C.K. Storyteller
3rd Level Blue Feather
- Joined
- Mar 7, 2007
- Messages
- 5,729
- Points
- 0
Greetings. I am The Storyteller.
For my first story, I have chosen to tell you about a place that exists in every major city. It even exists in some minor cities, and legend has it that even some towns and hamlets are getting them at this rate. This is a place that many know about but few mention.
For those who believe, no explanation is necessary. For those who do not believe, no explanation will do.
Today, I will tell you about Chuckle’s Salon.
Most see it as a usual haircut place, even if the name might seem a bit unusual. They pass by, rarely taking more than a second to glance through the windows and seeing, not surprisingly, the regular trims and shampoos that a hair salon is known for.
Most see it that way.
However, for those who know of the secrets of Chuckle’s Salon, they see it as more than just a stylist or a barber. They see it as a haven, a refuge, a place of freedom.
Yes, my friends, you could say that those who know of Chuckle’s have found their Xanadu.
For you see, Chuckle’s Salon is not just a place for a coiffure, it is a place for those blessed with the love of tickling to play.
I fear that I must pause here to explain how Chuckle’s Salon came to be. Many years ago, there was a man who shared our love of tickling. He was a California stylist by trade; a man who was so successful in his craft that he quickly became independently wealthy. Having no need for fast cars or world travels, this man set out to combine his two passions; and Chuckle’s was born.
People entering Chuckle’s always are smiling; many have been known to rush in without a wayward glance. These are the seasoned Chuckle’s clientele who know the secrets. For you, the first-time visitor, you will likely be nervous, even a little reluctant. I assure you that we all felt that way our first time. We did not know the lengths that Chuckle’s goes to in order to protect our privacy.
In order to calm your fears even more, I would like to share with you the story of how one of Chuckle’s most loyal clients first came to the salon, and the experience she had that made her a lifelong customer.
Erin had heard of Chuckle’s before, of course. Word of a place like this spreads quickly amongst tickle-philes. She had walked by a few times, even going as far as to go inside and innocently ask if there were any openings for a haircut before losing her nerve and dashing out. Over time, she had heard enough positive feedback to make a formal inquiry.
One of the nicest things about Chuckle’s is its website. It looks to be a traditional stylists homepage; a listing of hours and directions of the branches takes up the majority of the page. Unbeknownst to most is the link hidden at the bottom of the page, the one that takes you to the “Special” page. Allow me to quote this page, as my own words would not do it justice.
We at Chuckle’s feel that there is more to life that cutting hair. We cater to those who enjoy a good laugh as well as a good style. If you are interested in one of our “Laughter Sessions”, please fill out the following questionnaire and press Send. We will be in contact with you via e-mail within 24 hours to set up an appointment and answer any other questions you may have.
Erin, after much hemming and hawing, had filled out the questionnaire and sent it in. She stated that she was primarily a ticklee who had never truly felt her limits had been explored. With nervous excitement coursing through her, she listed her most ticklish areas (feet and hips, for those who are curious), and the level of restraint she would be most comfortable with (moderate). Within the hour, she had received a reply from one of the Chuckle’s representatives, and the two had quite an e-mail dialogue before Erin made her appointment for Saturday morning.
Erin arrived a few minutes before her scheduled time, needing all the extra help she could to will herself in the door. Once again, she was greeted with smiles all around, and the receptionist seemed legitimately pleased she was there.
“Most people fill out the survey and then never show up,” she explained. “I’m glad you had the courage to come in; you will not regret it.”
“Are you a . . . customer here too?”
The receptionist (named Stacy, by the way) smiled. “Yes, Erin, I am. You will find that pretty much everyone here is a ‘customer’ in one way or the other. Please have a seat.”
Erin sat, glowing with excitement at the prospect of people who shared her interest. She looked around, observing her fellow patrons. Across from her was a young couple holding hands. Both were grinning and whispering to each other softly. It was not long before a man emerged from the back of the salon, called their names, and the couple disappeared behind the curtain.
“Ah, so that’s how they do it,” Erin thought to herself.
There were two customers in the barber chairs actually having their hair cut. Both were men about Erin’s age, she guessed. As one got up to leave, he winked at Erin before paying his bill and departing. The other turned to her as his stylist began cleaning up the fallen hair.
“First time?” he asked.
“Oh, yes. You?”
