Brian stood at the large window of his hotel room, overlooking the strange panic in the streets below.

        A young man, hobbling towards pedestrians, was swinging his arms wildly. When someone tried to hold him back, he lowered his arms and grabbed at their sides.

        A woman. Similarly, she was moving erratically across the street. Twitching and shuffling. She lunged at another pedestrian on the sidewalk, plunging her hands into the woman's stomach. 

        It looked like...well, again, it looked like these strangely behaving individuals were--he dared not think it, but had no choice--they were tickling their victims.

        "What the hell is going on...?" Brian muttered, thinking back to the incident at the Bellagio fountains and the bus crash that followed. 

        "Bri," said Chloe's voice from behind him.

        He turned and saw the scared look on her face. "It's...your father. He took himself to the ER after he got home. Apparently, he's been trying to reach you. His...symptoms got worse. He was admitted to UCLA."

        "What?" Brian dug frantically into his pockets and pulled out his phone. Dead. "Shit! I didn't realize my phone had died! With everything that happened--"

        "Brian," said Chloe as he fumbled for his charger. 

        "What?"

        "I... I called one of my colleagues there. She says..." Chloe held a hand to her forehead. "She says that your dad... he..."

        Brian froze up, felt an ugly frost in his stomach. Felt his peripheral vision darken. "W-what?" he said.

        "Your dad started attacking some of the doctors."

        Brian let out a laugh. His father? His gentle...bookish, astronomist of a father...? "What?"

        "She told me... Well, what she described... It sounds similar to what we saw tonight."

        "What do you mean?"

        "Outside." She referenced the door. "With-- With those people."

        "Chloe." Brian swallowed. "What exactly did they tell you?"

        "Not much." She shook her head. "But she said he was acting erratically. And strange. And that he... well, it doesn't make any sense, but he kept demanding to hear... well"--she chuckled, a miserable sound--"laughter."

        "Laughter."

        She nodded. "I know it doesn't make sense, but--"

        Brian heard a muffled scream from somewhere in the black distance behind him. He turned back to the window and saw another one of those strange, shambling people darting after another group of women at the corner. 

        "Chloe," he said. 

        "What?" She sounded anxious and tired.

        "I'm worried that there's...something going on here."

        "What do you mean?"

        "Something...bad. Something...big."

        "What?"

        Brian looked back at her. "We need to go. I need to see my father. As soon as possible."

        Brian paused a moment, after recounting one of his earliest tickle-related memories. Andrew stared at him, an indiscernible look on his face. 

        "Wait," said Andrew, putting his fork down. "You're...?" His sentence faded out.

        "Like you."

        "Like...me." Andrew sounded skeptical.

        "The scientific label is knismolagniac," Brian said with a smug grin.

        "What?"

        "People who have a...well, affinity for tickling."

        Andrew's brow furrowed.

        "I don't want to be so crass as to simply call it a fetish."

        Now, Andrew reddened. Brian noted the body language. The inward curling, the desire to disappear.

        "Am I incorrect?" Brian asked.

        Andrew's blush intensified.

        "Andrew." Brian sighed. "I told you. It's okay."

        Andrew looked up at him. His expression was one of limbo. He looked frustrated, but there was something curious--grateful, even--in his eyes.

        "When did you first know?" Brian asked.

        Andrew cleared his throat and shrugged. "I don't...know."

        "You don't remember?"

        Andrew's mouth twisted in thought. "Um." He took another breath. "I mean, not exactly when, but..."

        "One of your earliest pivotal memories. Something that stands out to you," encouraged Brian.

        A beat passed. Like the tick-tock of a grandfather clock. Then, Andrew painted the scene--

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        It was a kids television show--one of those '90s teenage comedy dramas, probably on Nickelodeon or Disney Channel. A pack of high school bullies had captured the show's protagonist and tied him down with athletic tape to a bench in the locker rooms. The show's main character was a slim, outgoing, goofy guy with a classic class-clown personality. Sandy blond hair that fell just below his ears; a really envy-inducing smile...

        The bullies were trying to persuade him to back out of going to the school dance with the most popular girl in school and, it being a kids show, apparently, they felt that tickle torture would be an appropriate means to do so. They'd removed the guy's sneakers and socks, revealing a pair of peach-colored feet, in low resolution, wriggling on the bench.

