Pulp Tickle Fiction
by Max Speer
The voice went "Blah blah blah blah blah..." Father Fred, the priest at Holy Moses Catholic Church heard a word here and there; "my daughter", "wedding", "confession", and others that he'd heard every week for the past 32 years. Father Fred had one thing in mind, "How do I stay awake for just 5 more minutes?"
The two sat in the Father's comfortable office as plans were being made for her daughter's upcoming wedding. The woman seemed very nice, dressed in a colorful, tacky, Summer frock; her tiny gloved hands clutched a purse on her lap. She wore a little hat with fake flowers on it.
Father Fred saw a bee buzzing around his ceiling, banging against his neon light, and entertained the fantasy that the bee would land on Mrs. Foxworthy's hat. He imagined it entering and stinging her repeatedly on the head. That would get her out of here!
"So you'll see her, Father Fred?" the woman said rising from her chair. The old cushion on the chair made a farting sound as she rose, which made the woman punctuate her sentence with an "Oh Dear!"
The old priest rose (his cushion made no sound) and assured the kind, old lady that she could bring the daughter around anytime she wanted and he would give her spiritual counseling.
Mrs. Foxworthy smiled, thrilled, and walked out of his office, glancing a few more times at the seat cushion, frowning.
Two weeks later, Father Fred heard a knock at his office door. It was a Saturday afternoon and he was watching the Phillies play San Diego on his tiny Watchman. The knock startled him and he looked up at his wall calendar to see that it was the hour of Mrs. Foxworthy's daughter's spiritual counseling.
Father Fred hadn't seen Stacey for over twelve years, when she was a shy, little girl of 8. She had gone off to live with her aunt in another county following a family tragedy. Now, the poor aunt was ill and Stacey went back to live with her mother. Her mother was planning Stacey's wedding to Jeffrey Clark, a 'fine lad' whose Dad owned the hardware store.
The old priest got up and his bones made crackling sounds. He was starting to feel old though he was barely 70. Quickly, he put the walkman in his desk drawer and opened the door.
There, standing barely 5'5" (which could well as just been 3 foot tall under the towering man) was a most gorgeous Stacey Foxworthy. Dressed in a sleeveless, Summer shift and Birkenstacks; long, straight, 'dirty' blonde hair; Stacey was a knock-out! She looked up at the old priest as he gulped and her blue eyes sparkled. Her full, red lips were like cherries you would see perched on an Everest of whipped cream.
Stacey looked into Father Fred's eyes, then looked down, embarrassed.
"Come..." Father Fred stammered.
"What?" said the girl, looking up again.
"Come in, please, Stacey; sit down."
The girl walked in and Father Fred was ashamed of himself as he looked down at her round bottom, seen easily beneath the thin cotton shift. The Father watched the cheeks go up and down, one side then the other, and counted the movements the short distance from the door to the chair.
"Five," he muttered under his breath.
"Excuse me?" she said as she turned.
"N-nothing"
Stacey sat softly onto the seat. It made no sound. She was an angel indeed. She nestled herself into the chair and crossed her thin, shapely leg over her knee; and, although the motion took all of 2 seconds, Father Fred watched it for hours. In fact, he watched it for weeks after that day.
The old priest settled into his own chair and said a little prayer to himself that he would be able to be of some use to the nymphet parishioner.
She sat for a few more seconds and bobbed her leg on her knee, looking all of 12 in her girlish way. Strands of hair were in her face and her demure attitude oozed seductivity.
"Well," the Father started to say but his voice cracked. "Well, now, Stacey what can I do for you today?"
"I'm here, Father Fred because I don't know where else to turn. I knew that you would be able to give me some spiritual advice. I have this problem."
"What is this problem, Stacey. Perhaps I can help you cope with the burden you are carrying."
"Well you know, Father, that I'm getting married soon."
"Your mother has told me."
"Jeff is a really nice guy."
"An outstanding boy, yes," the priest said assuredly.
"He doesn't understand that I have a problem."
"Well, what kind of problem is it, Stacey?"
"Everytime..."the girl hesitated before taking a breath and continuing. "I have trouble when he touches me."
The priest suddenly became interested. If there had been any fatigue in his bones, it was gone. His mind was sharp and alert.
"What kind of trouble? Is he touching you inappropriately? I can have a talk with him?"
The girl smiled and pulled the hair out of her face and held it over her head while she thought. For some reason, the priests eyes followed her hand, down her bare arm and into the very smooth, hairless hollow of her armpit. An old 'devil' began to stir in his pants for reasons he could not understand. He stared, transfixed at the smooth skin under her arm until his stare was broken by her release of hair and dropping of her arm. She hunched her shoulder up and smiled.
"I have this problem," she continued. "Everytime he touches me I can't help giggling."
"Giggling?" the Father asked. "Why?"
"It's embarrassing."
"Go ahead, child. You can trust me."
"I giggle because I'm very VERY ticklish."
"Oh!" The 'devil' had a mind of its own. It, too stood up to listen. There was no fatigue in its old body. It was alert.
"Jeff hates it, and thinks that I'm rejecting him. But the truth is, Father Fred, I'm so ticklish that I have trouble with ANYBODY touching me. Anybody!"
"Well, " the old priest said, "How about someone you trust very much?"
"I don't know," came the shy answer. "I don't trust many people."
The moment was heavy. Very heavy. The entire situation was now resting on the very next word. It was so tense in that little office that the air felt like a mousetrap about to spring. Then he said it; the words that would seal his fate forever.
"Do you trust me?"