“Goodness, no. I’m here every week for one reason or another,” the man replied, laughing to himself. Erin flushed a bit, turning just in time to see a middle aged man appear from behind the curtain.
“Erin? Are you ready?” the man asked, smiling.
Erin nodded, getting up and slowly walking toward the man holding open the curtain.
“Pleasure to meet you,” the man said, extending his hand. “I’m Chris.”
“Hi,” Erin murmured, almost tempted to back out of the salon now. This just seemed too bizarre to be real, even though she had barely slept thinking of how fun it must be.
“Follow me, please. No need to be nervous,” Chris said. He led Erin down a hallway that reminded her of a doctor’s office, past a few closed doors with the unmistakable sounds of laughter emerging from the other side of them, and then stopped to let her in to her own room.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Chris said, turning the light on to reveal a. . .
Barber’s chair. (You were expecting stocks, maybe?)
Erin looked quizzically at the barber’s chair and then at Chris, who grinned.
“We try to keep up appearances,” Chris said, indicating the chair. “We have other rooms that have some different equipment, but we mostly operate with these. You’ll find they are suitable.” He smiled again, and Erin relaxed a bit. If everyone here shared her love of tickling, then she shouldn’t be this nervous.
Chris grabbed a clipboard off of the wall and began going down her own survey with her, double checking answers and clarifying information. Erin noticed a definite gleam in Chris’ eye when she verified that her feet were one of her most ticklish spots, and found she was becoming breathless with how much powerful information Chris now had over her.
“He’ll know exactly what to do,” she thought.
“Well know, that should be enough of the questions. I think I have the information I need,” Chuck said, his eyes gleaming once more. “I must now ask you to have a seat.”
Erin suddenly became unsure of herself. Should she take some clothes off? Just her shoes? She had picked out her outfit knowing what she was planning on doing in it, but how vulnerable should she make herself? (Again, for those who just MUST know, Erin was dressed in a pair of thin khaki capris, a blue tank top with an unbuttoned shirt over it, and sneakers. White ankle socks. There, now you’re happy.)
Chris seemed to understand her hesitation immediately, and just guided her into the chair.
“I’ll take care of everything else,” he said, with a sweetness that calmed her nerves once more.
The chair was very comfortable, padded nicely on every surface. Chris placed her arms flush with the arms of the chair and, after asking permission, cuffed her wrist securely. Erin flexed her arm experimentally, and felt a thrill of excitement as she realized she was unable to pull free. While she was testing this new immobility, Chris restrained her other arm, then leaned her chair back as if she was going to have her hair shampooed.
“Comfy?” Chris inquired. Erin nodded, her smile growing more and more with each passing minute.
“Good.”
Chris then lifted the leg rest of the barber chair until Erin could see the tops of her sneakers pointing towards the ceiling. Chris then placed a wooden top over her ankles, and Erin realized that her foot-rest was really a small set of stocks. (OK, so you were right, there are stocks, can we move on now?)
Erin gasped, and Chris looked up in alarm. Erin smiled to reassure Chris, who smiled back. He laid a strap over her knees before stopping to inspect his work.
“How do you feel, Erin? Is this too much for you?”
“No, not at all. This is great.”
“Perfect. Now since this is your first time here, we are going to go really slow. I am going to be checking in with you a lot to make sure you’re totally comfortable. If at any point you want me to stop, just let me know.
“Got it,” Erin replied.
That gleam appeared in Chris’ eyes again. “If at any point you want me to tickle you more, or anything like that, let me know that too.”
Erin flushed again, giggling. “Got it.”
Chris pulled a stool up next to Erin’s chair, placing himself at her left side. He smiled once more, than slowly moved his hand towards Erin’s stomach. She watched his fingers start to slowly flex and wiggle, and started giggling in spite of herself. Chris pulled back, then smiling more, began to lower his hand again. Erin continued to giggle and squirm, quickly turning to laughter as Chris’ hand finally began poking and prodding on Erin’s tank-topped tummy.
Erin squirmed and wiggled, but found out quickly that she was not about to go anywhere. Chris’ hand moved from side to side and up and down, testing her ribs, sides and stomach in turn. Erin laughed continually, enjoying every second of it. After a minute or two, Chris stopped.
“How we doing, darling?”
“Great,” Erin said, gasping a bit. “This is fun.”
“That’s the idea,” replied Chris. “More?”
