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That first day, when they met, he’d been in the middle of a sentence. Something about how Aristophanes managed to incorporate a massive wooden penis into pretty much all his plays. It didn’t really matter, and her memory of that day was a haze of endorphins anyway. What had mattered was that she’d had the sudden, irresistible urge to lean forward, press her lips against his ear and murmur the following words.
“My tummy is incredibly ticklish.”
And she’d run with it. There was already a tangible attraction between them, but something so bold, especially on her part, had taken them both by surprise. She’d just smiled and settled back into her seat, trying desperately to fight down the blush that was charging doubletime to her cheeks. He’d paused, if only for a moment, before continuing his sentence.
The absurd, when it occurs, slips into dream if it’s not reinforced by fact. Time passes, and the rational part of your brain logics away the pieces that it can’t reconcile with that vast store of empirical evidence that is your memory banks. The idea that she’d said such a thing, so early in their relationship, didn’t make sense. And so she dismissed it. Forgot. As you do.
Three weeks in, he had her on the bed. His hand, and more specifically his palm, was already more than familiar to her. Things had moved fast, as the best things always do, and she’d ended up with her arms tied above her head, her legs splayed, fastened to the bedposts. He was looking down at her with the smile of the wicked, the devious of intent, and the unfairly attractive. It made her throb to see him so.
His lips moved down and settled against the flesh just above her navel. She gasped instantly, her whole body tensing as he planted a kiss there. His stubble wafted over her, making the skin prickle and shrink. That part of her body felt strangely foreign, something alien that she had no control over. He planted another kiss, and the first bubble of a giggle burst from her lips.
Recognition flooded her mind. And her eyes went wide with fear, anxiety, and a frustrating amount of powerless excitement.
Never in her life had she felt so vulnerable. Never in her life had she laughed quite so much, and quite so involuntarily. Never in her life had she realised that when someone said ‘I laughed so hard I peed’ might actually be a real thing, and that maybe she’d experience that first hand in her lifetime. Never in her life had she thought that laughter could be so inordinately sexy. That it could make her writhe and squirm in the same way his fingers would when they were deep within her. That each peal of laughter could be traded for a moan, or a series of gasps and shivers. That she could all but come from being tickled, in the most powerfully powerless moment of her life.
Never, in her life, did she simultaneously regret a moment, while loving and thanking whatever weird impulse had driven her to create it.