hair still damp. Percy retreated back into the bedroom, curling up on his favorite spot on my bed. For a moment, I sat with my thoughts. All my thoughts. All my concerns. All my worries and anxieties. All silenced in the hum of the whirr of the fan above me and the scent of the ginger accentuating the room. 

Peaceful.

Quiet.

If only for a moment.

I breathed slowly. In and out.

And while I breathed, I could hear another. Another in and out in the room with me. Another warm presence, one standing behind me. Fingers pressed into the back of the couch on both sides of my head. Eyes looking down at me. A smile creeping. I heard it all. I could feel it all. I knew it all from behind closed eyes. 

And even so, I breathed undisturbed. Even cracking a soft grin of my own.

“About time you had me over,” a voice spoke softly from above my head. I knew it well. Despite how long it had been since her last visit, I knew the voice perfectly, as if it had been one of my own making. It was a friend. A menace. A force of narrative chaos, one whose presence threatened the very bridge between fiction and non-fiction. From behind closed eyes, I could smell her. It was pleasant, like a musky field of flowers after a warm, summer rain. I knew her being there left me neither fully safe nor threatened. Her there, in my house, breached the reality of my recounting, turning a quiet and believable evening alone into an endless checklist of alluring possibilities.

“Alright, they get it,” Post said, shaking her head. “I may or may not be real, why you gotta ruin it for everyone?” She ran her fingers through my hair. I sucked in a heavy breath and let her, her touch as tingly as it always was.

“I’m sure they’re all just glad to have you back,” I said, prior to opening my eyes. I smiled up at the grin looking down at me. Pink pigtails dangled from her crown. She stood upright, her skin clean and clear, save for a stay scattering of faint freckles. She smirked, the smirk that I knew so well. The one that I had long since missed.

“Awww, you missed me?” Post asked, walking around the edge of the couch. She wore her smile the entire way, her eyes, dark and vibrant, never leaving my own perpetual stare. “Sure took you a while to have me back. Seems like you’ve been slipping.” I groaned and pulled my gaze away.

“I know,” I said, whining like a child. Post plopped down by my side, leaning against the armrest looking my way. I turned by head to look back, seeing her as little more than my fun little imaginary friend who would appear to comfort me in that macabre way we have all come to expect. I looked down at her fingers. Her nails stuck out from the tips ever-so slightly, glittery pink. I breathed heavier, already beginning to imagine.

“Ah, you must want it bad, huh?” Post said. “Bad enough that you’d bring me back.”

“We all know the drill,” I said. “I bring you back to coax me into divulging channel updates. Though there really isn’t a lot–”

“All while having a little fun in the process,” Post said. She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “You use me, you know?”

“Well, people like you,” I said. “Including me, despite all of the shit you put me through.”

“We’ve been over this, the shit you put you through,” Post said, “in more ways than one, I’m imagining.” 

“You’re the worst to argue with,” I said, leaning my head back against the couch as I stared into Post’s gleaming look. She continued to bear at least a partial smile, her presence a truly daunting omen. 

“Because I’m you– we don’t have time for this,” Post said. 

Post lunged suddenly, her hands connecting with my shoulders as she pushed me down onto the couch. Pinning me down, she hovered over me, her hair swaying and framing her beaming expression flawlessly. I had let out a slight gasp, my arms clenching up and my hands rearing toward my chin. I stared back, fear leaving my momentary shock. My eyes widened. Eager nervousness lifted the ends of my lips. I giggled faintly as I kept my focus on the girl pressing me into my own couch. 

“Heh, heh, now… how do you want to do this?” Post asked. “Medieval dungeon? Strapped inside a tickle machine? Shall I take you to the Featherlands or that CCBC-thing you seem so fond of recently?” I groaned a bit and rolled my eyes, though I failed to contain the pounding in my chest at all the prospects.

“You forget, I’m still in charge here,” I said.