Erin nodded, and Chris shot out both hands, now tickling up and down Erin’s ribcage. Erin laughed louder than before, now tugging at the cuffs and vainly attempting to kick here feet, but found herself a helpless victim to another two or three minutes of tickling.
Chris stopped again, looking up and down Erin’s body, as if deciding what spot to tickle next. Erin bit her lip nervously, almost wishing he would pick already and get it over with. That thought quickly changed when Chris moved his stool down to Erin’s feet.
“Oh no,” Erin moaned, giggling once more.
Chris laughed out loud as he began to pull off Erin’s sneakers. “What’s wrong, darling?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“You sure? Sure you’re not nervous about these ticklish feet of yours?” Chris replied mockingly. He had dropped Erin’s sneakers to the floor and held his hands inches above Erin’s trapped feet.
Erin wiggled her feet involuntarily, gritting her teeth to keep from laughing out loud before Chris even touched her.
Chris watched her internal struggle, moving his hands lower and lower until they were brushing lightly against her socked soles.
Immediately Erin scrunched her face tight, desperately trying to fight the incredibly ticklish sensations cruising from her feet up to the rest of her body. She flailed her feet meekly, but Chris’ expert fingers followed each jerk with ease. Erin lasted five seconds before exploding with laughter.
Over the next forty-five minutes, Chris explored every ticklish spot on Erin’s body, finding ones she didn’t even know she had. He finished, at her request, with ten full minutes of tickling Erin’s bare feet which left her in tears and in heaven.
After composing herself and pulling her shoes back on, Erin staggered out into the waiting room where Stacy (the receptionist, for those with short memories) led the lobby in applause for her first session.
Erin made an appointment with Chris for the very next Saturday morning. Stacy hinted that if business was slow, she might pop in to say “Hello.”
That was two years ago. Erin still has regular appointments with Chris every Saturday, and can usually be seen there two or three other times a week as well. Just another happy customer, I expect.
Thus, we end our tale of Erin’s first visit to Chuckle’s Salon. There are a myriad of other stories just like hers; ones that will all be told in their due time.
Well I hope that this account has convinced you to make an appointment with Chuckle’s Salon. You’ll be glad you did.
I must be off now. Fear not, though, I will return.
There is always a need for a storyteller.
For my first story, I have chosen to tell you about a place that exists in every major city. It even exists in some minor cities, and legend has it that even some towns and hamlets are getting them at this rate. This is a place that many know about but few mention.
For those who believe, no explanation is necessary. For those who do not believe, no explanation will do.
Today, I will tell you about Chuckle’s Salon.
Most see it as a usual haircut place, even if the name might seem a bit unusual. They pass by, rarely taking more than a second to glance through the windows and seeing, not surprisingly, the regular trims and shampoos that a hair salon is known for.
Most see it that way.
However, for those who know of the secrets of Chuckle’s Salon, they see it as more than just a stylist or a barber. They see it as a haven, a refuge, a place of freedom.
Yes, my friends, you could say that those who know of Chuckle’s have found their Xanadu.
For you see, Chuckle’s Salon is not just a place for a coiffure, it is a place for those blessed with the love of tickling to play.
I fear that I must pause here to explain how Chuckle’s Salon came to be. Many years ago, there was a man who shared our love of tickling. He was a California stylist by trade; a man who was so successful in his craft that he quickly became independently wealthy. Having no need for fast cars or world travels, this man set out to combine his two passions; and Chuckle’s was born.
People entering Chuckle’s always are smiling; many have been known to rush in without a wayward glance. These are the seasoned Chuckle’s clientele who know the secrets. For you, the first-time visitor, you will likely be nervous, even a little reluctant. I assure you that we all felt that way our first time. We did not know the lengths that Chuckle’s goes to in order to protect our privacy.
In order to calm your fears even more, I would like to share with you the story of how one of Chuckle’s most loyal clients first came to the salon, and the experience she had that made her a lifelong customer.
Erin had heard of Chuckle’s before, of course. Word of a place like this spreads quickly amongst tickle-philes. She had walked by a few times, even going as far as to go inside and innocently ask if there were any openings for a haircut before losing her nerve and dashing out. Over time, she had heard enough positive feedback to make a formal inquiry.
One of the nicest things about Chuckle’s is its website. It looks to be a traditional stylists homepage; a listing of hours and directions of the branches takes up the majority of the page. Unbeknownst to most is the link hidden at the bottom of the page, the one that takes you to the “Special” page. Allow me to quote this page, as my own words would not do it justice.
