Chapter 4

I’m actually 5.3″. I know this because I do have a complex and I measured myself. And it’s not almost average, it is average. But right now, after the orgasm of a lifetime, it’s scared, shriveled and hiding. It feels and looks like it’s about one inch. Like I’m that young boy again patiently waiting for puberty to happen.

Two of my employees come to my aide. They have four towels. It’s humiliating when they each use one to clean my spunk off my chest and out of my belly button. It’s even more humiliating when the belly button action begins to bring my “little guy” back to life. Is there any chance these two guys don’t recognize me for who I am? The ski mask is still on. If they do, will I ever have credibility with them again? Will they respect me? Do as I say? Or will I become their bitch, despite being their boss? It’ll be like Sean all over again.

I wrap myself in the two clean towels and walk out of the arena.

Dwight and I are eating pizza in our apartment. He’s heard the story (everyone’s heard the story) but he’s the only one who knows it was me under that mask. I’ve been dubbed The Ticklish Imposter. Considering everything I was put through that night, I could have been named much worse. I’m not a big drinker, but Dwight is on his third beer.

When we’re done eating, Dwight hands me an envelope. It’s from the ownership of the arena and for a moment I fear that they found out I was the Ticklish Imposter and they’re firing me. I rip it open and it’s a check for $6,000. I look at Dwight and cock an eyebrow.

He says, “It’s your payment for appearing in an event. It would normally be $5,000, but since you had to replace your clothes, your shoes, your cell phone, your credit cards…” he trails off.

I look again at the check and notice that it’s made payable to my real name. I say, “Dwight? What the fuck?”

He smiles wide. “Everyone knows it was you. The ownership, John, Allison…”

“You told them all?”

“No! Look, it’s not what you think. It was all a set up. Allison and I weren’t seeing each other. She didn’t go out with The Torturous Tickler either. We made it all up to lure you into what ultimately happened.”

“It was all a marketing idea. What if the crowd was surprised by an extra even not on the program? Something different and fun. And funny. Maybe not with two wrestlers. That night was sort of trial run and the crowd loved it. They went crazy for it.”

“And you were a part of it?”

“Well, they were brainstorming ideas and they came up with The Torturous Tickler and a regular person. Then I remembered that you used to be ticklish. I didn’t think you’d agree to it if we just asked, so we tricked you into participating.”

“But it all seemed so real.”

“That’s what made it even better. And putting that mask on was brilliant. We couldn’t have planned that. It felt real to the crowd too.”

“I thought you were my friend.”

“I am! I was promised you wouldn’t get hurt.”

“You don’t think tickling hurts?”

“You don’t think humiliation hurts?”

“No. Or at least not so much that can’t be cured by $6,000.”

Dwight says, “The idea is that you and The Torturous Tickler put on repeat performances once a week. It’ll be different times and different nights each week. It’ll never be on the schedule. We’ll have sellout crowds every night because everyone wants to be there for the bonus show. You two were really cute together.”

“Cute?” I’m incredulous.

Dwight sighs, “Look, the money is great. It had to be at least a little fun, right? A little exciting?”

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that it was. At least the ending. But every week? Could I survive that much? Is it worth the money? I tell Dwight that I’ll do it. Then I bring him another beer.

Dwight wakes up in his bed but something is wrong. He can’t move his arms or legs. He knows he had more beers than he should have, but what is this?

I snap on his bedroom light. He squints at me. I kept bringing him beer. He kept drinking it. When he went to bed and passed out, I stripped him naked and tied him, spreadeagle, to his bed posts. Now he looks concerned.

“Hank?” His eyes haven’t fully adjusted yet.

“So, Dwight. You’re gonna get your chance to tell me if tickling and humiliation are painful or not. And if you’d do it weekly for $5,000.”

His eyes change from concerned to terrified.

I ask him, “Dwight, did you actually run out of the arena the other night or did you stay and watch from the crowd?”

“I watched,” he admits.

“So then you know what he put me through. And you know what to expect.”

“Let’s start with a nice visual inspection,” I say. “Nicely tanned skin, but your tan line is shocking. You really should sunbathe in the nude, Dwight.”