“Yeah, but we both know you’d love not to be,” Post said. Sitting with Post, speaking calmly and not like someone about to be put under some arguably traumatic distress, I could see the appeal. There’s a sweetness to her, one that sparkles just beneath the surface. Her scent, a gentle warmth, plumed through the room. Her presence made the world feel just a bit more bright. I spoke with her as one would an old friend or estranged lover. She reciprocated, as I knew she always would. Reconnecting came easy when I knew I could trust her. For Post, trust in her was simple, though she would probably call it ‘control’ and smile anyway. I mean, she’s still listening right now, probably about to tease me for adoring her company as much as I did following the absence. Post chuckled and raised her head a bit. “What if we kept it simple?”

“Simple?”

“Your readers have been asking for some more fluffier content, right?” Post asked knowingly. “Like, sure, we all like the intensive stuff. No mall, no bar, no park surrounded by people–”

“Boo,” I said, dry and sardonic.

“But maybe you’ve been working too hard,” she continued, tilting her head slightly. “You know, when you’re not being lazy.” Her hand crept over to mine, laying on top. Her fingers took the immediate initiative, circling around it and holding mine warmly.

“So, here then?”

“Seems like a good segue into the first thing you’d like to say,” Post said. Her fingers clenched and squirmed against my shoulders. They eased up on grip as Post’s legs straddled my waist. I stared up at her, leering over me atop my own couch, pinning me down within my own home, where she accessed my life, my mind, as easily as she always had. I could feel her hands loosening, her fingers slipping downward, making me shift anxiously.

I stared up at her. Her eyes fell upon my expression of reserved elation. The petite demon, the being that had been the source of so much anguish and joy, or so much turmoil and delight, pressed my hips into the couch. The whir of the fan above, for a moment, was the only sound. I could feel her heat against me, breathing in her playful scent. I knew exactly what she wanted to do, just as she knew I wanted it too. It had been so long since I had felt her touch, as devastating as it almost always was. I could hear her voice saying the word through the sparkle in her eyes alone. Feeling how badly she wanted to make me giggle and squirm, how much she wanted to orchestrate my delightful suffering by the tips of her fingers, made me want it that much more. 

“But… you’re not going to make it easy, are you?” I could smell the candy on Post’s breath. 

“Where would the fun be in that?” Post asked gamingly, flashing me a slight wink.

Post punctuated her claim, predictably enough, by shooting her hands down into my armpits. Eased in with brief anticipation, my body clenched at the sudden burst of immediate ticklish stimulation. The tickles set off like a firework; the quiet anticipation being the soar of the rocket, the burst being that initial touch, and the laughter filling my throat as the residual boom. As the surge of tingles, violent and sudden, raced through my senses, I realized how long it had been, how much of the experience I had relegated to writing about rather than living myself. It was a sad reunion, if only briefly. My body clenched as Post’s hands tucked down into my armpits, her fingers driving madly into the soft hollows through my shirt.

“Awww, I forgot how fun your little laugh is!” Post taunted. She giggled along with me. I could feel genuine mirth in her touch, in her rigorous contact. Her fingers knew exactly how to map my body, though I knew she was holding back. Regardless, the tickles still stormed in through my figure, small and tired. I squirmed against the couch, squealing and rocking side to side in a way that reflected being tickled by my dad or brothers growing up. My arms pinched Post’s hands in tightly, trapping them where they would do the most damage.

“Neeeeeaaaaahhhhhheheheheheheheeeeekkkk!!” I shrieked. My voice cracked, as if it hadn’t been used in several days. The tickles flowed through me. They burst through my senses and sparkled through me, like powdered glitter released straight into the air. My knees buckled. My legs squirmed beneath Post’s hovering body, her hips pressed down against mine. She was strong, though it never took much to overpower me. Her fingers clawed and dashed within my slickened pits, warming to the very electricity the tickles ignited with every swipe.