We at Chuckle’s feel that there is more to life that cutting hair. We cater to those who enjoy a good laugh as well as a good style. If you are interested in one of our “Laughter Sessions”, please fill out the following questionnaire and press Send. We will be in contact with you via e-mail within 24 hours to set up an appointment and answer any other questions you may have.
Erin, after much hemming and hawing, had filled out the questionnaire and sent it in. She stated that she was primarily a ticklee who had never truly felt her limits had been explored. With nervous excitement coursing through her, she listed her most ticklish areas (feet and hips, for those who are curious), and the level of restraint she would be most comfortable with (moderate). Within the hour, she had received a reply from one of the Chuckle’s representatives, and the two had quite an e-mail dialogue before Erin made her appointment for Saturday morning.
Erin arrived a few minutes before her scheduled time, needing all the extra help she could to will herself in the door. Once again, she was greeted with smiles all around, and the receptionist seemed legitimately pleased she was there.
“Most people fill out the survey and then never show up,” she explained. “I’m glad you had the courage to come in; you will not regret it.”
“Are you a . . . customer here too?”
The receptionist (named Stacy, by the way) smiled. “Yes, Erin, I am. You will find that pretty much everyone here is a ‘customer’ in one way or the other. Please have a seat.”
Erin sat, glowing with excitement at the prospect of people who shared her interest. She looked around, observing her fellow patrons. Across from her was a young couple holding hands. Both were grinning and whispering to each other softly. It was not long before a man emerged from the back of the salon, called their names, and the couple disappeared behind the curtain.
“Ah, so that’s how they do it,” Erin thought to herself.
There were two customers in the barber chairs actually having their hair cut. Both were men about Erin’s age, she guessed. As one got up to leave, he winked at Erin before paying his bill and departing. The other turned to her as his stylist began cleaning up the fallen hair.
“First time?” he asked.
“Oh, yes. You?”
“Goodness, no. I’m here every week for one reason or another,” the man replied, laughing to himself. Erin flushed a bit, turning just in time to see a middle aged man appear from behind the curtain.
“Erin? Are you ready?” the man asked, smiling.
Erin nodded, getting up and slowly walking toward the man holding open the curtain.
“Pleasure to meet you,” the man said, extending his hand. “I’m Chris.”
“Hi,” Erin murmured, almost tempted to back out of the salon now. This just seemed too bizarre to be real, even though she had barely slept thinking of how fun it must be.
“Follow me, please. No need to be nervous,” Chris said. He led Erin down a hallway that reminded her of a doctor’s office, past a few closed doors with the unmistakable sounds of laughter emerging from the other side of them, and then stopped to let her in to her own room.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Chris said, turning the light on to reveal a. . .
Barber’s chair. (You were expecting stocks, maybe?)
Erin looked quizzically at the barber’s chair and then at Chris, who grinned.
“We try to keep up appearances,” Chris said, indicating the chair. “We have other rooms that have some different equipment, but we mostly operate with these. You’ll find they are suitable.” He smiled again, and Erin relaxed a bit. If everyone here shared her love of tickling, then she shouldn’t be this nervous.
Chris grabbed a clipboard off of the wall and began going down her own survey with her, double checking answers and clarifying information. Erin noticed a definite gleam in Chris’ eye when she verified that her feet were one of her most ticklish spots, and found she was becoming breathless with how much powerful information Chris now had over her.
“He’ll know exactly what to do,” she thought.
“Well know, that should be enough of the questions. I think I have the information I need,” Chuck said, his eyes gleaming once more. “I must now ask you to have a seat.”
Erin suddenly became unsure of herself. Should she take some clothes off? Just her shoes? She had picked out her outfit knowing what she was planning on doing in it, but how vulnerable should she make herself? (Again, for those who just MUST know, Erin was dressed in a pair of thin khaki capris, a blue tank top with an unbuttoned shirt over it, and sneakers. White ankle socks. There, now you’re happy.)
Chris seemed to understand her hesitation immediately, and just guided her into the chair.
“I’ll take care of everything else,” he said, with a sweetness that calmed her nerves once more.
