The Concerto Ch. 01

After such an incredible privilege, Randall can hardly fathom why he's so lucky as to tickle the exquisite, snow-white feet of Anne, only to produce laughter even more bell-like. By this time, he has already improved at eliciting the desired sounds by stimulating the feet, and Anne's blonde hair and clear face seem to shake back and forth in slow motion as he draws each peal of laughter from her.

There is one moment, when her toes splay deliberately, that Randall has the terrifying feeling he is actually about to ejaculate. He ceases tickling and rapidly tries to calm his body, inhaling slowly. He hadn't even realized how shallow his breath had become.

"What's up, Randall?" says Anne in concern.

"Wha --? Uh, nothing, Anne."

"Why'd you stop?"

Randall blushes a little, but tries to hide it in the guise of confidence.

"Don't worry, Anne. I'll keep going," he says, smiling.

At the end of the rehearsal, Farel sets the helpers free with the assistance of his musicians. Randall watches as they step down and stretch their previously restricted arms and legs. It's almost strange to see them able to move around.

Ellie walks over to Randall and punches him lightly in the arm.

"I'm gonna have to get you back for that someday, Randall," she giggles. "I think you played your advantage pretty hard."

"That was such a workout," Anne comments. "I can't believe you didn't tell us that you were going to do our feet, Farel. My feet are so ticklish."

"I doubt that's fair, Anne," replies Farel. "You had plenty of time to look at my score. All kinds of sounds are in there. Which reminds me."

As the women get dressed, Farel proceeds to provide one score to each of the musicians. Randall opens his to the first page. It looks neat and full-fledged. The staves are stacked on each other, depicting the entire string section, the winds, and some percussion. One staff is left over, devoted to the female instrument who is to be played by three musicians. As he flips through, it doesn't take him long to recognize all the types of laughter he had learned to produce from the women. Now, though, he can see the way it's intermingled with the other parts. He can't quite hear the final sound in his head, but he admires the thoughtfulness of the writing style. What amazing music this will be.

Sarah peeks over Randall's shoulder, and gives it a little squeeze.

"Thanks, Randall," she says. "I enjoyed that. I thought you played me the best."

Randall blushes, nods, and says "thank you."

"Farel? Question?" says James.

"Yes?"

"I notice there's only one staff for the solo instrument. Which one of our helpers is going to be the used in the performance?"

"Oh," says Farel. "None of them."

"None of them?" says Randall. His heart sinks.

"Our volunteer for the concert will agree to participate, but she won't know exactly what's going to happen to her until the performance begins. That's why we had this rehearsal using three different women; because they're all somewhat different. When the time comes for you to play the piece for an audience, I need you to be experienced at drawing the correct sounds regardless of the person."

All three musicians listen, intrigued.

"That is also why I must ask you all to keep this a secret from everybody for now. I thank you very, very much for your participation."

"So, who will be the instrument, Farel?" asks Mark.

"Enough, gentlemen," he responds, pushing up his glasses. "It's a secret."

* * *

Randall walks back to his dorm as the sky grows dark. He hears his heart softly pumping through his head. The memory of the rehearsal that ended only moments ago, already seems surreal.

How am I going to tell Mehgan about this?

You can't tell Mehgan, you idiot. Come on. This is far too personal.

Personal? You were in public just now. Your classmates were there. Do you really think no one's going to know?

Just... don't tell her.

Don't you want to tickle Mehgan, Randall?

Randall stops suddenly. He does want to tickle Mehgan. A lot. He just knows that if she finds out about tonight, well... he wouldn't know what he'd do. He has never thought beyond that threshold of mental intimacy. It would be embarrassing. He's sure of that.

Yet, he was tickling not even one, but three women just moments ago. He was doing it confidently. Was it just the professional atmosphere that had made it acceptable? Was it Farel's prestigious attitude?

He blows a lock of hair out of his eye and keeps walking.

Call her, and ask her if she's ever been tickled. Or just tickle her. Come on, Randall. Just don't give it away that you want to. Make it look normal.

How can that look normal?

Musicians are twisted. They like to tickle people. I want to tickle Mehgan.

I want to tickle you, Mehgan.

Randall opens the door to the silence of the dark dorm room. After he puts down his backpack, he picks up the phone and looks at the keypad. He listens to his breath for a minute, then dials.

It rings several times, and then a click lets him know it's about to be answered.

"Hello?" says Mehgan's cute voice. It sounds like her TV is on.

"Hey, Mehg," says Randall.

"Rand! Hi!"

"Is that just your TV? Is Adrian there?"

"Nope," says Mehgan. "Just celebrating that I'm finished with things."

Mehgan proceeds to inform Randall about the nature of her previous homework assignment, something that one of her professors said in her lecture earlier, and....

Randall doesn't realize that he's not listening. He's haunted by that image of Ellie's face laughing as he tickles the balls of her feet. Ellie soon transforms into Mehgan, and he adores her as she laughs, and becomes aroused as her feet squirm to get away.

He winces at his total inability to think of any way to bring this image into the conversation.

"Rand?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you there?"

"Yes, yes, I'm here," says Randall. "Hey, Mehgan."

"Hey, Rand. So, how'd rehearsal go?"

Randall tried quickly to think of an answer. "Oh, it was good."

"Good. What day is the concert, again?"

"It's this coming Monday."

"Fantastic. I can't wait to see you play again. You're so good at that!"

Randall is dead silent at that. Several long seconds elapse before he tries again.

"Mehg."

"Yes?"

"I need to tell you something."

"Yes?"

"Mehg, I... want to..."

Come on, just ask her.

Ask her what?

Ask her if Adrian's ever tickled her.

That's so stupid and obvious. There's no way to do this.

Then just ask her outright! Is she ticklish? That's not so bad to ask. Everyone's ticklish, aren't they? Maybe?

I can't do that.

I want to tickle you, Mehgan... I want to tickle your feet, and your body... so much...

"Ahem. Randall. You want to...?"

"... Uh, nothing."

"Randall, are you all right?"

"Sorry, I have to go, Mehgan. I'll talk to you later, all right?" says Randall with a sudden lump in his throat.

"All right, Randall. Let me know if you need anything."

"Mm-hmm. Night, Mehg."

... And Randall hangs up, and slams the desk with his hand. After a minute of breathing, he gets ready for bed and looks out the window.

"I'll talk to you about this somehow, Mehgan. We'll find a way," he says. He finds his way into bed, and turns out the light.