“You know, I’m starting to think that you don’t need me to encourage you to divulge information,” Post said, gamingly. Her fingers charted my pits expertly, alternating between swiping lightly and digging into the plush mounds. My heart raced as I succumbed to the sensation from which I had spent so long apart. I squealed and giggled and fell into deep laughter. My arms pushed slightly, yet never firmly enough to really fight back. I had no means of denying how much I wanted it. It was elation, yet still that same playful torture that I had known so well; a friend reunited yet never changed. 

“I neeehehheheheheheeeeever did—aaaaaahhhehheheheheheeeeee!!” I admitted, my face quickly turning red. My feet kicked at the other side of the couch. My hands balled into fists, tears bubbling slightly in the corners of my eyes. Post’s tickling pushed me farther than any casual episode. She knew exactly how much I could take, how many phases of enjoyment I could get out of being her ticklish target again. I huffed and wheezed, my chest straining to manage the laughter that grew harder with the gradually increased sensory desperation. My head swam as I laid back against my own couch, tickled like I had never been tickled in that home before.

“Tsk, tsk, you’re not even denying it anymore,” Post said, shaking her head. “Man, tickling you in public is so much more fun. I like watching you fight with your own humiliation.” Post continued to drive her fingers and nails into my delicate pits. Her touch was constant and assertive. Post knew my body better than anyone. As a manifestation, a character, she had always been exactly what I needed in the moment. The public displays, as hellishly amusing as they were, were fleeting riots. There, on the couch, was more than ticklish endurance just like it had been more than just some demon to pop into my life and torment me for the amusement of the reader. Her presence was soft, yet still ruthlessly domineering. 

“Okaaaahhhahahahahaaaayyy!!” I cried, the tickles still storming through my senses from both pits in a pincer attack. I found myself growing out of breath. The tickles had lasted for minutes, bearable enough for me to enjoy them, long enough to push my limits on the fly. Post giggled and continued, yet only for a moment. When she stopped, she kept her hands in place, her stare locked onto my expression as she lifted her head.

“Okay?” Post asked. “Man, you used to be able to take so much more.” I panted, red-faced and winded. My head collapsed against the cushion of the couch, reminding me that I had been craning my neck through the whole ordeal. I rested as well as anyone could with a tickle-demon’s hands still tucked up inside their clenched armpits.

“You… used to be better,” I jabbed. Post chuckled.

“I’m only as ‘good’ as you want me to be,” she said. She was right. I laid back and released a single, fainted laugh. I wasn’t in the mood for torturous tickling. I knew a lot of people had come to expect that of Post, that a lot of people would have wanted to see just how the character could continue upping her game, time and time again. But I also knew many readers had hoped for a return to the more casual, the more romantic, the more fun tickles of some of my better stories. “See? You’re having fun.”

I paused to gather my breath, rolling my eyes a bit in the process.

“Maybe,” I said, still smirking. “Okay, fine, I am. It’s really good to see you.”

“Good to see you too,” Post said. We spoke with a mutual exchange of energy, a longing in each other’s company that– “You’re stalling.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“This is why the stories take as long as they do,” Post added.

“This is the charm that people come to like,” I said.

“It’s obnoxious and not what people are here for,” Post retorted. “Why don’t you do that thing where you omit the narrative in quick two-person exchanges to save time?”

“What do you mean?”

“Yeah, like this?”

“Oh, I see.”

“You’re stalling again. What did you want to tell people?”

“It’s really nothing big,” I said. “Okay, there is one thing that people will like, but most of Featherscape is just me working behind a computer wishing it was me on the page.”

“Well, now it is,” Post said. “So just say what you will and we’ll move on.” I sighed and nodded.

“Okay, well, not much of a channel update,” I began, still catching my breath, “but just a plan of mine to help production.” I sucked in a deep, relinquishing breath and reached up to stroke a strand of hair out of my face. “I’d like to start doing shorter stories and chapters for things.” Post paused and drew back a bit. She grinned an incredulous sneer, cocking one eyebrow.

“That’s your update?” Post asked.

“I said I didn’t have a whole lot,” I said defensively. “It’s always been a challenge of mine. I like writing long stuff, but it takes so much longer to do and read and edit. Why do you think I’ve done so many of those 2nd person povs?” 