“No. This is happening.” I continue my visual inspection. “I’d say you’re about 6′ 2″ and maybe 230. I checked your shoes already. Size 13 and decent amount of funky odor.”

I’ve only just begun, but I can’t help noticing that his dick is starting to twitch. With each mention of his tan line, his measurements, the musk of his feet — each statement cause an upward tick in his member. This is going to be even more fun than I thought.

“You’ve got some nice arms and legs there Dwight.”

Another tick higher.

“Your pecs are nicely formed.”

“Some would say your abs need work. They are not washboard ripped. Me personally? I like a little soft vulnerability in that area.”

That one gave him three ticks up and he’s more than halfway to fully erect now.

“Your 34″ waste is 5″ bigger than mine, but you’re not flabby. You’re just a big strong guy, Dwight.”

“Everything is proportional.”

“You obviously manscape. You are well-trimmed everywhere.”

“Your innie is deeper than mine but it’s still super-cute.”

That did it! He’s fully erect and I have yet to touch him.

I make a tsk, tsk sound. “Dwight, I’m not sure you even reach 7″. On your large frame you look like you’ve got a little Lincoln Log down there.”

I didn’t think it could, but that made him even harder still. His eyes widen when I pull out a cloth tape measure. He shudders and gasps from my touch as I roughly measure him up.

“6 3/4 inches, Dwight. Everything being proportional I think my 5.3″ on a 5′ 9″ frame beats your 6.75″ on a 6′ 2″ frame. What do you think?”

He flushes a crimson red, “Let’s call it a draw.”

“Fair enough.” I spend the next ninety minutes tickling Dwight’s body in very much the same ways The Torturous Tickler tickled me. Dwight howls in laughter through his tears. When he’s not screaming, that is. When I’m finished, he still has a raging boner. I look at it at smile. But he surprises me with a nod.

He says, “Please. I need you to do it.”

So I do. Of course I bring him to the edge, only to stop short and frustrate him multiple times over about thirty minutes, like The Torturous Tickler did to me, but then I get serious. I start working him without letting up and I can tell he’s immediately close. Now it’s my turn to shock him. I let go again, but this time, not to tease him. I take him in my mouth. I’m surprised when I have no trouble taking his whole length in, with my lips down to his base. Teasing aside, he’s actually a big guy. I massage my tongue all along the underside of his steel shaft and his whole body is vibrating in waves of glory. It’s only seconds before he explodes in my mouth, surge after surge. I try, but I can’t take it all. Some dribbles on his belly.

I get towels and clean up the small mess I made. Then I untie him and he just lays there. He doesn’t jump up or grab me or punish me. He just looks at me. Eventually he asks, “So are still going to do it or were you lying to me before?”

I say, “I don’t know.”

He takes my hand, “I have an idea. A proposal. If you say yes, then every night that you give to The Torturous Tickler, the next night you get to do what you just did to me.”

I laugh, “You don’t have to–“

He cuts me off, “I want you to.” He squeezes my hand harder, “I mean, I really want you to.”

I feel a twitching in my pants. I glance down and his dick is coming back to life too. I was truthful about why I never had a girlfriend in high school or the first two years of college, but what about the last four years? If I’m honest with myself, I’ve been in love with Dwight this whole time.

He squeezes my hand harder and pulls me into the bed next to him, his now partial erection lying between us. He says, “Hank, I think I like you.”

I don’t leave his bed again for a long time.

It’s been going really great with Dwight. I think we really might love each other. It’s Friday night and I get home from work excited for the weekend. Dwight has a huge smile on his face. He says, “I have a surprise for you.”

I don’t love surprises. “What’s that?”

“We have a weekend guest. Turn around.”

I turn and Sean, my old childhood friend/tormentor walks out of my bedroom with a big stupid grin on his face.

Oh shit. Is Dwight my protector or will he be joining in on the torture? Or… After ten years is it finally my time for revenge? I have Dwight on my side now. Maybe all three of us will take turns being tied to the bedposts. No matter what happens, this should be a fun weekend.