CUCKLED or CUCK'D: A Tickling Story

It was as though he was the only thing in focus amid slow-motion blurs and muffled ambience. Prickly heat raced over my body. His aspect was ambiguous but intense and his eyes somehow flickered with flecks of gold as he stared through the crowd.

I looked to Catherine, who was comparing joints of lamb, then back at him. Although his expression hadn't changed I read into it an awareness that, if he so desired, my life could be irreparably changed in less than a minute.

My palms sweated as I left the trolley and walked the long, bustling store until I stood before him like an imp before a giant.

'Hello,' I said.

He didn't respond.

'How are you?' I asked. This was as much a query as to whether it was the right question to ask, as it was a habitual pleasantry.

'I knew I'd see you one day,' he said. His eyes moved off me for the first time. 'That your wife?'

'Yes.'

'You've got kids.'

'Yes. Now look--'

He looked me in the eye, which shut me up. 'You must live around here.'

I didn't answer.

'Tomorrow. The Costa Coffee opposite Dalston Junction. Two-thirty. Be there.' he said.

'I can't tomorrow. I have work. I--'

He just glared at me. I looked back to the trolley -- the kids were asking Catherine where I was. She caught sight of me and smiled. I smiled back. My cheeks began to quiver again.

'I'll be there,' I said.

He walked away.

On my way back to Catherine and the twins I detoured via the frozen foods to cool off and think. Why did he want me to meet him?

A voice made me start. 'Daddy?'

I turned to see Julie. Catherine was behind her. 'Did we forget something?'

'What? Erm, no.' I looked into the freezer next to me. 'I just wondered if we should buy frozen Yorkshire puddings so you don't have to make them on Sunday.'

'I didn't know I was making them!' she chuckled. 'Sure.'

I lifted out a packet and dropped it into the trolley. 'Let's go home,' I said and we headed for the checkouts.

'Who were you talking to?' asked Catherine.

'Oh, he is just someone from work. He must live around here somewhere.'

'He's a handsome young man. I've never noticed him when I've popped in to your place.'

'He works in the back rooms.'

I wanted to get through the checkout as quickly as possible in case Anthony reconsidered his plans. I rushed to put all our stuff on the checkout belt, only for the girl behind the counter to decide it was time to swap shifts with a colleague and have a prolonged chat in the process. As they talked, I saw Anthony approach from the far end of the store on his way to the exit. His eyes were on me the whole time. Catherine recognised him and watched me. I nodded a smile to him. Catherine did the same. He smiled back at her as he walked past and out the exit.

'Handsome young man,' she remarked.

I felt a pang of jealousy. She rarely commented on anyone's looks. Certainly never twice.

Once in the car Catherine asked me if I was okay.

'Yes, I'm fine. Just thinking about work.' This was my go-to get-out comment for avoiding conversation. I was pissed off about how much she obviously fancied Anthony and I was worried about meeting with him. At least it was somewhere public so he couldn't kill me, but I was trying to predict all possible outcomes.

It was only when we pulled into our driveway that I realised something else should have been on my mind: to make sure he wasn't following us home. As I got out of the car, I recognised his Mercedes as he slowly cruised past.

-- -- -- -- --

***Chapter 14***

At work the following morning I went straight to the HR department to explain that I had to leave early for a doctor's appointment. On my tube journey to Dalston Junction I changed from the District line to the Victoria line to London Overground. Each wait on the platforms made me sweat as I could picture myself being late but, in the end, I was early. I perused charity shops where I feigned interest in books that remained on the shelves for good reason and arrived at the coffee shop on time.

The lunchtime rush was over and just a couple of customers sat at the window stools. I ordered a latte from the punky young barista and grabbed a corner booth at the rear of the shop, which was the closest thing to being a private area. I could only hope nobody would sit close by. As soon as my bum hit the seat cushion I saw Anthony's silhouette filling the doorway. He went to the counter and asked the barista for a water. She said she could bring it over to him and he missed the coy smile from her that lingered a little too long to be considered professional.

On any other day it would have irked me that he had to do nothing other than be himself to attract pretty women, but at that moment I was too consumed by why he wanted to see me.

He dropped his coat into the booth and sat opposite me. I noticed that he never seemed to blink, which caused me to blink more than usual. The silence was unbearable.