“People like them?”

“Well, that too, but I’ve always struggled with tickle stories that were shorter and more to the point,” I said. “Insecurity issue, probably, but I think those would go over well, it’d be a fun challenge to make me better, and would help me get stuff out more frequently.”

“If you say so,” Post said. Her hands shifted from my armpits, sliding down the edges of my body. Her knees planted firmly into the couch cushion as she sat back on my thighs, still straddling me. Her reach lowered to my sides as she sat upright much taller than before. “Still doesn’t seem like much of an update.”

“I’m… getting to the thing that people have been asking about,” I said. 

“Not too soon, I hope, Miss ‘Wants-To-Write-Shorter-Stories’,” Post said. She shot me a flash of her bright, white teeth before her hands began to squeeze at my sides. A bursting explosion of stimulation returned to my body, igniting my senses as if for the first time that day. The sudden gripping of her hands into the doughy edges of my sides caused my muscles to contract and my body to clench, all before I found myself succumbing once again to the fits of laughter that followed.

“Eeeeeekkkkhhehhehhehhahahahahahahaaaa!!” I squealed upon initial impact, falling quickly into a fit of giggles. I rocked side to side against the couch once more. My head fell back into the cushion. A rise of shrill giggles erupted from my lips as my hands fell to my sides. I fought back on instinct alone, yet did little to sway her efforts. Post straddled my body, keeping my squirming figure pressed into the seats, as she tickled with the reckless approach of an impish menace. 

“Heh heh, I know you can take more than this,” Post said. Her voice resonated a delicate sweetness. She sat back, her fingers clawing into my sides with rapid, jarring squeezes. My body twisted anxiously in place. Each little squeeze sent a flurry of tickles surging through my middle, enveloping my whole tummy in a tight little band. My face contorted with laughter. The squealing fits pulled at the corners of my lips, flushing a welcomed and strained joy through my mouth with every faint, whispered giggle. The tickles were not as strenuous as what I knew Post was capable of. Instead, they were flirty and fun, yet still a challenge at Post’s rapid insistence.

“Faaaaeeeehhhhhehehhahahahaaa! Ohhh gahahahahahhhaad!!” I said, turning and writhing in place. The pace and consistency of the tickles were its own feat to endure. Post’s hands traversed up and down the edges of my sides, gliding up to my ribs and back down to my hips. Again and again, Post’s ticklish touch kept me wriggling and giggling in place, with deeper laughs scattered throughout the episode. 

“Next time, I won’t go so easy on you,” Post said, her fingers splaying and kneading into my sides with ferocious squeezes. “Though I don’t mind this either.” Post kept her eyes locked on mine as she lifted the end of my shirt, having already begun rolling up on its own. Her fingers shifted toward the center of my belly. A light flicker of her nails across the timid, pale skin sent more skittering tickles racing through my senses like hundreds of tiny bugs. I squealed once again before erupting into deeper, more assured laughter.

“Ohhh gaahhahahah staaahhahahahahahahaaap!!” I cried. I said it as if I meant it, though we both knew that I didn’t. My hands could have batted hers away instead of gripping onto the couch for support. My back arched a bit, my feet kicking and driving into the cushion behind her. It was always a thrill, being beneath Post’s expert fingers. I could have easily made her as good a tickler as any of the others, just like she could have sent any of them after me whenever she pleased, whenever the idea would present itself. She was good, arguably perfect, if only for me. 

“Flattery won’t stop me,” Post said, tossing back her pink braids. “Not that you want it to.” Her knees clenched at the sides of my thighs, keeping herself stable. I chuckled and smirked, her fingers dashing faintly and wildly across the quivering surface of my belly. Her touch barely brushed skin, and yet it was that approach that sent my senses screaming with ticklish delight. My body pulsed, my teeth clenched when not apart with deep, thunderous laughter. The longer Post exposed me to her ticklish tactics, the less I giggled and more I gave her those deeper laughs that she craved so much.

