Of course. I'm not even ticklish.

“Deal,” I say.

I think this will be easy. I’ve never been ticklish, even as a child. Josh puts his alarm clock on the dresser and sets the timer for one hour. How thoughtful of him. At least if he’s busy wasting his time tickling me, he won’t be doing anything worse. I haven’t really considered what happens if I lose the game. How can I lose if I’m not ticklish? The game is rigged, but I’m not telling him that. I think smugly, sorry bud, you’re going to have blue balls tonight.

He begins by trying to tickle me under my arms. It doesn’t really bother me.

“Having trouble performing?” I ask innocently with just a hint of venom. “Maybe it’s just not your night.”

“Everyone is ticklish somewhere, Jennifer,” he says.

“It’s Jen,” I reply coldly.

I don’t really care if he calls me Jennifer or Jen, but I want to exert some tiny amount of control over my situation, some defiance to show him I haven't submitted to him. Even if it’s something as small as to the name I'll allow him to call me.

“You’re about to get tickled until you’re naked and that’s what you’re concerned about? You have bigger problems, Jennifer,” he says.

He doesn’t give me an inch, but I won’t give him the pleasure. I won’t break. He’s seen all that he’s going to see. I can’t lose.

“Do your worst,” I reply.

Under my arms or on my feet, it doesn’t matter. When I was growing up, my brothers would try to tickle me sometimes, but unlike them, it never bothered me at all. There was no chance he would win our little game. He continues trying to tickle me, but he’s unsuccessful. I feel smug and I want him to know it.

“Sorry, it looks like the show is over. Too bad. If it’s any consolation, you got a lot farther with me than I thought you would,” I taunt.

“Perhaps your feet,” he says.

Josh slides my pink sneakers and socks off my feet. Technically, he’s not supposed to remove any of my clothing, but whatever, it’s just my socks and shoes. I’m not hung up on the details. I know my feet aren’t ticklish. He tickles my feet with his fingers, but I don’t feel any sensation other than annoyance at my situation. I look at the clock. 57 minutes left.

“I guess we’ll have to start looking in other areas,” he says.

Josh begins to pull down my jeans and I immediately protest. Shoes and socks are one thing, but I didn’t agree to take off my pants!