The chair was very comfortable, padded nicely on every surface. Chris placed her arms flush with the arms of the chair and, after asking permission, cuffed her wrist securely. Erin flexed her arm experimentally, and felt a thrill of excitement as she realized she was unable to pull free. While she was testing this new immobility, Chris restrained her other arm, then leaned her chair back as if she was going to have her hair shampooed.
“Comfy?” Chris inquired. Erin nodded, her smile growing more and more with each passing minute.
“Good.”
Chris then lifted the leg rest of the barber chair until Erin could see the tops of her sneakers pointing towards the ceiling. Chris then placed a wooden top over her ankles, and Erin realized that her foot-rest was really a small set of stocks. (OK, so you were right, there are stocks, can we move on now?)
Erin gasped, and Chris looked up in alarm. Erin smiled to reassure Chris, who smiled back. He laid a strap over her knees before stopping to inspect his work.
“How do you feel, Erin? Is this too much for you?”
“No, not at all. This is great.”
“Perfect. Now since this is your first time here, we are going to go really slow. I am going to be checking in with you a lot to make sure you’re totally comfortable. If at any point you want me to stop, just let me know.
“Got it,” Erin replied.
That gleam appeared in Chris’ eyes again. “If at any point you want me to tickle you more, or anything like that, let me know that too.”
Erin flushed again, giggling. “Got it.”
Chris pulled a stool up next to Erin’s chair, placing himself at her left side. He smiled once more, than slowly moved his hand towards Erin’s stomach. She watched his fingers start to slowly flex and wiggle, and started giggling in spite of herself. Chris pulled back, then smiling more, began to lower his hand again. Erin continued to giggle and squirm, quickly turning to laughter as Chris’ hand finally began poking and prodding on Erin’s tank-topped tummy.
Erin squirmed and wiggled, but found out quickly that she was not about to go anywhere. Chris’ hand moved from side to side and up and down, testing her ribs, sides and stomach in turn. Erin laughed continually, enjoying every second of it. After a minute or two, Chris stopped.
“How we doing, darling?”
“Great,” Erin said, gasping a bit. “This is fun.”
“That’s the idea,” replied Chris. “More?”
Erin nodded, and Chris shot out both hands, now tickling up and down Erin’s ribcage. Erin laughed louder than before, now tugging at the cuffs and vainly attempting to kick here feet, but found herself a helpless victim to another two or three minutes of tickling.
Chris stopped again, looking up and down Erin’s body, as if deciding what spot to tickle next. Erin bit her lip nervously, almost wishing he would pick already and get it over with. That thought quickly changed when Chris moved his stool down to Erin’s feet.
“Oh no,” Erin moaned, giggling once more.
Chris laughed out loud as he began to pull off Erin’s sneakers. “What’s wrong, darling?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“You sure? Sure you’re not nervous about these ticklish feet of yours?” Chris replied mockingly. He had dropped Erin’s sneakers to the floor and held his hands inches above Erin’s trapped feet.
Erin wiggled her feet involuntarily, gritting her teeth to keep from laughing out loud before Chris even touched her.
Chris watched her internal struggle, moving his hands lower and lower until they were brushing lightly against her socked soles.
Immediately Erin scrunched her face tight, desperately trying to fight the incredibly ticklish sensations cruising from her feet up to the rest of her body. She flailed her feet meekly, but Chris’ expert fingers followed each jerk with ease. Erin lasted five seconds before exploding with laughter.
Over the next forty-five minutes, Chris explored every ticklish spot on Erin’s body, finding ones she didn’t even know she had. He finished, at her request, with ten full minutes of tickling Erin’s bare feet which left her in tears and in heaven.
After composing herself and pulling her shoes back on, Erin staggered out into the waiting room where Stacy (the receptionist, for those with short memories) led the lobby in applause for her first session.
Erin made an appointment with Chris for the very next Saturday morning. Stacy hinted that if business was slow, she might pop in to say “Hello.”
That was two years ago. Erin still has regular appointments with Chris every Saturday, and can usually be seen there two or three other times a week as well. Just another happy customer, I expect.
Thus, we end our tale of Erin’s first visit to Chuckle’s Salon. There are a myriad of other stories just like hers; ones that will all be told in their due time.
Well I hope that this account has convinced you to make an appointment with Chuckle’s Salon. You’ll be glad you did.
I must be off now. Fear not, though, I will return.
There is always a need for a storyteller.
It was a fine story, and I hope they have some women working as ticklers in that salon. 