“Gaaaahhhhhahahahahaaaa!! Ahhhhhhehehehehhhahahaha you’re the worrrssssttttahahahahahaha!!!” I cried. I knew she liked the sisterly bickering. She was there just as much for me as I was there for her. She chuckled some more, taunting me with her little phrases and insistences. She played my bare stomach like a delicate sting instrument of laughter, one she had long since mastered. I clenched at the edges of the couch, ready to cry out my next point just to earn a breather. It wouldn’t be as fun, though. Still, worth saying. 

“Alright then,” Post said, eventually pulling back. Her hands fell to my sides, idle and limp. I huffed where I laid. My head fell back again, my eyes closing for momentary collection. I swallowed. Post gave me all of the restful seconds I needed to gather myself. For being the tickle demon of my nightmares, she had the capacity to be quite considerate when I needed her to be. “Only because if I’m too mean, you lock me away.”

“Th-thank you,” I muttered, catching my breath. I swallowed again, adding moisture to my increasingly dry throat. I gave a few more relieving sighs before starting to speak through the allotted silence. I could feel the sourness of what I had to say creeping up. Post sat, taken aback, by the stillness in the air.

“So…” I began, “The Gumroad store got taken down.”

“Oh, jeez,” Post said, shaking her head.

“A while ago, actually,” I said. “I’ve… been under so much stress managing everything, working as much as I am, while trying to get stories out in a timely manner, it’s just been a lot. Haven’t really had time to look for a new platform and change all the links to things, it’s really overwhelming to think about.”

“I bet,” Post said, almost solemnly. 

“It’s fine,” I said. “Went through the same thing with Ko-Fi. If anyone wants any of those old stories, even the ones that I haven’t made ‘Gumroad’ pages for, they can reach out to me directly. I’ve been handling those transactions directly through email and Paypal. A bunch of people already have, but I’d really like everyone to know that they can still get those old stories. It’s really actually easy that way. Not as convenient as a store, but really not that much of a hassle.”

“That’s good, at least,” Post said. I groaned. My mind caught a painful shot of just a little bit of what all I’ve fallen behind on. Working and writing had proved a challenge for a while. I knew I was capable, certainly better than I’ve been, but damn if it wasn’t hard. 

“I try so hard, Post,” I say, my tone lowering a bit. “Really don’t want to complain or fish for sympathy here, but it really isn’t easy.”

“All good, FS,” Post said. “I’m sure doing shorter stuff will help in the long run.”

“I hope so,” I sighed. “Please just move on.” Post paused. She looked back at me with a brief stare of vulnerability. The wacky, cartoon persona had dropped for a moment that I could only see out of the corner of my eye. It was in that second that I felt a friend, a companion, someone I could talk to and who could make me feel better, even if I was only talking to myself. She heard me, though. She knew why she was there. She cared and I knew that she would always be around, not always for an audience. It confirmed what I had always known, that there was something to her, to Featherscape, that meant to me what a real friend would. 

“If you insist,” Post said, flipping her hair back and smiling devilishly. “I know it’s your favorite. Mine too. One more thing to share with the class, the big thing?” Post giggled as she shifted on top of me, turning around while still pinning my body down with the weight of her seat.

“Not, like, ‘huge’,” I said, starting to smirk. “More like ‘the thing a lot of people have been asking for’.” 

“Ah, I see,” Post said. She hopped up quickly to spin me onto my stomach. I gasped and found myself flipping with ease, not really knowing what was happening. I giggled nervously, stroking my hair out of my face. Before I knew it, Post was sitting on top of me again, cushioned by my bottom. I could feel her eyes upon me, the tingling stare already beginning to work on my bare feet, tucked helplessly out of the legs of my comfortable sweats. I had merely twitched before Post laid herself longways across the backs of my legs, her face and wriggling fingers inches from the soft, supple skin of my bare soles.

“Oh man…” I said, already beginning to giggle nervously. My fingers gripped back into the cushions of my couch. I braced myself, unable to see what she had planned back there. I swallowed and winced a bit while she simply watched me squirm.

