Being Ticklish … The Other Disability

I fucking hate being tickled. Hate it! I’m not extremely fond of being touched in the first place, there are a few exceptions of course; making sure I’m still alive, giving me CPR or shaking me out of a deep sleep because the house is on fire, they’re all fine reasons. More intelligent readers will notice that these reasons are all linked to the continuation of my existence; less intelligent readers still might have still not made the link even though this sentence is pointing it out to them.

You see the thing is I’m extremely ticklish, it is my disability. Most people don’t believe it to be a disability but I assure you it is. My great-grandfather was extremely ticklish and he was granted a Blue Badge (for disabled parking), so there’s undeniable proof. He’d also lost his legs in WWII while fighting the Jews … or the Nazi’s … or the Nazi Jews, I can’t quite remember, I always used to tune out when he spoke. But let’s face it coffin dodgers don’t have much to teach us young and cool adults.

When someone tickles me, it’s as if they’re inducing a spasm. My body tenses up; a natural defence, my arms flail around like I’m some sea creature unaccustomed to the air that land mammals breathe. If the tickling continues, I begin to hyperventilate. Even still, if the sick, sadistic son of a bitch that is inflicting this torture continues, I eventually piss my pants; another natural defence mechanism to warn off the predator.

Many child psychologists define tickling as an integral bond between parents and their bastard children. This was never the case for me, as my absent father nor my alcoholic mother never tickled me; they used to beat with red hot fire pokers instead. So, instead of tickling, violence was an integral bond between me and those that produced me.

Acarophilia is the name given to the sick sexual practice of tickling fetishism. The pure thought that someone could be turned on by being tickled makes me question the sanity of civilisation, it makes vomit slowly creep up the back of my throat. Acarophilia is much worse than necrophilia, bestiality or beasti-necrophilia (a combination of the two). If anyone you know is in to acarophilia it’s best to cut off any contact with them, as this is a sign that their mentality is questionable. You’ve been warned.