dig dug dog
3rd Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2001
- Messages
- 1,678
- Points
- 38
Dear Friends,
This is one of the longer pieces of tickle fiction I have written. The central pay-off requires a little patience, but there is a lot of other tickling action along the way. And there is something for almost everyone here: M/F, F/M, magic box tickling, hypnosis, Natalie Portman, and even a cheerleader story. Of course, "resistance" to the tickling is a primary theme. Note also that there is a brief (and fairly mild) adult moment toward the conclusion. I really hope you enjoy it and I welcome any feedback.
All the best,
dig dug dog
Do you remember that Cat Stevens’ song from the 1970’s, “Hard-Headed Woman”? I often have reason to think about that great old tune because my wife, Tara Marie Benson, has quite the tough-minded, no nonsense attitude herself. Although only 5’4”, 118 pounds, this little brunette doesn’t take b.s. from anyone, and she quickly sees right through most of the scams and hype which this world has to offer. It’s great having a life-partner who knows how to stand up to insurance companies, used (not “pre-owned”) car salesmen, and even the IRS—not to mention the jerks who hit on her most days at the gym or when she’s shopping at the grocery store (despite her decent-sized wedding ring). I don’t mind when my buddies, Jerry and Jack, tease me about Tara wearing the pants in the family. Besides the fact that she looks as awesome in jeans as in a skirt or dress, I don’t always need to be “the man” in those situations to pump up my ego. I found my hard headed woman over three years ago and “I know my life will be as it should….”
OK, sure, there are a few disadvantages to Tara’s steely personality—we all know nothing’s perfect. Now don’t get me wrong, in some ways Tara is very traditionally feminine; she uses make-up (without overdoing it) and she loves pink and purple. She even bakes pies and has knitted me a couple of sweaters. But let’s just say that I don’t get much opportunity to play Tara’s “knight in shining armor.” As Jerry would be the first to tell you, if there’s a big bug in the bathroom Tara is usually the one to perform the extermination. Creepy-crawlers don’t phase her for a second. Or take horror movies. She likes them, thinks they’re pretty funny. During Saw 3 I kept glancing over at Tara to see if she needed a strong male hand to get her through the rough patches. Truth is, I was sweating it out much more than she was. A few times when I jumped a little, she chuckled and I wasn’t 100% sure if she was laughing at the movie or me. Tara likes to comment on how they stage the stunts and special effects. She actually studied theater and film as an undergrad, so I guess that’s one reason she doesn’t get caught up in the cinematic illusion. Or is it the other way around? Maybe she studied film because she’s so naturally skeptical and is always looking for “the trick,” and what’s going on behind the scenes.
Speaking of which, my Tara is probably not the person you want to go to any kind of magic show with—unless you’re someone who enjoys having all the tricks spoiled. The last (and only) time we went to one of those together was about four months before we got married. I really like magic, so after about 10 minutes of Tara’s whispered, running commentary about how the magician was doing everything, I let her know I was mildly annoyed. She settled back into her seat, although I noticed a slight gleam in her eye, the kind she gets sometimes when she’s about to tease me.
The show went on without interruption from Tara until the closing trick, the famous “sawing a woman in half” act. The magician’s young assistant was quite attractive, a long-legged blonde who smoothly slipped off her high-heeled shoes and in one fluid motion laid down in a narrow box with her nylon-covered feet sticking out one end. Moments after she was inside, the magician quickly locked the box all around her and then went to stand at the end of the box near her feet.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he began, “the lovely Marissa is now as helpless as a babe in arms, locked tight inside this magic chamber. Very unfortunately for her, I happen to know a little secret.” He leaned toward the audience conspiratorially, putting one hand up to the side of his face as if to whisper his message. “Marissa…” he paused for effect, “is very… very… ticklish….” And with that he started to run his fingers up and down the soles of her feet. The girl immediately began laughing hard, mixed with some high-pitched squealing. Her feet also moved in response to the magician’s stroking. He kept this up somewhat longer than I had ever seen before in this kind of trick. For some strange reason I found it kind of sexy.
I noticed Tara looking at me and I got scared that she could somehow tell that I was getting a little turned on. “Those aren’t her feet, you know,” Tara said with a smile.
“What do you mean?” I answered. The magician was now moving on to the rest of the trick. “Her reaction seemed, uh, pretty real.”
“It’s called acting, dear. There is a pair of mechanical feet inside which the assistant pushes out when she gets into the box. Or do you believe he’s about to actually cut the girl in half?”
An older woman behind us said, “Shuuuuu.” The magician plunged a third metal blade down into the center of the box; Marissa let out a tiny yelp.
“I know, but, well, of course, but the tickling….”
“That helps to set up the illusion,” Tara explained. Marissa now appeared to be in two pieces; the magician and another assistant pushed the two halves around the stage.
“Hey,” the magician announced, “maybe we should find out if Marissa is still as ticklish when her feet are disconnected from her brain?”
“Nooooo!!” Marissa called out nervously.
Oddly, I found myself hoping he would try to find out, even though, as Tara emphasized most logically, those could not possibly be her feet.
As the magician tickled a second time, if anything the girl responded even more strongly to the supposed stimulation of her extremities. Then, moments later, Marissa was whole again, and the magic team was taking its bows.
So that was the night I knew I probably would not be seeing any more magic shows with my fiancée. She just couldn’t get into the spirit of things like that. This was also the night I realized that tickling could have a sexual element to it. However, based on what I’ve told you about Tara, you probably won’t be surprised to learn that unfortunately this “hard headed woman” of mine is also a hard bodied woman. Well, there’s some literal truth to that—Tara’s in great shape and works out a lot—but I meant that she’s not ticklish. Toward the beginning of our relationship I had probably tried to tickle Tara playfully once or twice, with no success. By the night of that magic show, it had been quite a while since I even made an attempt. But I guess what I saw on stage put me in mind to try again.
I took Tara home and after a drink we were sitting on her couch watching a little television. At a commercial, she decided to stretch herself out, putting her legs down across my knees. I noticed that she was flexing her feet a little.
“Are your feet sore?” I asked.
“Yeah, really sore. I think it’s the new shoes I got last week. They’re not broken in yet.”
“Want a massage?”
“Sure, if you don’t mind touching my stinky feet.”
“They’re not stinky,” I assured her and then reached over to begin kneading her left foot which was covered by a thin, light-green sock. I shifted further down on the couch to get into a better position.
“Ummm, that feels really good,” she said.
“Good.” I began working on the other one. The image of Marissa in that magic box popped into my head.
“Honey,” Tara said sweetly, “if you’ve come this far, would you mind taking off my socks?”
“No problem.” I pulled them off one by one and looked for a moment at her narrow size 7 feet. Tara had very cute feet, I thought, well-shaped with high arches, and nicely cared for. She wasn’t wearing any polish, but I know she had pedicures occasionally. I resumed my massage at her left ankle and worked my way very slowly up her foot. When I reached her arch I lightened my touch considerably, stroking the skin there softly, almost teasingly.
“Does this feel OK? Let me know if anything tickles.”
“No, no, it feels great…I’m loving it…besides, I’m not ticklish…I think I told you that a few months ago.”
“Yeah, you mentioned it once, but, ya know, sometimes people deny that they’re ticklish so that other people don’t try to take advantage.”
“That’s true,” Tara replied.
“So are you sure you’re not ticklish?” I started moving my fingers faster up and down the bottom of her foot. I looked over at her face to see if there was any ticklish reaction, but she just looked back at me with a rather blank stare. I switched over to the other foot and used a bit more pressure.
After 30 seconds of enduring this probing she shrugged slightly. “Sorry, baby.”
But I wasn’t ready to give up quite yet. “Maybe you’re ticklish in other spots. Don’t try to hide it, because I’ll find out.” I smiled a mock-wicked sort of smile. Suddenly I felt like this was some kind of treasure hunt. I pulled myself closer to her upper body and suddenly grabbed both sides of her waist, giving it the most tickly treatment I could muster. Tara looked like she was humoring me. She took a deep breath, laced her fingers behind her head, and looked back over at the TV. After trying to tickle her ribs for a minute, I finally stopped and leaned back against the couch.
“OK, OK, I guess you’re not ticklish.” I was a little embarrassed at my ‘defeat’ and I searched for something to say. “I thought everyone was ticklish…Were you tickled much as a kid?”
“Yeah. My brother Rick loved to tickle me. In fact, he’s probably the main reason I’m not ticklish today.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, as a girl I was actually very ticklish. When Ricky squeezed my waist or tickled my feet I went crazy. He especially liked to get me under my arms and this sent me into hysterics. This went on for years until one day when I was probably 14, maybe 15, I just started thinking very hard about what Ricky was doing and why I was reacting that way. I really didn’t like being so out of control. And I realized that he wasn’t actually making me laugh and go wild—I mean, all he was really doing was touching my feet or other body parts. The problem was my own response. So I decided right then and there that I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of watching me go bananas any more.”
“And just like that you weren’t ticklish?” Her story about self-control fit pretty well with the other things I knew about this girl. The surprise was that for some reason the story was turning me on.
“No, not immediately. But gradually I was able to control my reactions more and more. Eventually he lost interest in trying.” She smiled broadly. “Or maybe it’s because I started getting him back.”
“Back?”
“Well, one day he was sitting on top of my legs and tickling my feet. I wasn’t laughing or reacting at all and this just made him try harder to get me. He was totally focused on the tickling and I realized that I could easily just sit up and reach his back. I had never considered the possibility that Ricky himself might be ticklish. Guess what? He is. When I dug my fingers into his sides he was so taken off guard that he just collapsed into a heap. He was sort of grunting and gasping as I kept tickling him as hard as I possibly could. I was able to get out from under him and in a few seconds I was on top and tickling like a demon.
