Tickled on the Front Porch

It was a darn hot day. Indian Joe had gone to see his neighbor, Tim Jones. Everybody in the area called Tim “Father Jones” for some reason that nobody could remember. “Father” Jones had been sitting on his front porch in his shorts when Indian Joe had arrived with a couple of six-packs of beer. There was nothing much to do in this place most of the time and Indian Joe was a regular visitor to Father Jones. Usually, they would play cards or watch TV. And every now and then, they’d have a little “adult fun” together, as they’d call it. But there were rituals to be observed. First they would draw lots to decide who would be “the man in charge”. Luck had favoured Indian Joe, this time.

“Ya goin’ ta get even for those last three times?” Father Jones had asked with some trepidation in his voice. Luck had been on his side recently and he had to admit he’d been a little bit naughty with his old pal and neighbor. But then, he knew that Indian Joe would get his “revenge” sooner or later. That was part of the game.
“I’m sorely tempted to,” Indian Joe answered with a mischievous smile. “I don’t know if I can forgive you, Father, for you have sinned.”
Then he had gone to the drawer where he knew “Father” Jones kept some bits and pieces and had come back with some ropes – they would use those in their games every now and then – and tied his friend’s hands behind his back.
“I’ll give you the opportunity to do penance, though,” he said.
Then he tied “Father” Jones’ ankles together.
“Now here’s the deal,” Indian Joe said, “if’n you can get through ten minutes of me ticklin’ yer big dawgs without cryin’ ‘uncle’, I’ll go easy on ya. If’n you can’t… well… all the worse fer ya.”
“Oh please, not that,” the older man had pleaded. “You know how ticklish I am!”
“If doin’ penance was easy, then it wouldn’t be penance,” Indian Joe had said. And he’d started tickling “Father” Jones’ big beefy feet, which immediately caused the older man to burst into uproarious laughter.
“Please, please,” “Father” Jones managed to say between fits of laughter.
“I’ll stop anytime you want if you say the magic word,” Indian Joe replied without missing a beat. “But remember… there will be a price to pay.”
“Father” Jones said nothing. He was laughing too hard. Could he stand ten minutes of that awful tickling? And was it really worth it? As the relentless tickling went on, this seemed to be less and less the case. He knew he didn’t have the will power to hold on for that long.
Indian Joe, on the other hand, was enjoying himself tremendously. He had long wanted to go to town on his friend’s big feet and he had just been given the perfect opportunity.