'Who starts?' I asked.

'You have something to say?' he said.

'I suppose I just want to know what you want to talk to me about.'

'That's interesting. You came into my house, felt up my wife against her will, assaulted her, assaulted me, humiliated me in front of her, walked away without a second thought...and you don't have any clue as to why I want to talk to you?'

'No, obviously, if you'd like to talk about that--'

'Yes. I'd like to talk about that.'

The girl approached and placed his cup of water on the table. She smiled again, this time ensuring he saw the interest in her expression.

'Thank you, darlin',' he said in a manner so casual that I could never it pull off.

I waited until she was out of earshot. 'What would you like to say, then?' I asked.

'I want to hear what you have to say about it.'

My mouth felt as if I had spent the last few hours chewing cotton wool but my coffee was too hot to use as a lubricant. I'd had conversations about my fetish in internet chat rooms that generally consisted of nothing more than a stilted repetition of standard questions and answers before moving on to the next person, but I'd never talked to a real life person about it before, let alone a male, and let alone in this surreal situation.

'Well, obviously, I enjoyed myself and I hope you both did too--'

'At what point did you hope we enjoyed it?' he asked. 'During the hundreds of times my wife told you to stop touching her? Or the hundreds of times I told you to get off? What about the point when you forced me to call you "Master"? Do you think we were enjoying it all through those times?'

My jaw hung stupidly as I failed to find an appropriate response. He sat in silence.

'It turned me on,' I whispered. 'I hoped it would do the same for you.'

'No. It turned you on and you didn't give a toss what it did for us.'

'I'm sorry... What can I do? I... I apologise.'

'You apologise?'

'Yes.'

He just stared at me. So I went on: 'If there's something I can do to make amends...'

'Go on.'

'I'd do it! What can I do?'

'I don't know. How can you bring Amy back to me?'

I was shocked. 'You broke up?'

In response he recounted a comprehensive series of events that preceded our previous fateful encounter. The details were personal but he was very matter-of-fact; letting me know their marriage had been in a very precarious place and he had been doing all he could to repair it and get their lives back on track. He believed he was getting somewhere... and then l entered their bedroom.

He told me Amy was turned on by masculinity and strength. He said he saw the love she had for him evaporate when I made him beg and plead for mercy just by being tickled.

'A week later she moved out,' he said. 'By October we were divorced. Her mother just told me that she's gone to look for a house... in Australia.'

I lowered my head. 'I'm really sorry to hear all that,' I said. I understood how lonely a world without was and I had never even shared a conversation with her, let alone a home. I imagined what it would be like to lose Catherine and I felt his pain.

'I know Amy. She won't be back,' his voice cracked on this last word, which took us both by surprise. He sipped his water and continued through glassy eyes, 'So, something needs to be done. I don't go to the cops. And I knew I was going to see you again one day, like I told you yesterday... when you were with your family.'

His tone made me panic. 'It wasn't all my fault! You just said yourself that you'd been having problems anyway. Perhaps what happened was just an excuse to leave...'

I stopped. Highlighting the precariousness of his marriage was not the right tactic.

'You're correct,' he said. 'My relationship was going through a rocky period and if you hadn't been the last straw, something else might've been, but we'll never know. So, let's put that to one side. What we do know is that you carried out a perverse ritual on me and my wife--for several hours--against our will. My question to you is: what do I do about that?'

I could do nothing but look at him; my countenance the epitome of gormlessness.

He sipped his water again. 'I've had plenty of time over the past year to think. And to research. I was pretty surprised at how popular this tickling fetish thing is.'

These last words made me physically wince. I hated to hear them spoken when I wasn't turned on and, at that moment, I couldn't have been more limp.

'I'm not oblivious to the fact that it was better that you walked through our door than a full-on rapist...' I nodded agreement, perhaps a little too enthusiastically, 'but that's just about the only bright side I could think of. Obviously it would've also been better if you were a decent person, rather than an opportunistic abuser with a tickling fetish!'

I covered my face with one hand and glanced at the barista and other customers to work out if they had overheard him. As far as I could tell, they hadn't. I wanted this conversation over.