“Normally, being much stronger than me, he would have been able to grab my hands, but I think the unexpected tickling had sapped his strength somehow and he was just trying desperately to block my fingers by wrapping his arms around himself. But of course, there were still plenty of spots to tickle no matter where he put his arms. And after all the unfair treatment I had suffered at Ricky’s hands over the years, I possessed the strength and righteous indignation of any mistreated victim. As he squirmed on the floor in front of me, his face locked into a grin, I realized that the grunting sound he was making was a strained attempt not to laugh out loud. So that’s when I went for his underarms. He soon broke out into this streaming, high-pitched giggle and was almost begging me to stop.” She paused. “That was a very good day.”
When Tara ended her account, I blinked hard and pursed my lips. A bunch of emotions were running through me. Then Tara sat up.
“And how about you, big guy?” She got on her knees and wiggled her fingers at me a little. “Are you ticklish?” she said, poking gently at my stomach.
“Me?” I smiled calmly, but inside I was getting a bit nervous. I really wasn’t sure how ticklish I was; being an only child it didn’t get tested too often when I was growing up. I actually remember my parents telling visitors and relatives not to tickle me. I think they saw it as inappropriate, or some form of torture.
“Yes, you, silly.” Tara moved in closer.
“No, not really, but…” I started to explain about being an only child when she pounced. Tara pushed herself against me, temporarily trapping my left arm against the arm of the couch, and at the same time she had my right arm pinned between the back of the couch and her body. The next moment she was squeezing my waist and ribs in various places, apparently searching for weakness. The sensation wasn’t too bad and I took some pride in resisting, just like she had. But then the girl hit some spot on my upper ribs that made me jump and gasp.
“OK, then,” she said and ran her fingers over that spot again…and then again. I tried to squirm away, but she didn’t miss a beat. It was really starting to tickle. I twisted to my left, and when I did, Tara snuck her hand into my armpit, which made me feel like somebody had plugged my body into a wall socket. I also felt a big smile breaking out across my face, and seconds later I was chuckling. This only seemed to encourage Tara because she reached across me and started playing with my other armpit. Now this was too much. I exploded with laughter and curled up into a ball. In response, Tara attacked my lower back and somehow discovered a nerve that made me spasm and arch. This girl really knew what she was doing. She followed this up by exploring the area above my right knee which made me roll off the couch trying to escape. In a second, she was on top of me, going hard at my ribs again and making me giggle like a schoolgirl.
“Taaaaarrraaaaa, stooooooop! Noooooohohohohohohohohohohohoooo!! Stoooooppplleeeaaaaaaaasseheheheheheheheheeeee!!” I hooted.
“See how it feels?” Tara said loudly over my laughter. She wasn’t mad; she actually seemed to be enjoying herself. But it was clear that she wanted to teach me a lesson. “Is this what you wanted me to do—squirm and giggle and beg for mercy? Huh? Is this what you wanted?”
A voice deep inside me that only I could hear answered, Yes.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha, stoooooop!”
Thankfully, she stopped. “Now I hope you got this tickle talk out of your system. But if you need a reminder to leave it alone”—she pinched my waist and I chortled—“I’m happy to provide one. Boy, I guess that trick with Marissa really got to you.”
I’m sure I blushed about eight shades of red.
As I said, since that evening almost three and a half years have passed. We got married and I think we are a very happy couple. We have lots of friends and a good income. And our sex life is just fine, if you must know. Not particularly inspired, perhaps, but fine. The subject of tickling was in fact dropped and pretty much forgotten until about two months ago. That’s when we started getting together with Peter and Alexis. They are another couple in their late twenties whom we met at a book club in the neighborhood and we all instantly hit it off. It wasn’t just the guys liking the guys and the girls liking the girls. I really enjoyed talking to Alexis and Tara got along well with Peter. She was a real estate broker and he, oddly enough, was a professional stage magician, although he also repaired office equipment to pay the bills. Tara liked to kid Peter about magic, like asking him at restaurants if he could make the check disappear. We saw movies, went bowling, played cards, and the four of us even went together to a bed and breakfast one weekend.
But then, out of the blue, Tara and I learned that Peter loved to tickle Alexis—and he didn’t seem to care who knew it. I mean, not just a poke here and a prod there, but full-out tickle attacks. And Alexis, a curvy redhead who looked like she could easily be a fashion model, was extremely ticklish. It only took moments for Peter to reduce her to fits of wild laughter. Now understand, this wasn’t ordinary laughter. Alexis’ laugh was really intense, you might even call it sensuous. Seriously. When tickled, rich, loud, throaty laughter pours out of her like 20 trumpets blasting in harmony. Nothing is held back. I’m tempted to call it a “tickle-gasm,” or something like that. Tara and I witnessed this at the bowling alley and, believe me, it drew a small crowd. Peter gladly shared the information that he “did this to her all the time.”
The couple was supposed to come over to our place a couple nights later. But when we were getting dressed the next morning, Tara started talking about canceling.
“I couldn’t believe the way he embarrassed her at the bowling alley. I mean, it’s just not right taking advantage of a person’s vulnerability like that, you know?”
“Well…” I chose my words carefully; I knew I was in sensitive territory. “Alexis didn’t seem very embarrassed afterwards.”
“Just because she was being a good sport in public doesn’t mean she was OK with it, Jeff. My God, a big crowd had gathered around.”
“Yeah. But don’t you think she would have told him in the past to stop if she really didn’t like it?” I wondered if Tara remembered the night after the magic show.
“Well, some guys can’t or won’t take a hint.” She paused for a moment and then smiled. “Some guys aren’t a respectful gentleman like you are, honey.” Then she got that teasing look in her eyes. “Besides, since I’m not ticklish and you totally are, you didn’t have much choice, did you?” She put a shocked expression on her face, like she had just said something scandalous.
I wasn’t expecting that remark. It was funny, but made me kind of mad at the same time. Without thinking too much, I suddenly lunged at Tara and pushed her back onto our bed. She let out a little squeal. In an instant, I was crouching on top of her belly and started tickling her rib-cage. Then I quickly switched to her underarms. All the while I was expecting to get yelled at. In fact, Tara had her eyes closed and her mouth seemed tightly shut. For a moment her hands were locked onto my forearms, but then she opened her eyes, lowered her hands, and laid there like she was sunbathing at the beach. I continued tickling for another ten seconds or so and, getting no reaction, I stopped.
“You’re just lucky you aren’t ticklish,” I scolded, slightly out of breath. “’Cause sometimes you really deserve a good tickling.” As I sat on top of her, a thought occurred to me. “By the way, did I get the whole story about your brother Rick? Did he ever have any good reason to tickle you?”
Tara smiled kind of impishly. “You mean like the time I taped one of his telephone conversations with his girlfriend Julie and played part of it over the loudspeaker at school?”
My mouth fell open. Tara pushed me off of her and went to finish getting dressed. In the end, she agreed to let Peter and Alexis come over, but warned me that the friendship was now on “probation” as far as she was concerned.
When they came over Saturday night we ended up having a lovely dinner. The conversation flowed smoothly and Tara seemed to have forgotten about her frustration with Peter. Afterward, we settled in to watch a video. Since I cooked, Tara had been in charge of going out and renting something. She got Closer starring Natalie Portman, Julia Roberts, and Jude Law. This was probably Tara’s idea of a little joke because she knows I have a thing for Natalie. But her choice was so oddly ironic—I don’t think Tara would have known—the film has a brief tickling scene in it! Law’s and Portman’s characters are in bed and, as I remember it, he is asking her about some secret trip she is planning for the two of them. He manages to learn their destination by ticking it out of her. Now I know Natalie Portman is a good actress, but she seemed to be genuinely very ticklish. When the scene came on Peter quickly shot forward in his chair.
“Whoooaa! Stop the DVD. Let’s see that again. Where’s the remote?”
I was still processing what I had seen: Natalie Portman…tickled….But while my head was trying to figure things out, another part of my body, lower down, had already made up its mind. I crossed my legs.
“No way, we are not stopping to go back,” Tara sounded annoyed.
“But it will only take a second.” Peter turned toward me. “Jeff, help me out here. Don’t you want to see it again?”
“I, well, ah…”
“Yes, I’m sure he would,” Tara said and grinned in a way that scared me a little. “OK, fine.” She reached over and took the remote. She played the scene again…and again. Peter was clearly loving this. I found myself very focused as well. Tara looked at me and after the fourth replay, commented, “Wow, she’s almost as ticklish as Jeff.”
“Oooh, are you ticklish?” Alexis asked me a bit provocatively.
For some reason I was embarrassed to admit the whole truth. “Maybe a little.”
Tara snorted and began to move a hand in my general direction. I reached out to intercept it.
“And what about you, Tara?” Peter asked with undisguised hopefulness.
“Nope,” she replied firmly.
“Really? Not at all?” Peter looked at me for confirmation.
“She’s telling the truth.” I couldn’t hide the hint of disappointment in my voice.
“That’s a shame, buddy…Hey, would you like to give Alex a try? She won’t mind.” He grabbed her leg and popped her loafer off. His wife giggled. “Here, see what you can do with her foot.”
“No, no, thanks anyway.” I tried to sound innocent and nonchalant, though part of me was fascinated at the prospect.”
“It’s OK, Jeff—I mean, if it’s OK with Tara,” Alexis added.
I wasn’t about to even look at Tara right then. I’m not stupid.