“Remember: you wanted this,” she said. She stared down at my feet, bare and blushing before her eyes. My soles laid upright, wrinkled with my toes shyly pressed into their warm, plush bases.

“Ugh, I know.”

“Then say it,” Post said.

“Do I have to?”

“You want to be done, don’t you?” Post asked, snickering slightly. “Still have to edit, upload, make dinner, answer emails, clean the kitchen, wash dishes–”

“Oh my god, please tickle my feet!” I cried. 

“Good enough for me,” Post said. In another alarming instant, ten scribbling fingernails descended upon my ticklish soles, shooting a sudden and violent eruption of tickles through my nerves. My body jolted into another restless contraction. A squeal escaped my throat, followed swiftly by a stream of manic, roused laughter. In a moment, my body found itself thrust into complete and total unrest, squirming every which way that it could beneath Post’s weight. I felt only skittering tickles scribbling madly against my feet, laid helplessly before Post’s hungry touch.

“Faaaaaaaaahhhhhhhahhahahahahahaa!!! Ohhhhh gahahahahahahaaaad!!!” I screamed. I had never screamed in my own living room before. I dreaded the idea of Beth coming back, finding me and the tickle demon on top of me in such a compromising declaration. Or perhaps, some part of me, a part named Post, didn’t. But there I laid, screaming and thrashing against the couch like a child throwing a tantrum. My fists pounded into the padding. My hips swiveled as my legs remained almost entirely immobile my Post’s figure. I screamed into the decorative pillow that had propped up my head not moments prior.

“Awww, how could you keep me away from such cute little feet?” Post taunted. Throughout the entire ordeal, I could always feel just how much she was enjoying my torment. No matter where it happened, or what she put me through, she never let me forget just how much entertainment she got out of putting me through ticklish hell, whether or not I liked it myself. Knowing how much she liked tickling me was always a taunt in itself. If my feet were put before her, trapped, I’d have to pass out in order to rest. As an extension of me, maybe, that same part of me, wanted that too.

“Staaaahhahhahahahahahaaaap!!” I cried, straining to breathe through so much laughter right away. “Ohhhh gahahahahahaa I caahahahahaaan’t tahahahake it!!” Her nails feasted on the tender and ticklish stretches of my soles. They slid effortlessly across the skin that I had always kept so soft, so inviting. Post’s tickles enveloped both feet at once, casting a maddening assault of stimulation from the slightest of all provocations: mere swipes of her nails. It was all it took for my feet. My feet being as ticklish as they were was, throughout my life, a constant. A reliable tether to what was true.

“Tickle, tickle, tickle….” Post teased. She laughed between repeating the phrase, bombarding me with endless skittering against my feet. She played with my feet like a child playing with new toys on Christmas morning. She never got tired, not of the tickling nor of the laughter and the explosive reactions. Post’s approach was almost rejuvenated by it, part of her charm as this impish, unknowable tulpa. I could feel her smile in the way that she tickled so intensely, beaming with joyful enthusiasm.

“Nahahahahahaaaeeeeee!! Pleeehahhahahassee stahahahahaaaap!!!” I pleaded through my laughter. It was instinct, to beg for mercy; part of the fun for us both in the moment. I reveled in the loss of control just as Post glowed from the command of my senses against her flickering nails. She laughed along with me, her fingers skirting up from my heels to the bases of my toes. She watched my soles squirm helplessly before her, changing shade into a darker, more richer pink. All ten nails plucked and scribbled at my feet, alternating between tearing up and down my arches and digging at the humid plunges beneath my toes. Every skittering swipe sends bursts of tickles through my senses; unbearable yet oh so invigorating. 

“Such cute little feet deserve to be tickled always, how dare you deprive them.” Post glanced back. She held my legs down steadily while I buried my face into the cushion, muffling my laughter. My tears soaked into the fabric. I gasped and wheezed through my hysteria, reliving what it was like to have my feet trapped and tickled so thoroughly. I squirmed endlessly in place. As much as I did enjoy the more intimate, tame approach, Post still knew exactly how to tickle me to get me to bend and break. She would keep going on forever, if she could, the product of my darkest dreams. Her fingers lapped and licked at my bare feet again and again. Moment by moment, she pushed me farther and farther, until I was gasping painfully for more air.