'But from what I've read, the way you behaved and the mess you made in your pants before you left, I know you liked that what you did to me and Amy wasn't consensual. Psychologically-speaking, I bet tickling is more intimate to you than sex. Am I right?'

I looked down.

'I thought so. So, in your world, it was very much like a ra--'

'What do you want?' I asked. I couldn't take any more.

'I want to get with your wife,' he said.

My heart stopped. He saw the terror in my face. I shook my head. 'No,' I said.

'I think I'll take as much notice of your "No," as you took of mine and Amy's.'

'She wouldn't agree to it.'

'Amy and I didn't agree to it and you did it to us anyway. But I'll give you a few minutes to consider it because I think you'll like my second option even less, which is to explain to your lovely wife where you were and what you were doing that afternoon. How long have you been married?'

'Twenty-three years.'

'You've done well; she's way out of your league. And I expect that, after twenty-three years, if I told her what happened, she knows you well enough to realise it was true. How long do you think it would be before she left and took the kids with her? It wouldn't be hard for her to find a new man.'

It felt the energy drain from my body and I slumped back.

'You look pale, mate. Take a drink,' he said.

I did as he suggested.

'I want this to happen tonight,' he said.

'What?!'

'Don't argue -- I'm not interested. I'll be at your house at eight.'

'You can't do this!' I said, trying to whisper and shout at the same time.

'It's down to you to get your wife into a position where I don't have to struggle with her. Hey, at least I'm giving you a few hours' notice. It's more than what you gave us.'

'If you do this, you'll be the same as me!' I said.

He collected his coat. 'I can live with that. Just remember that I wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't for what you did to me and Amy.' He got up and put on his coat. 'I'll see you--and your wife--at eight o'clock.'

He tipped a goodbye to the barista on his way out.

-- -- -- -- --

***Chapter 15***

I felt hollow.

Several thoughts rode the merry-go-round in my head as I wished for a solution: if I swept Catherine and the twins away on an impromptu holiday he'd be waiting when we came back and I'd lose Catherine; if I went to the police to accuse him of blackmail, the story would come out and I'd lose Catherine; I could hire a hit man... but they aren't listed in directory enquiries, and I wasn't able to get off scot-free with an afternoon of tickling, let alone conspiracy to commit murder!

I looked at my watch. It was 3:52pm; half an hour since Anthony left. Eight o'clock would be here before I knew it.

A horrible realisation came over me that I wouldn't be able to concoct a solution in time. I felt my stomach drop in the same way it does when Catherine drives over a bridge at speed. Was I really going to give another man the opportunity to have sex with her? What kind of husband--what kind of person--would that make me? I could never allow someone to have sex with her against her will, but I didn't want to lose my family either.

I also couldn't ignore the detestable thought that she might enjoy it. She was 18 when we got together and, even though she had always been faithful, I knew there was an underlying kink inside her. Around fifteen years ago we went through a phase of dirty talk about her being with other men. It turned me on at first because I was in my mid-thirties and felt at my sexual prime, but as I passed the 40 milestone I became jealous of the vision and stopped entertaining it. Occasionally she'd bring it up and I'd sense her disappointment when I didn't play ball. A deeply buried part of me found the idea sexy but, at the same time, I couldn't stand it.

I found myself dialling Catherine's number even though I didn't know what I was going to say.

She answered. 'Hello honey!'

'Oh, hi. I didn't think you'd answer.'

'I'm just about to pick up the kids. What's up?'

'I was wondering if your parents could take them...overnight.'

'Take the kids? Why?'

'I just felt like having a little time to ourselves. We haven't done it for a while.'

'Ooh! Do you mean you want to get sexy with me?'

'Yeah.'

'I like that idea! You're right, we haven't done it for a while. What do you have in mind?'

'Something different.'

'Mmm! Now I'm curious! What?'

'I'll... tell you later,' I said, trying my best to sound enigmatic.

'Mr Mysterious! I like it! I'll make sure I'm ready for you! Mwah!'

'See you later,' I said and hung up.