“No, but I appreciate the generous offer.” I laughed, but it sounded rather hollow even to me.
“OK then,” Peter said. “I guess I’ll have to handle this myself.”
He reached out and put one finger on the bottom of her stockinged foot. Alexis scrunched up her face and seemed to brace herself. Peter wiggled the finger and after two seconds she started to squirm silently. He picked up the pace of the tickle and Alexis put both hands over her mouth. Her eyes were opened very wide.
“Watch this,” Peter ordered, and from what I could see he put his finger between her big toe and its neighbor. Suddenly, Alexis threw her head back and the rest of her bounced up and down. Then the laughter began, loud, high, unrestrained. Peter tickled her whole foot with all five fingers, and I couldn’t believe anyone was able to laugh that hard. At first I was afraid for her vocal cords; then, when Alexis began beating her fists against the chair and squealing, I was afraid for her heart.
“Alright, that’s enough.” Tara was standing with hands on hips, staring straight at Peter and looking very serious. Few people ignored her when she used that tone.
“What’s wrong?” Peter asked, still tickling, although more slowly.
“Why do you enjoy torturing your wife?”
“Torture?! She likes it. Can’t you see how much she’s laughing?” With that he increased the pressure again and Alexis burst into another loud fit of giggles.
“Just because someone laughs doesn’t mean they like it, Peter. She’s laughing because she’s …ticklish.”
Peter stopped and his wife’s laughter gradually died down. Alexis wiped away some sweat from her forehead, sighed heavily, and tried to straighten out her long hair.
“Well, I’m sorry if it bothers you….”
“It does. Do you know what it’s like to be tickled that way?”
“No…no, he’s like…you,” Alexis jumped in, out of breath. “He’s not ticklish at all.”
“Too bad,” Tara said. After a moment’s thought she added, “Alexis, you don’t have to be ticklish either.”
Both Peter and his wife looked at her sharply. “What do you mean?” Alexis asked.
“I mean it’s possible to get over being ticklish.”
“Really?” Alexis seemed intrigued. “That’s hard to believe. ’Cause I’ve always been super sensitive ever since I was a kid. I’ve never been able to control it at all. My family moved after middle school, and I tried very hard to keep my weakness a secret at the new school. Oh my God,” she momentarily covered her face with her hands, “I was a cheerleader there and once in my senior year, during practice, we were making a pyramid. I was in the bottom row. Something went wrong and the whole thing came crashing down. A bunch of girls were on top of me. Suddenly I felt fingers grabbing my side. I assumed someone was just trying to get out of the pile and I held my breath hoping it would stop right away—but it didn’t. When I realized somebody was actually tickling me on purpose, the feeling got unbearable and I started laughing and bucking like mad—I couldn’t help it, someone was tickling me, you know?—but I was trapped under the other girls. When the pile cleared, the girl kept going until I was just begging her to stop. The other girls—my good friends—were laughing and making comments about how insane I looked. Let’s just say that the rest of the school year wasn’t very easy.”
Tara took a breath. “Well, I used to be ticklish, but I figured out how not to be. I might be able to teach you.”
“Now wait one minute,” Peter said calmly. “I don’t think I want you messing with my wife.”
“Are you afraid of losing control over her?”
Peter didn’t reply. But Alexis did. “Oh honey, let her try. I doubt it’s gonna work. You know, Peter does some hypnotism as part of his magic show and I asked him once to use it on me to make me less ticklish. Of course, he wouldn’t.”
“Hypnotism? Are you serious? That’s such a charade.” I was a bit surprised at Tara’s strong reaction.
“You think so?” Peter said.
“You can’t make people do all those bizarre stunts. They’re just going along with the act.”
“Have you ever been hypnotized?”
“You’re trying to change the subject. Now, I’m going to help your wife with her problem. Come on, Alexis, let’s go up to the bedroom.” The redhead stood up energetically and began to follow.
“Well, it only seems fair,” Peter said quickly, “that if you try to help Alex, I should be able to help Jeff.”
“What are you talking about?” Tara said.
“It’s obvious that he wishes you were ticklish.”
I felt myself turning beat red. Things had taken a very, very strange turn. I noticed the DVD still on pause. This contrasted sharply with my heart pounding in my chest. Tara looked at me, frowned, and then looked back at Peter. “So what are you saying?” She let out a harsh-sounding chuckle. “You think you can make me ticklish?”
“You mean, make you ticklish again, don’t you?” Peter corrected. “…probably, through hypnosis. If you are going to “treat” Alex, then you should submit to my…therapy.”
“That does seem fair,” Alexis said pleasantly.
For the first time in quite a while I saw doubt cross my wife’s face.
“If it’s all a charade, then you have nothing to worry about,” Peter added.
“Well, I might need more than one time with Alexis to help her.”
Peter smiled. “Does three times seem like enough?”
A few seconds passed silently. “I think so,” Tara said slowly.
“I’ll just need one time.”
Tara narrowed her eyes at him slightly.
“Tonight,” Peter clarified. “After you’re done with Alex.”
Now Tara looked nervous, or so I thought. But then her jaw stiffened. “Fine. Come on, Alex,” she said and the two women headed off. Unfortunately, I looked down for a second and missed the fact that Alexis had quickly doubled-back and, now standing over me, she plunged her hands into my ribcage. Totally caught off-guard, I was laughing at the first touch. In the corner of my eye I saw Tara, but I couldn’t read her expression. But even if she were angry, there wasn’t much I could do about my response as Alexis’s fingers danced around my midsection.
“Pleeeeaaasehehehehe! Stoooop!” I managed.
“Now why couldn’t you be more like this, Peter?” Alexis winked at her husband and then rejoined Tara on the staircase. “Tara, I hope you didn’t mind that little tickle, did you?”
“Oh it’s fine. Let’s go.” Tara was definitely not the jealous type.
As I heard the bedroom door upstairs close, I thought to myself, What the hell is going on here tonight? Peter was looking at me. I realized that I really didn’t know very much about this man. Was it safe to let him hypnotize my wife? Did he mean what he said about wanting to ‘help me’? Could he really make her ticklish? And I was also having some feelings of guilt.
“I hope Tara doesn’t…spoil anything between you and Alexis,” I said.
“Don’t worry about it. Was I right about your wanting to tickle Tara?”
“If I’m honest, yes. But it wasn’t a big deal and it never seemed remotely possible. Can you really do it?”
“I think there’s a good chance. Do you know anything about her experiences with tickling in the past, growing up?”
“Yes, a little, but I have to ask you about hypnosis—it’s safe, right?”
“Of course; I never force anything. If it’s going to work it will be very natural. I’ve been doing this for years. So what can you tell me?”
“Well, she got tickled a lot by her older brother. She didn’t like being controlled by him, although, apparently, sometimes she provoked the tickling by pulling pranks on him. Then one day she talked herself into not reacting anymore. She said she used to be extremely ticklish, especially under her arms.”
Just then we both turned our heads as we heard female giggling coming from upstairs.
“Tara has her work cut out for her,” Peter said with a smile.
“So do you,” I replied. He patted me on the shoulder.
The two of us decided to continue watching the video, but don’t ask me about that part. My head was somewhere else entirely. About 45 minutes (and a lot of laughter) later the two girls came downstairs. Alexis was her usual bubbly self; Tara didn’t seem too happy.
“Well, how did it go?” Peter asked. He motioned for Alexis to sit on his lap.
“Oh, it was very interesting, Peter.”
“Of course, like any new skill she’ll need to practice,” Tara said.
“Of course.” Peter wrapped his arms around his wife’s waist.
“But I’m definitely feeling less ticklish,” Alexis said confidently. I thought I knew what would happen next, and I was not wrong. I saw Peter sneak one hand under Alexis’s top and it began to flex. The pretty girl closed her eyes and took a deep breath. For several seconds she maintained her composure, and then I noticed the edges of her lips start to tremble slightly and turn upward. Soon she was smiling broadly and reaching down to grab her husband’s hand.
“Don’t, Peter, no…not there, no…please…”
I couldn’t see exactly where he was touching her, but an instant later Alexis was twisting violently in his lap.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHMYGODGOD!! HOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! PLEEEEAAAASSSEEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!”
Alexis grew progressively more hysterical over the next full minute. Somehow her reaction this time seemed much more urgent than during the previous tickle-attacks I had witnessed. Then suddenly Peter stopped. He looked over at my wife, but not, as one might have expected, with a gloating expression but, on the contrary, rather sensitively.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
Tara brushed her bangs back from her eyes and straightened her back. “One thing I know for sure” my wife began, “is that not everyone can be hypnotized.”
“That’s true,” Peter confirmed. “Listen, Tara, nothing’s going to happen here that you don’t allow to happen.”
“What do you want me to do? I mean, how do you do this? Let’s get it over with.”
“OK. Jeff and Alexis, please move over to the dinning room table. Jeff, could you turn off some of the lights. Does this one have a dimmer? Then just lower it about 80%. Tara, lean back on the couch and make yourself comfortable…smile—try to relax.”
I don’t know about relaxing, but she didn’t smile. Suddenly I felt guilty again. “Honey, you don’t have to do this….”
“Yes I do, Jeff, I made a deal.”
“Now please close your eyes,” he continued. She complied. During the next few minutes Peter went to work trying to hypnotize my wife. There were no swinging watches or flashing lights. He spoke to her in a quiet, low voice; he held and stroked her hands; I noticed that Peter used her name a lot, and kept repeating certain phrases over and over. He also asked her to visualize things from her past. The truth is, I never thought he could hypnotize her, much less change her in some basic way. She’s a hard-headed woman.