I honestly had expected her to keep pushing. Not saying that I was entirely disappointed when she stopped, only that it seemed somewhat out-of-character for her to do so. The following moment of cool reprieve, when I sucked in that initial unbroken breath, was almost as shocking as when the tickling started. I knew she wanted to keep going. Maybe everyone did. Maybe I did as well. But Post knew me better than most. She knew how to push me as naturally as she knew she should hold back. When the tickles stopped, and I laid gasping for air, I almost missed them. I did miss them. I knew I could always have her around to tickle me again; no one would object, but right then, something else had to happen.

“You okay?” Post asked, more tenderly than usual. I took a moment. I could have handled more. This was tame, compared to what she usually put me through. But I couldn’t say that I was disappointed. Post was here, another constant in my life, as I knew she always would be. She could be a menace, sure, but more so, she was a friend that I could rely on to give me exactly what I need at any given moment.

“Ye-yeah,” I said. Post stood. She helped me to sit back upright. I did so while pushing the stray hairs out of my face. The tickling might have only lasted minutes. Could have been a full hour, by my weary estimations. What I knew was how much better I felt after they were over. Not that I was glad to be done with them or that I hated it, far from it. Post tickled me not to get me to say anything but to remind me of something important, something I felt that I had forgotten.

“Well?” Post asked, standing before me and crossing her arms. I chuckled, getting to the final piece of business. 

“Yes, Featherscape commissions are now open again,” I said, still feeling the residual tingles of tickles on my feet as I lowered them onto the carpet. 

“And the world rejoiced,” Post said, shooting me a playful grin. “That’s not going to stress you out, is it?” I couldn’t answer. My own question and I couldn’t say one way or another.

“I’ve been doing original one-offs anyway,” I said, shrugging slightly. “Still want to keep up with Empress and Featherlands.”

“You say that,” Post shot back at me. I sighed and looked away for a moment. I swallowed, my mind still whirring with responsibility and expectations. It was then that I felt the weight again, the same weight that had pinned me to that couch and made me scream throughout my living room. It handed on both of my shoulders, Post grabbing me and looking deeply into my eyes. “You got this. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You work hard. You do your best. That’s all anyone can ask of you.” 

“I… I know, thank you,” I said back, my voice lowered and broken. “It’s just… it’s not always easy. Or fun.” 

“You have people in your life that want to make it both of those things,” Post said. “Don’t be afraid to ask for help. Even if it’s just from me. I think a Post’s Therapy Session story would go over real well, don’t you?”

“If you wanna commission it, sure,” I replied.

“All they have to do is DM you if they want to commission, right?” Post asked, leaning back. “Price still $0.025 a word?” 

“With most stories ranging from 6000 to 8000 words, yes,” I said, factually. 

“And for reference, this one is…?”

“About 6,800 words,” I said. Post smiled and let go of my shoulders.

“Congrats on your first ‘shorter’ story,” she said. 

“Thanks,” I said. “And sorry it’s been so long. Sometimes I get bummed out when there’s not much to update with, you know?”

“I get it,” Post said. “But like I said: even if you just need to talk about what you’re going through, if you’re willing to be vulnerable, even to yourself, I’m here for you. As are a lot of other really good people.”

“Thank you,” I said. “And thank you to everyone who’s been a reader and a supporter and a friend through all of this. I mean it, I couldn't have, wouldn't have, done this without you guys to encourage me. You’re all so great and I love you all so much.”

“Awww, how sweet,” Post said, smiling again with a gentle wash of blush across her cheeks. “But remember…” She came in closer once more and placed a single hand on my shoulder. Post leaned in, until her lips stopped right at the base of my ear. “None of them can tickle you as well as I can.”