I made my way to Waterloo in a daze. Anthony wanted to get even. Maybe he even wanted to tie Catherine down. In fact, I was sure he did but I didn't have any bondage equipment and I wasn't going to let him padlock her in place with his cuffs. I needed to get some myself so I could release her quickly if necessary. After a quick Google, I found a BDSM shop in a street adjacent to Waterloo Station. I ignored the embarrassment that previously caused my last-minute detours every time I walked towards a sex shop but as soon as an attractive young woman let me in, a prickly heat covered my body and didn't stop until I left. I bought a set of leather cuffs and several coils of rope and tried to shake off any visions of how they might be used later in the day.

I found a seat on the train at Waterloo and tried to sleep on the way home to create a jump-cut in time, but the whirlwind of my mind didn't let me. My nerves weren't helped by two inexplicable long delays along the journey.

As I turned into my street I suddenly stopped, causing a lady behind me to collide into me. I still hadn't worked out how I was going to talk Catherine into this! With time against me, I plodded on and pondered all the options I could think of, but none sounded plausible and, in fact, the most realistic felt like the position I had found Amy and Anthony in. Maybe I could leave the door ajar, tie Catherine to our bed and pretend to fall over and get knocked out and just wait for him. Or... I could assassinate him? You're allowed to do that when someone breaks into your home, aren't you? Or is that just in the US? In any case, killing someone in front of Catherine, with whom she saw me chatting the previous day, may also bring up one or two questions.

My key was almost in the lock when the front door opened and there stood my darling wife in a red velvet cocktail dress, silky nylons and high heels. She looked absolutely divine. The heels had seen better days, but the fact that there was always an imperfection in Catherine's best efforts just made her all the more adorable and I had to fight against a lump in my throat.

'Hello,' she said in her best femme fatale voice, but then her tone changed into one of concern. 'Are you okay?'

My arousal at how she looked was obviously visibly tainted by the uncomfortable thoughts. 'Yes!' I said, dismissing whatever was on my mind to be a mere trifle. 'You look absolutely gorgeous!'

'Thanks!' She gave a twirl. 'I didn't know what you had in mind, so I thought I'd get dressed up for the occasion. Of course, if you don't want me dressed up, I can always take bits off...' she said, seeking a confirmation that I was aroused, which I duly delivered with a nod.

'So, what do you have in mind?' she asked, excitedly.

I cursed myself for not having rehearsed this moment. Then a half-baked solution came to me in a flash and my appreciation for receiving it momentarily overshadowed how appalling it felt. Before I could stop myself, it fell out of my mouth: 'We're having a guest over for dinner.'

Catherine's eyes narrowed. 'Okay...?'

I nodded and hoped I wouldn't have to explain any further.

'Who?'

I cleared my throat. 'Do you remember when we were at Tesco?'

'You mean yesterday?'

'Yes. Yesterday.'

'Yes...?' she said, and instantly pieced it all together. Her apprehensive look changed into one of pleasant astonishment. 'You mean the young man you were talking to?'

'Yes,' I said.

'Why is he coming here?'

A slight curl at one corner of her lips dried out my mouth. Because she was genuine by nature, her attempts at deceit were so under-practiced that there was a childlike obliviousness to how unconvincingly she portrayed innocence. Hence, her only means of hiding an excited smirk was to squash it with a forced frown.

The green flames of jealousy began to flicker inside my chest.

'You said several times you thought he was handsome and when I saw him at work today, I told him what you said. He said he thought you were very pretty too and I know you like fantasising about being with another man, so... I invited him over.'

As I spoke, I longed for her to protest and state it was just a fantasy; that she would never sleep with another man because she loved me too much and I was all she ever needed. Instead my insides crumpled into the shape of a desiccated walnut, because she listened open-mouthed and blushed bright red when I mentioned Anthony's compliment. Worst of all, she began to smirk again.

'Oh, my gosh!' she said, covering her face with both hands and turning away.

I trowelled on a concrete exterior and waited.

'I'm not sure I'm ready for this,' she said.

'Let's just take things as they come,' I said. I couldn't face the challenge of trying to persuade her to sleep with an attractive and athletic younger man.

'I'd better put something special on!'


'You already have something special on.'

'Oh. Then I'd better get something ready for dinner! I don't think I have enough for three!' she said and hurried to the kitchen.

I glanced at the clock. It was 7:34pm.

'Don't worry,' I said as I dropped the bag with the BDSM gear on the floor and slumped into my armchair. 'I'm not very hungry.'

-- -- -- -- --

***Chapter 16***