After maybe twenty minutes, Peter backed away from the couch and slowly walked over to us. “She’s under,” he said simply.
“Really? I said, quite surprised. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. It wasn’t too hard. She’s a good subject. I want you to come closer now, but be very, very quiet.”
When we had all returned to the living room, Peter faced Tara again.
“Tara, how do you feel?”
She mumbled something that sounded like ‘good.’
“Are you comfortable?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Tara, do you remember way back when your brother first started to tickle you?”
“Yes.” I saw a smile playing briefly around her lips. Then it faded.
“What did that feel like?”
“It tickled…felt funny…scary...he pressed hard.”
“Did it hurt sometimes?”
“Yeah.”
“Where did he tickle you, Tara?”
“Everywhere.”
“Where did it tickle the most?”
“Ummm…my feet…armpits….neck…”
“And were you really ticklish at first?”
“Yes,” she said, and squirmed very slightly.
“Can you feel the tickling right now?”
“Yeah, a little.”
“But then you stopped being ticklish?”
She stopped squirming and relaxed. “No.”
“You mean, you’re not ticklish, is that right?”
“No.”
Peter looked a bit confused. “Do you mean you are ticklish, Tara?”
“I shouldn’t say.”
Peter looked at me. I shrugged and shook my head.
“Tara, if you’re ticklish, why don’t you react when Jeff tickles you?”
She didn’t answer.
He tried again. “Tara, can you tell me why tickling doesn’t affect you now?”
Finally she said, “I pretend.”
Peter looked at me again.
“You pretend not to be ticklish?”
Another long pause. “Yes.”
“Are you good at pretending?”
“Yes. Very good.”
“Why do you pretend, Tara?”
“Then they stop.”
“They stop tickling when you don’t laugh or react?”
“Yes.”
Now Peter paused. “And what if they don’t stop?”
“They always stop.”
“But what if they don’t?”
My wife’s forehead wrinkled and she looked upwards.
“They do,” she said with assurance.
Then Peter said, “Tara, I’m going to tickle your foot now, OK?
“OK.”
“Will you show me how you pretend?”
“OK.”
He reached down, removed Tara’s blue pump and started to tickle the sole of her bare foot pretty hard. He went up and down the length of it with the skill of an experienced tickler. But Tara showed no sign that she felt anything. Her face went completely unchanged.
“Tara, does this tickle?”
“I shouldn’t tell you.”
“Does it?” he prompted.
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“…A lot.”
“But you’re pretending?”
“Yes.”
“You’re good at that.”
“Thank you.”
“Now Tara, listen to me very carefully. I’m going to keep on tickling you for a long time.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know, a really long time.” As he spoke, Peter continued to tickle my wife’s foot with no reaction.
“How long?”
“It’s hard to say.”
She seemed to get a little distressed at this answer. “But then you’ll stop, right?”
“Well, maybe, or maybe I’ll just keep tickling you and tickling you…Maybe I’ll never stop.”
Tara thought for a moment and crossed her arms. A minute passed as Peter tickled. Then two minutes…five. Occasionally, Tara chewed at her lip. At seven minutes, by my watch, Tara began trying to tug her foot away from Peter. He held on quite easily. She tried again, harder, and failed. About a minute later she leaned over and began tickling Peter’s sides, but as Alexis warned us, it didn’t affect him at all. Tara leaned back heavily against the couch, looking defeated.
Then an amazing thing happened. It was almost like a thick mask was peeling off of Tara’s slender face. Her eyes crinkled up and this brilliant smile cracked open from ear to ear. Her whole frame began to vibrate and she placed her hands against her temples as if to steady her head.
“HahahahahahahahahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”
Laughter, loud, ticklish laughter, poured out of my wife’s mouth and at the same time she began to writhe and twist all over the couch, desperately attempting to get herself away from the tickling. Somehow Peter managed to hang on and continue to tease her tiny foot.
“NoooooooHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOOOOONNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! DOOOON’T TIIIIICKLEMEEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEEEEE!!! DOOOOOOON’T!!!!!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!
I was transfixed watching Tara laugh so hard and wriggle wildly from Peter simply touching her foot. She held her belly and roared; she pounded the couch. Finally the hypnotist stopped.
“Tara, I want you to relax now and be very quiet, very still. Let your whole body go limp. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Peter motioned for us to follow him into the kitchen.
“Wow, that was incredible,” I whispered. “So it worked. You did it.”
“Well, in a way, but I didn’t hypnotize her to be ticklish. That’s the interesting part. As you saw, the hypnosis allowed us to learn that she really feels ticklish, but she’s able to control her reactions long enough for virtually any tickler to give up.”
“So what does this mean when she comes out of it, in her real life?”
“That’s an excellent question, Jeff. At this point you know much better what’s really going on inside of her, but, in my opinion, it doesn’t mean you’ll be able to tickle her.”
“Really? Why not?” I said a little too anxiously.
“In the hypnotic condition people have less control over themselves in most every respect. Tara still should be able to ‘pretend’ the way she always has. Even if you keep it up and threaten to ‘never stop,’ she might be able to hold out for a very long time against the tickling in her conscious state. I mean, if you have to tickle her for 15, 20, 30 minutes before you even get a reaction, that’s awfully impractical. She held out for almost 10 minutes while hypnotized, which is pretty impressive.”
“OK, I see.”
“I think the best option for tickling her in the future—that is, if you feel it’s right—is a post-hypnotic suggestion.”
“How would that work?”
“I’m going to plant the suggestion that whenever you say to Tara, ‘Don’t pretend with me,’ for the next hour she won’t be able to hide what she’s really feeling. Her ability to fake things—such as not being ticklish—will be blocked when you use those words. Her deeper, more primitive responses will have to come out.
I swallowed hard.
“But the question is,” Peter continued, “are you OK with the idea of planting a suggestion, Jeff?”
“Well, yeah, Tara agreed to this…” Truthfully, I was way too far into it now to turn back. “And it will only happen when I use that phrase, right?”
“Yes. But Jeff, there’s a chance it won’t work—remember that. It doesn’t always take. Ultimately, on some level, she has to want the truth to come out. By the way, when I bring her out of it, she won’t remember what happened during the hypnosis. She’ll feel rested and refreshed and will probably believe that she wasn’t even put under. I’m going to let her think that. So whether you ever try to tickle her again is totally up to you.”
“I understand,” I exhaled, and watched as Peter headed toward the living room.
*******
A week passed and in the meantime I had been living my life as if that bizarre night of Natalie Portman, hypnosis, and getting tickled by another woman had never occurred. Besides, Tara had a really busy and stressful week at her job. But I think I was afraid to find out that the post-hypnotic suggestion didn’t work—or maybe I was afraid that it did. For God’s sake, what would Tara say if she found out that now she was vulnerable to tickling?
My nervousness about the situation struggled against my curiosity and, frankly, my desire to tickle her. That feeling had grown much stronger in recent days. Things came to a head that Sunday night. Tara was sitting in the living room paying bills, and I was doing the dishes in the kitchen. She was barefoot on the couch, wearing just her running shorts and a white T-shirt. Her brown hair hung loose around her shoulders.
Apropos of nothing, Tara called over to me, “I can’t believe Peter thought he could hypnotize me.”
“What?” I said, not sure I heard her correctly over the running water.
“I said—I can’t believe Peter thought he could put some kind of spell on me and control me with hypnosis.”
I immediately put down the half-washed pot I was working on and began to walk slowly toward the living room. “Yeah,” I answered as neutrally as possible and sat down at the other end of the couch from her.
“What a crazy ‘profession’ he has. I knew the whole hypnosis thing was fake, just like magic.”
I stayed quiet, but Tara was looking to me for confirmation. “You know what I mean?”
I nodded vaguely and she raised an eyebrow.
“What?” she said, “You don’t still think there’s something to it, do you?” She paused and got a teasing look in her eye. “Or are you still dreaming about Natalie Portman—no! I bet you’re still dreaming about the tickling you got from Alexis! Right? Huh?” As she questioned me, she brought her foot across to my side and poked her toes into my ribcage. I squirmed slightly. “You really need to toughen up a little, dear. I don’t want my man to be at the mercy of every hussy in the neighborhood.” I smiled politely. “And that Alexis! Talk about a girl with no willpower….”
“Are you sure you’re so much tougher than her?” I blurted out.
Tara looked at me for a moment questioningly. “Hell yes. I mean, the way Peter toys with her, my God.”
“And no one could do that to you, right?” I heard myself say. Now I was committed. I reached out and grabbed Tara’s ankle, stretching her leg across my lap.
“Oh no, are you serious? Not again.” She rolled her eyes and I brought my fingers into contact with the bottom of her foot, lightly tickling up her arch and around her toes. “Fine, I could use a massage,” she said and leaned back.
I tickled harder. “This doesn’t bother you at all?”
“Nope.”
“You’re not just …acting like it doesn’t tickle, are you?”
“Ha. That’s funny, Jeff.”
I gulped and sensed my heart speeding up in my chest. I cleared my throat and took a breath. “Come on, Tara, tell the truth—don’t pretend with me…”
I saw my wife’s face go blank for a second and she looked like she was attempting to recall some far-away fact, like the capital of North Dakota.
I kept tickling and seconds later I felt her leg tense up. I turned toward her face and saw some mild confusion there. She was looking down at her own foot and blinking more rapidly than normal. She bit her lower lip. Suddenly her foot jerked.
“Jeff, let me up…I have to go to the bathroom.”
“You just went, like a half hour ago.”
