Molly was in her bed on her back under the covers. “Hi, Uncle Ted,” she said, opening her eyes.

“I hear you’re not feeling well. What’s wrong?”

“I just get tired,” she said. “I get so tired. I don’t mind missing school, but I hate not being able to play soccer. It sucks. And I’m sore.”

“Where are you sore?”

Molly pulled the covers down to the top of where her panties would be had she been wearing panties. She had on a tank-top which showed the shadow and shape of her nipples. She pulled the tank-top up just above her bellybutton.

“Here,” she said, taking Uncle Ted’s fingers and placing them on the flat of her belly.

“Maybe when you’re better I’ll take you to Disney World.”

“Disney World’s gross,” Molly said.

“Oh? What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s just stupid. I’m not fifteen anymore. God. They put all these fake e’s at the end of everything. Like Old-Tyme Land. I hate that. And they sell these repulsive giant turkey legs soaked in horrid barbeque sauce. Disney world is horrid. I’d laugh if it were to blow up.”

“Couldn’t the e’s be silent?” Ted asked.

Molly frowned.

Uncle Ted got Molly a job at Disney World working in Tickle-Lande. Guests rented oversized feather- dusters or laser buzz-guns or barbeque sauce squirters to tickle Molly and other young people inside the compound. Because Molly would never laugh, she was one of the most popular victims. The guests would gang up on her, squirting and buzzing and dusting her everywhere at once, but to no avail. Molly wouldn’t laugh. Others laughed so hard they’d sometimes cry or pee. Quickly the compound became a mess of feather debris mixed with sauce and juice, but then the guests would be ushered out, and attendants with high-pressure hoses misted everything away. Molly enjoyed the misting. She’d lift her arms and spread her legs and wish the misting would go on just another moment, but always it stopped too soon. Then an attendant would pat Molly dry with a big fluffy towel, and that was nice, but then the ticklers would come again. Molly grew glummer and glummer.

But then one day something good happened. The e-machine malfunctioned. It started attaching e’s to everything. Not just to shoppes but to every blade of grasse, every gueste, and every piece of gooey turkey lege. The e-machine went wilde. It didn’t take long for Disney Worlde to blow up.

Molly smiled.

“I guess you’re hopeless,” Uncle Ted said, and he started to tickle her. He began at her belly, fingers moving like little mice nibbling here, nibbling there, and Molly began to giggle. Up and down the nimble mice moved, under her shirt, under her blanket. Giggles gave way to gasps. To the tips of her breasts went the playful mice, to the top of her bottom. Moist raspy moans. To the edge of everything. Beyond. “Oh,” Molly groaned. “Eeeeeeeeeee, I’m going to...”

Ted’s kind hand caught every e.