        Then, of course, there were the feathers. Long. Colorful. Sliding up and down the guy's ticklish soles. The feet squirmed. The guy laughed and pleaded. Beautiful sounds. 

        And the flip inside was switched to ON. 

 

        --and even Brian found his excitement palpable. He thought of his own exposure to numerous tickle-related media over the years.

        (Strange how a culture finds its way to us, worms its way into our brains, how certain things leave profound impacts...)        

        Heart pounding.

        Face warm.

        "I remember feeling so weird afterward. I wanted to watch it again. Waited to see if the episode would rerun," said Andrew. He was grinning.

        "I, uh, know the feeling," said Brian.

        Something hovered between them a moment. A fluttering energy. Bubbly inebriation. Brian smiled. Andrew's grin grew. A few chuckles flared and combusted between them. 

        "So, yeah." Andrew shrugged again. "That's, um-- I guess that was one of my first memories."

        Brian nodded and watched Andrew take another bite of chicken. He chewed thoughtfully and before Brian could return to his seat, he asked another question: "So, that's all this is?"

        "What?" said Brian.

        "You just wanted to tell me that you like tickling too?"

        "That isn't enough?" Brian had meant it in jest.

        Andrew reddened again. "I mean, it's...always nice to meet someone who understands you. Especially...now. You know, with everything that's happened, I didn't think--"

        "Precisely," said Brian. "More important now than ever to know you still have community."

        Andrew leaned back. His body language seemed to relax. "Yeah."

        Brian sat back down in his seat. He took a bite himself. The chicken was a little dry. After he swallowed, he took a sip from his glass and mulled over what to say next. "How did you...explore your fascination? With tickling?"

        "Oh."

        "You know, growing up?"

        "Um." Andrew chewed on his lip. "I didn't. I mean, not at first." His voice trembled. "But, I guess, when opportunities presented themselves--you know, with friends or cousins--I guess, I'd get in a tickle or two."

        "Makes sense." Brian offered a warm smile, despite his feeling that Andrew was holding back again. Brian knew it would take time--Andrew coming around--but he was also aware that time was something they didn't really have. He inhaled through his nose and out through his mouth. "Look," he said. "I did have another reason for asking you here. To talk."

        Andrew didn't say anything in response, but he provided Brian his attention again. That curious glint had resurfaced in his eyes.

        "And I need you to bear with me here, okay?"

        Andrew nodded.

        "I mean, I need you to stay calm."

        "Okay..." Andrew started to look concerned. "What is it?"

        "I told you, you're not in trouble. And nothing is going to happen to you, all right? I promise."

        There came the faint scuff of chair legs on carpet. Andrew had instinctively scooted an inch or two towards the door. 

        Brian smirked. "You don't need to run, Andrew. I promise. You're okay."

        "Just tell me what you need to tell me," said Andrew.

        Brian hung his head. He drummed his fingertips on the table.

        Tick.

        Tick.

        Tick.

        "Okay," he said. "I meant what I said. About people like us needing to find community. I wanted to open up to you so that you'd hopefully feel safe. I'm here for you. You got that?"

        Andrew crossed his arms. His worried expression remained.

        "Secondly..." Brian was struggling to find the right words, which, in his case, rarely happened. "Well... I believe I've discovered something recently that might help us combat this outbreak."

        There came the slightest shift behind Andrew's cold gaze. A dash of warmth.

        "And I believe it might have something to do with people...like us."

        "Like us?" Andrew muttered. "How? What do you mean?"

        Brian suddenly felt his pulse drumming in his throat. The familiar, refreshing tingling in his left arm. Always started in the wrist and worked its way up. His next pause verged on the infinite. He exhaled, then said, "Let me show you." He undid the cuff of his shirt sleeve and pulled back the fabric revealing a network of white, skin-surface tendrils snaking away along his arm. He saw the horror wash over Andrew's face before he jumped to his feet and made for the door.

        "Andrew." Brian calmly spoke after him. "I'm...not like the others. Because I'm like you."​

Author's notes: 

Revised from previous iterations of similar chapters, this new version of Pteronophobia's Chapter 10 explores the earliest memories surrounding the imprint event for what would eventually become a tickle kink in our main characters. I think many of us can relate. What was your earliest tickle memory? How early in life did you realize you enjoyed tickling more than most? 

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This chapter was first posted on a tickling-focused forum back on August 17, 2011 and has since been edited and revised multiple times. 

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Last updated: August 5, 2026.

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