“Well…I have to go again…” Her foot jumped a second time, and then I heard her make the tiniest little whimper.
“Or maybe you’re just trying to stop my tickling…” I taunted, and switched to the other foot, concentrating around her toes.
“Jeff, stop. I can’t…” She took several quick deep breaths and rubbed her hands against her eyes. “No!” she said to herself, but then I heard something like ‘urrrgh.’
“Why, what’s wrong?” It was amazing to see Peter’s suggestion at work. I felt like his magic show assistant.
Tara tried to block the tickling with her other foot, but when that failed she began to sit up and reach for my waist. I had anticipated this and quickly shifted on top of her and dug my hands into her waist instead. She immediately started squirming beneath me.
“No, God, Jeff…don’t…tickle me…” Tara screwed up her face tight. But I saw the corners of her mouth twitching in spite of herself. Then she shook her head from side to side and plucked at my hands ineffectually.
Feeling both aroused and unnaturally bold, I grabbed Tara’s left arm and raised it easily over her head and held it down as I plopped myself alongside her on the couch, pinning her right arm under me. My own right hand was thus free and I began tickling her armpit through the thin T-shirt. Tara sputtered a few times, desperately trying to hold something back, down, inside.
“Tickle, tickle, tickle” I said teasingly as I continued to rub and poke her underarm and alongside her breast. These three words seemed to make my wife struggle harder and all of a sudden she was smiling. So I said it again, this time more slowly. The smile grew wider and more forced. I just loved the effect my words were having on her.
“Tara…I’m not going to stop.” I informed her, and tickled her ribs.
“Noooooooo, stoooooop! Dooooooooooon’t.”
“I might never stop.”
I could almost feel the powerful column of sound rising from her gut.
“HeheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheeeeeeeeeeeehahahahahahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.”
Tara was writhing and bucking as she laughed. The laughter was so much louder than I thought it would be. I had to shift my head because it was hurting my ear. And it sounded familiar, which was strange until I realized that she sounded a lot like Alexis laughing. But it was my Tara.
“NOOOOOOOOOO! JEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEFFF, NOOOOOOOOOOO! HOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOO!! DOOOON’T TIIIICKLE!!!”
Now that she started to laugh, every place I touched provoked a peal of giggles and guffaws. I squeezed her waist—
“STOOOOOOOPAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!!
And then I pressed her hip bone—
“GAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHANAAAAAANOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOO.”
Grabbing her thigh literally made Tara whoop. Tickling above her knee forced a high-pitched squeal out of her. She seemed very musical to me that night. I could tickle her with both hands now; she was laughing too hard to put up much of a fight. I sat on her lower legs and stared for a moment at her lovely feet, so bare, so vulnerable—so ticklish. I went for both soles at once and clawed them up and down.
“JEEEEFFF!!!! HEHEHEHEHEHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE HEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE DOOOOON’T TIIIICKLE MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEEEEEEEE!!!”
It was such a contrast to the times I had gotten nothing from stroking the same skin in the same way. I heard her pounding the couch behind me and wished I had eyes in the back of my head. But I just kept tickling her feet, up and down, up and down. I decided I was going to take a stand right there, so to speak. Looking back, I can see that I was a little possessed.
“JEEFFFF! NOOOOOOOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOO, MYGOOOOOD, STOOOOOOOOP!!!!”
I kept tickling the bottom of her tiny feet and Tara jerked spasmodically beneath me as she laughed and laughed. She couldn’t resist the sensations at all anymore. Then she started to beg.
“MYGODMYGODMYGODJEEEFFFFF PLEEEEEAAASSSSE, NOTMYFEEET HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEEHEHEHEHEHEHE, NOTMYFEEET
HEHEHEHENOOOOMOOOORE! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHANOTMYFEEEEET!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHANOOOOMOOOOORE!!!! STOOOOOOPPLEEEEAAAAAASSSSSEE!!
But I wouldn’t stop. Maybe I couldn’t. I tickled the bottom of Tara’s feet on and on. Finally, I had to steal a look behind me. I almost fell off of her. My wife was… masturbating. She was laughing like a madwoman and squirming helplessly …and pleasuring herself.
Our eyes met. For one second Tara stopped laughing. Consciously or not, she quoted Natalie Portman in Closer. “Fuck me,” she said, clear as day, then broke out into another stream of giggles.
Now I was the one with confusion on his face. But I realized that Tara’s command was exactly what I needed to do. I turned around and quickly pulled down her shorts. She was still chuckling as I entered her. Then, as I began to move, she surprised me again—a much, much deeper surprise. “Tickle me,” she said very quietly.
I laughed. And I complied, starting at her belly. My stroking—my strokings—made her moan and made her laugh. It was the strangest, most beautiful combination of sounds ever. And as I tickled her sides and hips and belly, she jumped and twisted and giggled and lost control in ways that felt to me like a whole new magic.
This is one of the longer pieces of tickle fiction I have written. The central pay-off requires a little patience, but there is a lot of other tickling action along the way. And there is something for almost everyone here: M/F, F/M, magic box tickling, hypnosis, Natalie Portman, and even a cheerleader story. Of course, "resistance" to the tickling is a primary theme. Note also that there is a brief (and fairly mild) adult moment toward the conclusion. I really hope you enjoy it and I welcome any feedback.
All the best,
dig dug dog
A Whole New Magic
Do you remember that Cat Stevens’ song from the 1970’s, “Hard-Headed Woman”? I often have reason to think about that great old tune because my wife, Tara Marie Benson, has quite the tough-minded, no nonsense attitude herself. Although only 5’4”, 118 pounds, this little brunette doesn’t take b.s. from anyone, and she quickly sees right through most of the scams and hype which this world has to offer. It’s great having a life-partner who knows how to stand up to insurance companies, used (not “pre-owned”) car salesmen, and even the IRS—not to mention the jerks who hit on her most days at the gym or when she’s shopping at the grocery store (despite her decent-sized wedding ring). I don’t mind when my buddies, Jerry and Jack, tease me about Tara wearing the pants in the family. Besides the fact that she looks as awesome in jeans as in a skirt or dress, I don’t always need to be “the man” in those situations to pump up my ego. I found my hard headed woman over three years ago and “I know my life will be as it should….”
OK, sure, there are a few disadvantages to Tara’s steely personality—we all know nothing’s perfect. Now don’t get me wrong, in some ways Tara is very traditionally feminine; she uses make-up (without overdoing it) and she loves pink and purple. She even bakes pies and has knitted me a couple of sweaters. But let’s just say that I don’t get much opportunity to play Tara’s “knight in shining armor.” As Jerry would be the first to tell you, if there’s a big bug in the bathroom Tara is usually the one to perform the extermination. Creepy-crawlers don’t phase her for a second. Or take horror movies. She likes them, thinks they’re pretty funny. During Saw 3 I kept glancing over at Tara to see if she needed a strong male hand to get her through the rough patches. Truth is, I was sweating it out much more than she was. A few times when I jumped a little, she chuckled and I wasn’t 100% sure if she was laughing at the movie or me. Tara likes to comment on how they stage the stunts and special effects. She actually studied theater and film as an undergrad, so I guess that’s one reason she doesn’t get caught up in the cinematic illusion. Or is it the other way around? Maybe she studied film because she’s so naturally skeptical and is always looking for “the trick,” and what’s going on behind the scenes.
Speaking of which, my Tara is probably not the person you want to go to any kind of magic show with—unless you’re someone who enjoys having all the tricks spoiled. The last (and only) time we went to one of those together was about four months before we got married. I really like magic, so after about 10 minutes of Tara’s whispered, running commentary about how the magician was doing everything, I let her know I was mildly annoyed. She settled back into her seat, although I noticed a slight gleam in her eye, the kind she gets sometimes when she’s about to tease me.
The show went on without interruption from Tara until the closing trick, the famous “sawing a woman in half” act. The magician’s young assistant was quite attractive, a long-legged blonde who smoothly slipped off her high-heeled shoes and in one fluid motion laid down in a narrow box with her nylon-covered feet sticking out one end. Moments after she was inside, the magician quickly locked the box all around her and then went to stand at the end of the box near her feet.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he began, “the lovely Marissa is now as helpless as a babe in arms, locked tight inside this magic chamber. Very unfortunately for her, I happen to know a little secret.” He leaned toward the audience conspiratorially, putting one hand up to the side of his face as if to whisper his message. “Marissa…” he paused for effect, “is very… very… ticklish….” And with that he started to run his fingers up and down the soles of her feet. The girl immediately began laughing hard, mixed with some high-pitched squealing. Her feet also moved in response to the magician’s stroking. He kept this up somewhat longer than I had ever seen before in this kind of trick. For some strange reason I found it kind of sexy.
I noticed Tara looking at me and I got scared that she could somehow tell that I was getting a little turned on. “Those aren’t her feet, you know,” Tara said with a smile.
“What do you mean?” I answered. The magician was now moving on to the rest of the trick. “Her reaction seemed, uh, pretty real.”
“It’s called acting, dear. There is a pair of mechanical feet inside which the assistant pushes out when she gets into the box. Or do you believe he’s about to actually cut the girl in half?”
An older woman behind us said, “Shuuuuu.” The magician plunged a third metal blade down into the center of the box; Marissa let out a tiny yelp.
“I know, but, well, of course, but the tickling….”
“That helps to set up the illusion,” Tara explained. Marissa now appeared to be in two pieces; the magician and another assistant pushed the two halves around the stage.
“Hey,” the magician announced, “maybe we should find out if Marissa is still as ticklish when her feet are disconnected from her brain?”
“Nooooo!!” Marissa called out nervously.
Oddly, I found myself hoping he would try to find out, even though, as Tara emphasized most logically, those could not possibly be her feet.
As the magician tickled a second time, if anything the girl responded even more strongly to the supposed stimulation of her extremities. Then, moments later, Marissa was whole again, and the magic team was taking its bows.
So that was the night I knew I probably would not be seeing any more magic shows with my fiancée. She just couldn’t get into the spirit of things like that. This was also the night I realized that tickling could have a sexual element to it. However, based on what I’ve told you about Tara, you probably won’t be surprised to learn that unfortunately this “hard headed woman” of mine is also a hard bodied woman. Well, there’s some literal truth to that—Tara’s in great shape and works out a lot—but I meant that she’s not ticklish. Toward the beginning of our relationship I had probably tried to tickle Tara playfully once or twice, with no success. By the night of that magic show, it had been quite a while since I even made an attempt. But I guess what I saw on stage put me in mind to try again.
I took Tara home and after a drink we were sitting on her couch watching a little television. At a commercial, she decided to stretch herself out, putting her legs down across my knees. I noticed that she was flexing her feet a little.
“Are your feet sore?” I asked.
“Yeah, really sore. I think it’s the new shoes I got last week. They’re not broken in yet.”
“Want a massage?”
“Sure, if you don’t mind touching my stinky feet.”
“They’re not stinky,” I assured her and then reached over to begin kneading her left foot which was covered by a thin, light-green sock. I shifted further down on the couch to get into a better position.
“Ummm, that feels really good,” she said.
“Good.” I began working on the other one. The image of Marissa in that magic box popped into my head.
“Honey,” Tara said sweetly, “if you’ve come this far, would you mind taking off my socks?”
“No problem.” I pulled them off one by one and looked for a moment at her narrow size 7 feet. Tara had very cute feet, I thought, well-shaped with high arches, and nicely cared for. She wasn’t wearing any polish, but I know she had pedicures occasionally. I resumed my massage at her left ankle and worked my way very slowly up her foot. When I reached her arch I lightened my touch considerably, stroking the skin there softly, almost teasingly.
“Does this feel OK? Let me know if anything tickles.”
“No, no, it feels great…I’m loving it…besides, I’m not ticklish…I think I told you that a few months ago.”
“Yeah, you mentioned it once, but, ya know, sometimes people deny that they’re ticklish so that other people don’t try to take advantage.”
“That’s true,” Tara replied.
“So are you sure you’re not ticklish?” I started moving my fingers faster up and down the bottom of her foot. I looked over at her face to see if there was any ticklish reaction, but she just looked back at me with a rather blank stare. I switched over to the other foot and used a bit more pressure.
After 30 seconds of enduring this probing she shrugged slightly. “Sorry, baby.”
But I wasn’t ready to give up quite yet. “Maybe you’re ticklish in other spots. Don’t try to hide it, because I’ll find out.” I smiled a mock-wicked sort of smile. Suddenly I felt like this was some kind of treasure hunt. I pulled myself closer to her upper body and suddenly grabbed both sides of her waist, giving it the most tickly treatment I could muster. Tara looked like she was humoring me. She took a deep breath, laced her fingers behind her head, and looked back over at the TV. After trying to tickle her ribs for a minute, I finally stopped and leaned back against the couch.
“OK, OK, I guess you’re not ticklish.” I was a little embarrassed at my ‘defeat’ and I searched for something to say. “I thought everyone was ticklish…Were you tickled much as a kid?”
“Yeah. My brother Rick loved to tickle me. In fact, he’s probably the main reason I’m not ticklish today.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, as a girl I was actually very ticklish. When Ricky squeezed my waist or tickled my feet I went crazy. He especially liked to get me under my arms and this sent me into hysterics. This went on for years until one day when I was probably 14, maybe 15, I just started thinking very hard about what Ricky was doing and why I was reacting that way. I really didn’t like being so out of control. And I realized that he wasn’t actually making me laugh and go wild—I mean, all he was really doing was touching my feet or other body parts. The problem was my own response. So I decided right then and there that I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of watching me go bananas any more.”
“And just like that you weren’t ticklish?” Her story about self-control fit pretty well with the other things I knew about this girl. The surprise was that for some reason the story was turning me on.
“No, not immediately. But gradually I was able to control my reactions more and more. Eventually he lost interest in trying.” She smiled broadly. “Or maybe it’s because I started getting him back.”
“Back?”
“Well, one day he was sitting on top of my legs and tickling my feet. I wasn’t laughing or reacting at all and this just made him try harder to get me. He was totally focused on the tickling and I realized that I could easily just sit up and reach his back. I had never considered the possibility that Ricky himself might be ticklish. Guess what? He is. When I dug my fingers into his sides he was so taken off guard that he just collapsed into a heap. He was sort of grunting and gasping as I kept tickling him as hard as I possibly could. I was able to get out from under him and in a few seconds I was on top and tickling like a demon.
“Normally, being much stronger than me, he would have been able to grab my hands, but I think the unexpected tickling had sapped his strength somehow and he was just trying desperately to block my fingers by wrapping his arms around himself. But of course, there were still plenty of spots to tickle no matter where he put his arms. And after all the unfair treatment I had suffered at Ricky’s hands over the years, I possessed the strength and righteous indignation of any mistreated victim. As he squirmed on the floor in front of me, his face locked into a grin, I realized that the grunting sound he was making was a strained attempt not to laugh out loud. So that’s when I went for his underarms. He soon broke out into this streaming, high-pitched giggle and was almost begging me to stop.” She paused. “That was a very good day.”
When Tara ended her account, I blinked hard and pursed my lips. A bunch of emotions were running through me. Then Tara sat up.
“And how about you, big guy?” She got on her knees and wiggled her fingers at me a little. “Are you ticklish?” she said, poking gently at my stomach.
“Me?” I smiled calmly, but inside I was getting a bit nervous. I really wasn’t sure how ticklish I was; being an only child it didn’t get tested too often when I was growing up. I actually remember my parents telling visitors and relatives not to tickle me. I think they saw it as inappropriate, or some form of torture.
“Yes, you, silly.” Tara moved in closer.
“No, not really, but…” I started to explain about being an only child when she pounced. Tara pushed herself against me, temporarily trapping my left arm against the arm of the couch, and at the same time she had my right arm pinned between the back of the couch and her body. The next moment she was squeezing my waist and ribs in various places, apparently searching for weakness. The sensation wasn’t too bad and I took some pride in resisting, just like she had. But then the girl hit some spot on my upper ribs that made me jump and gasp.
“OK, then,” she said and ran her fingers over that spot again…and then again. I tried to squirm away, but she didn’t miss a beat. It was really starting to tickle. I twisted to my left, and when I did, Tara snuck her hand into my armpit, which made me feel like somebody had plugged my body into a wall socket. I also felt a big smile breaking out across my face, and seconds later I was chuckling. This only seemed to encourage Tara because she reached across me and started playing with my other armpit. Now this was too much. I exploded with laughter and curled up into a ball. In response, Tara attacked my lower back and somehow discovered a nerve that made me spasm and arch. This girl really knew what she was doing. She followed this up by exploring the area above my right knee which made me roll off the couch trying to escape. In a second, she was on top of me, going hard at my ribs again and making me giggle like a schoolgirl.
“Taaaaarrraaaaa, stooooooop! Noooooohohohohohohohohohohohoooo!! Stoooooppplleeeaaaaaaaasseheheheheheheheheeeee!!” I hooted.
“See how it feels?” Tara said loudly over my laughter. She wasn’t mad; she actually seemed to be enjoying herself. But it was clear that she wanted to teach me a lesson. “Is this what you wanted me to do—squirm and giggle and beg for mercy? Huh? Is this what you wanted?”
A voice deep inside me that only I could hear answered, Yes.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha, stoooooop!”
Thankfully, she stopped. “Now I hope you got this tickle talk out of your system. But if you need a reminder to leave it alone”—she pinched my waist and I chortled—“I’m happy to provide one. Boy, I guess that trick with Marissa really got to you.”
I’m sure I blushed about eight shades of red.
As I said, since that evening almost three and a half years have passed. We got married and I think we are a very happy couple. We have lots of friends and a good income. And our sex life is just fine, if you must know. Not particularly inspired, perhaps, but fine. The subject of tickling was in fact dropped and pretty much forgotten until about two months ago. That’s when we started getting together with Peter and Alexis. They are another couple in their late twenties whom we met at a book club in the neighborhood and we all instantly hit it off. It wasn’t just the guys liking the guys and the girls liking the girls. I really enjoyed talking to Alexis and Tara got along well with Peter. She was a real estate broker and he, oddly enough, was a professional stage magician, although he also repaired office equipment to pay the bills. Tara liked to kid Peter about magic, like asking him at restaurants if he could make the check disappear. We saw movies, went bowling, played cards, and the four of us even went together to a bed and breakfast one weekend.
But then, out of the blue, Tara and I learned that Peter loved to tickle Alexis—and he didn’t seem to care who knew it. I mean, not just a poke here and a prod there, but full-out tickle attacks. And Alexis, a curvy redhead who looked like she could easily be a fashion model, was extremely ticklish. It only took moments for Peter to reduce her to fits of wild laughter. Now understand, this wasn’t ordinary laughter. Alexis’ laugh was really intense, you might even call it sensuous. Seriously. When tickled, rich, loud, throaty laughter pours out of her like 20 trumpets blasting in harmony. Nothing is held back. I’m tempted to call it a “tickle-gasm,” or something like that. Tara and I witnessed this at the bowling alley and, believe me, it drew a small crowd. Peter gladly shared the information that he “did this to her all the time.”
The couple was supposed to come over to our place a couple nights later. But when we were getting dressed the next morning, Tara started talking about canceling.
“I couldn’t believe the way he embarrassed her at the bowling alley. I mean, it’s just not right taking advantage of a person’s vulnerability like that, you know?”
“Well…” I chose my words carefully; I knew I was in sensitive territory. “Alexis didn’t seem very embarrassed afterwards.”
“Just because she was being a good sport in public doesn’t mean she was OK with it, Jeff. My God, a big crowd had gathered around.”
“Yeah. But don’t you think she would have told him in the past to stop if she really didn’t like it?” I wondered if Tara remembered the night after the magic show.
“Well, some guys can’t or won’t take a hint.” She paused for a moment and then smiled. “Some guys aren’t a respectful gentleman like you are, honey.” Then she got that teasing look in her eyes. “Besides, since I’m not ticklish and you totally are, you didn’t have much choice, did you?” She put a shocked expression on her face, like she had just said something scandalous.
I wasn’t expecting that remark. It was funny, but made me kind of mad at the same time. Without thinking too much, I suddenly lunged at Tara and pushed her back onto our bed. She let out a little squeal. In an instant, I was crouching on top of her belly and started tickling her rib-cage. Then I quickly switched to her underarms. All the while I was expecting to get yelled at. In fact, Tara had her eyes closed and her mouth seemed tightly shut. For a moment her hands were locked onto my forearms, but then she opened her eyes, lowered her hands, and laid there like she was sunbathing at the beach. I continued tickling for another ten seconds or so and, getting no reaction, I stopped.
“You’re just lucky you aren’t ticklish,” I scolded, slightly out of breath. “’Cause sometimes you really deserve a good tickling.” As I sat on top of her, a thought occurred to me. “By the way, did I get the whole story about your brother Rick? Did he ever have any good reason to tickle you?”
Tara smiled kind of impishly. “You mean like the time I taped one of his telephone conversations with his girlfriend Julie and played part of it over the loudspeaker at school?”
My mouth fell open. Tara pushed me off of her and went to finish getting dressed. In the end, she agreed to let Peter and Alexis come over, but warned me that the friendship was now on “probation” as far as she was concerned.
When they came over Saturday night we ended up having a lovely dinner. The conversation flowed smoothly and Tara seemed to have forgotten about her frustration with Peter. Afterward, we settled in to watch a video. Since I cooked, Tara had been in charge of going out and renting something. She got Closer starring Natalie Portman, Julia Roberts, and Jude Law. This was probably Tara’s idea of a little joke because she knows I have a thing for Natalie. But her choice was so oddly ironic—I don’t think Tara would have known—the film has a brief tickling scene in it! Law’s and Portman’s characters are in bed and, as I remember it, he is asking her about some secret trip she is planning for the two of them. He manages to learn their destination by ticking it out of her. Now I know Natalie Portman is a good actress, but she seemed to be genuinely very ticklish. When the scene came on Peter quickly shot forward in his chair.
“Whoooaa! Stop the DVD. Let’s see that again. Where’s the remote?”
I was still processing what I had seen: Natalie Portman…tickled….But while my head was trying to figure things out, another part of my body, lower down, had already made up its mind. I crossed my legs.
“No way, we are not stopping to go back,” Tara sounded annoyed.
“But it will only take a second.” Peter turned toward me. “Jeff, help me out here. Don’t you want to see it again?”
“I, well, ah…”
“Yes, I’m sure he would,” Tara said and grinned in a way that scared me a little. “OK, fine.” She reached over and took the remote. She played the scene again…and again. Peter was clearly loving this. I found myself very focused as well. Tara looked at me and after the fourth replay, commented, “Wow, she’s almost as ticklish as Jeff.”
“Oooh, are you ticklish?” Alexis asked me a bit provocatively.
For some reason I was embarrassed to admit the whole truth. “Maybe a little.”
Tara snorted and began to move a hand in my general direction. I reached out to intercept it.
“And what about you, Tara?” Peter asked with undisguised hopefulness.
“Nope,” she replied firmly.
“Really? Not at all?” Peter looked at me for confirmation.
“She’s telling the truth.” I couldn’t hide the hint of disappointment in my voice.
“That’s a shame, buddy…Hey, would you like to give Alex a try? She won’t mind.” He grabbed her leg and popped her loafer off. His wife giggled. “Here, see what you can do with her foot.”
“No, no, thanks anyway.” I tried to sound innocent and nonchalant, though part of me was fascinated at the prospect.”
“It’s OK, Jeff—I mean, if it’s OK with Tara,” Alexis added.
I wasn’t about to even look at Tara right then. I’m not stupid.
“No, but I appreciate the generous offer.” I laughed, but it sounded rather hollow even to me.
“OK then,” Peter said. “I guess I’ll have to handle this myself.”
He reached out and put one finger on the bottom of her stockinged foot. Alexis scrunched up her face and seemed to brace herself. Peter wiggled the finger and after two seconds she started to squirm silently. He picked up the pace of the tickle and Alexis put both hands over her mouth. Her eyes were opened very wide.
“Watch this,” Peter ordered, and from what I could see he put his finger between her big toe and its neighbor. Suddenly, Alexis threw her head back and the rest of her bounced up and down. Then the laughter began, loud, high, unrestrained. Peter tickled her whole foot with all five fingers, and I couldn’t believe anyone was able to laugh that hard. At first I was afraid for her vocal cords; then, when Alexis began beating her fists against the chair and squealing, I was afraid for her heart.
“Alright, that’s enough.” Tara was standing with hands on hips, staring straight at Peter and looking very serious. Few people ignored her when she used that tone.
“What’s wrong?” Peter asked, still tickling, although more slowly.
“Why do you enjoy torturing your wife?”
“Torture?! She likes it. Can’t you see how much she’s laughing?” With that he increased the pressure again and Alexis burst into another loud fit of giggles.
“Just because someone laughs doesn’t mean they like it, Peter. She’s laughing because she’s …ticklish.”
Peter stopped and his wife’s laughter gradually died down. Alexis wiped away some sweat from her forehead, sighed heavily, and tried to straighten out her long hair.
“Well, I’m sorry if it bothers you….”
“It does. Do you know what it’s like to be tickled that way?”
“No…no, he’s like…you,” Alexis jumped in, out of breath. “He’s not ticklish at all.”
“Too bad,” Tara said. After a moment’s thought she added, “Alexis, you don’t have to be ticklish either.”
Both Peter and his wife looked at her sharply. “What do you mean?” Alexis asked.
“I mean it’s possible to get over being ticklish.”
“Really?” Alexis seemed intrigued. “That’s hard to believe. ’Cause I’ve always been super sensitive ever since I was a kid. I’ve never been able to control it at all. My family moved after middle school, and I tried very hard to keep my weakness a secret at the new school. Oh my God,” she momentarily covered her face with her hands, “I was a cheerleader there and once in my senior year, during practice, we were making a pyramid. I was in the bottom row. Something went wrong and the whole thing came crashing down. A bunch of girls were on top of me. Suddenly I felt fingers grabbing my side. I assumed someone was just trying to get out of the pile and I held my breath hoping it would stop right away—but it didn’t. When I realized somebody was actually tickling me on purpose, the feeling got unbearable and I started laughing and bucking like mad—I couldn’t help it, someone was tickling me, you know?—but I was trapped under the other girls. When the pile cleared, the girl kept going until I was just begging her to stop. The other girls—my good friends—were laughing and making comments about how insane I looked. Let’s just say that the rest of the school year wasn’t very easy.”
Tara took a breath. “Well, I used to be ticklish, but I figured out how not to be. I might be able to teach you.”
“Now wait one minute,” Peter said calmly. “I don’t think I want you messing with my wife.”
“Are you afraid of losing control over her?”
Peter didn’t reply. But Alexis did. “Oh honey, let her try. I doubt it’s gonna work. You know, Peter does some hypnotism as part of his magic show and I asked him once to use it on me to make me less ticklish. Of course, he wouldn’t.”
“Hypnotism? Are you serious? That’s such a charade.” I was a bit surprised at Tara’s strong reaction.
“You think so?” Peter said.
“You can’t make people do all those bizarre stunts. They’re just going along with the act.”
“Have you ever been hypnotized?”
“You’re trying to change the subject. Now, I’m going to help your wife with her problem. Come on, Alexis, let’s go up to the bedroom.” The redhead stood up energetically and began to follow.
“Well, it only seems fair,” Peter said quickly, “that if you try to help Alex, I should be able to help Jeff.”
“What are you talking about?” Tara said.
“It’s obvious that he wishes you were ticklish.”
I felt myself turning beat red. Things had taken a very, very strange turn. I noticed the DVD still on pause. This contrasted sharply with my heart pounding in my chest. Tara looked at me, frowned, and then looked back at Peter. “So what are you saying?” She let out a harsh-sounding chuckle. “You think you can make me ticklish?”
“You mean, make you ticklish again, don’t you?” Peter corrected. “…probably, through hypnosis. If you are going to “treat” Alex, then you should submit to my…therapy.”
“That does seem fair,” Alexis said pleasantly.
For the first time in quite a while I saw doubt cross my wife’s face.
“If it’s all a charade, then you have nothing to worry about,” Peter added.
“Well, I might need more than one time with Alexis to help her.”
Peter smiled. “Does three times seem like enough?”
A few seconds passed silently. “I think so,” Tara said slowly.
“I’ll just need one time.”
Tara narrowed her eyes at him slightly.
“Tonight,” Peter clarified. “After you’re done with Alex.”
Now Tara looked nervous, or so I thought. But then her jaw stiffened. “Fine. Come on, Alex,” she said and the two women headed off. Unfortunately, I looked down for a second and missed the fact that Alexis had quickly doubled-back and, now standing over me, she plunged her hands into my ribcage. Totally caught off-guard, I was laughing at the first touch. In the corner of my eye I saw Tara, but I couldn’t read her expression. But even if she were angry, there wasn’t much I could do about my response as Alexis’s fingers danced around my midsection.
“Pleeeeaaasehehehehe! Stoooop!” I managed.
“Now why couldn’t you be more like this, Peter?” Alexis winked at her husband and then rejoined Tara on the staircase. “Tara, I hope you didn’t mind that little tickle, did you?”
“Oh it’s fine. Let’s go.” Tara was definitely not the jealous type.
As I heard the bedroom door upstairs close, I thought to myself, What the hell is going on here tonight? Peter was looking at me. I realized that I really didn’t know very much about this man. Was it safe to let him hypnotize my wife? Did he mean what he said about wanting to ‘help me’? Could he really make her ticklish? And I was also having some feelings of guilt.
“I hope Tara doesn’t…spoil anything between you and Alexis,” I said.
“Don’t worry about it. Was I right about your wanting to tickle Tara?”
“If I’m honest, yes. But it wasn’t a big deal and it never seemed remotely possible. Can you really do it?”
“I think there’s a good chance. Do you know anything about her experiences with tickling in the past, growing up?”
“Yes, a little, but I have to ask you about hypnosis—it’s safe, right?”
“Of course; I never force anything. If it’s going to work it will be very natural. I’ve been doing this for years. So what can you tell me?”
“Well, she got tickled a lot by her older brother. She didn’t like being controlled by him, although, apparently, sometimes she provoked the tickling by pulling pranks on him. Then one day she talked herself into not reacting anymore. She said she used to be extremely ticklish, especially under her arms.”
Just then we both turned our heads as we heard female giggling coming from upstairs.
“Tara has her work cut out for her,” Peter said with a smile.
“So do you,” I replied. He patted me on the shoulder.
The two of us decided to continue watching the video, but don’t ask me about that part. My head was somewhere else entirely. About 45 minutes (and a lot of laughter) later the two girls came downstairs. Alexis was her usual bubbly self; Tara didn’t seem too happy.
“Well, how did it go?” Peter asked. He motioned for Alexis to sit on his lap.
“Oh, it was very interesting, Peter.”
“Of course, like any new skill she’ll need to practice,” Tara said.
“Of course.” Peter wrapped his arms around his wife’s waist.
“But I’m definitely feeling less ticklish,” Alexis said confidently. I thought I knew what would happen next, and I was not wrong. I saw Peter sneak one hand under Alexis’s top and it began to flex. The pretty girl closed her eyes and took a deep breath. For several seconds she maintained her composure, and then I noticed the edges of her lips start to tremble slightly and turn upward. Soon she was smiling broadly and reaching down to grab her husband’s hand.
“Don’t, Peter, no…not there, no…please…”
I couldn’t see exactly where he was touching her, but an instant later Alexis was twisting violently in his lap.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHMYGODGOD!! HOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! PLEEEEAAAASSSEEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!”
Alexis grew progressively more hysterical over the next full minute. Somehow her reaction this time seemed much more urgent than during the previous tickle-attacks I had witnessed. Then suddenly Peter stopped. He looked over at my wife, but not, as one might have expected, with a gloating expression but, on the contrary, rather sensitively.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
Tara brushed her bangs back from her eyes and straightened her back. “One thing I know for sure” my wife began, “is that not everyone can be hypnotized.”
“That’s true,” Peter confirmed. “Listen, Tara, nothing’s going to happen here that you don’t allow to happen.”
“What do you want me to do? I mean, how do you do this? Let’s get it over with.”
“OK. Jeff and Alexis, please move over to the dinning room table. Jeff, could you turn off some of the lights. Does this one have a dimmer? Then just lower it about 80%. Tara, lean back on the couch and make yourself comfortable…smile—try to relax.”
I don’t know about relaxing, but she didn’t smile. Suddenly I felt guilty again. “Honey, you don’t have to do this….”
“Yes I do, Jeff, I made a deal.”
“Now please close your eyes,” he continued. She complied. During the next few minutes Peter went to work trying to hypnotize my wife. There were no swinging watches or flashing lights. He spoke to her in a quiet, low voice; he held and stroked her hands; I noticed that Peter used her name a lot, and kept repeating certain phrases over and over. He also asked her to visualize things from her past. The truth is, I never thought he could hypnotize her, much less change her in some basic way. She’s a hard-headed woman.
After maybe twenty minutes, Peter backed away from the couch and slowly walked over to us. “She’s under,” he said simply.
“Really? I said, quite surprised. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. It wasn’t too hard. She’s a good subject. I want you to come closer now, but be very, very quiet.”
When we had all returned to the living room, Peter faced Tara again.
“Tara, how do you feel?”
She mumbled something that sounded like ‘good.’
“Are you comfortable?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Tara, do you remember way back when your brother first started to tickle you?”
“Yes.” I saw a smile playing briefly around her lips. Then it faded.
“What did that feel like?”
“It tickled…felt funny…scary...he pressed hard.”
“Did it hurt sometimes?”
“Yeah.”
“Where did he tickle you, Tara?”
“Everywhere.”
“Where did it tickle the most?”
“Ummm…my feet…armpits….neck…”
“And were you really ticklish at first?”
“Yes,” she said, and squirmed very slightly.
“Can you feel the tickling right now?”
“Yeah, a little.”
“But then you stopped being ticklish?”
She stopped squirming and relaxed. “No.”
“You mean, you’re not ticklish, is that right?”
“No.”
Peter looked a bit confused. “Do you mean you are ticklish, Tara?”
“I shouldn’t say.”
Peter looked at me. I shrugged and shook my head.
“Tara, if you’re ticklish, why don’t you react when Jeff tickles you?”
She didn’t answer.
He tried again. “Tara, can you tell me why tickling doesn’t affect you now?”
Finally she said, “I pretend.”
Peter looked at me again.
“You pretend not to be ticklish?”
Another long pause. “Yes.”
“Are you good at pretending?”
“Yes. Very good.”
“Why do you pretend, Tara?”
“Then they stop.”
“They stop tickling when you don’t laugh or react?”
“Yes.”
Now Peter paused. “And what if they don’t stop?”
“They always stop.”
“But what if they don’t?”
My wife’s forehead wrinkled and she looked upwards.
“They do,” she said with assurance.
Then Peter said, “Tara, I’m going to tickle your foot now, OK?
“OK.”
“Will you show me how you pretend?”
“OK.”
He reached down, removed Tara’s blue pump and started to tickle the sole of her bare foot pretty hard. He went up and down the length of it with the skill of an experienced tickler. But Tara showed no sign that she felt anything. Her face went completely unchanged.
“Tara, does this tickle?”
“I shouldn’t tell you.”
“Does it?” he prompted.
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“…A lot.”
“But you’re pretending?”
“Yes.”
“You’re good at that.”
“Thank you.”
“Now Tara, listen to me very carefully. I’m going to keep on tickling you for a long time.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know, a really long time.” As he spoke, Peter continued to tickle my wife’s foot with no reaction.
“How long?”
“It’s hard to say.”
She seemed to get a little distressed at this answer. “But then you’ll stop, right?”
“Well, maybe, or maybe I’ll just keep tickling you and tickling you…Maybe I’ll never stop.”
Tara thought for a moment and crossed her arms. A minute passed as Peter tickled. Then two minutes…five. Occasionally, Tara chewed at her lip. At seven minutes, by my watch, Tara began trying to tug her foot away from Peter. He held on quite easily. She tried again, harder, and failed. About a minute later she leaned over and began tickling Peter’s sides, but as Alexis warned us, it didn’t affect him at all. Tara leaned back heavily against the couch, looking defeated.
Then an amazing thing happened. It was almost like a thick mask was peeling off of Tara’s slender face. Her eyes crinkled up and this brilliant smile cracked open from ear to ear. Her whole frame began to vibrate and she placed her hands against her temples as if to steady her head.
“HahahahahahahahahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”
Laughter, loud, ticklish laughter, poured out of my wife’s mouth and at the same time she began to writhe and twist all over the couch, desperately attempting to get herself away from the tickling. Somehow Peter managed to hang on and continue to tease her tiny foot.
“NoooooooHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOOOOONNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! DOOOON’T TIIIIICKLEMEEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEEEEE!!! DOOOOOOON’T!!!!!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!
I was transfixed watching Tara laugh so hard and wriggle wildly from Peter simply touching her foot. She held her belly and roared; she pounded the couch. Finally the hypnotist stopped.
“Tara, I want you to relax now and be very quiet, very still. Let your whole body go limp. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Peter motioned for us to follow him into the kitchen.
“Wow, that was incredible,” I whispered. “So it worked. You did it.”
“Well, in a way, but I didn’t hypnotize her to be ticklish. That’s the interesting part. As you saw, the hypnosis allowed us to learn that she really feels ticklish, but she’s able to control her reactions long enough for virtually any tickler to give up.”
“So what does this mean when she comes out of it, in her real life?”
“That’s an excellent question, Jeff. At this point you know much better what’s really going on inside of her, but, in my opinion, it doesn’t mean you’ll be able to tickle her.”
“Really? Why not?” I said a little too anxiously.
“In the hypnotic condition people have less control over themselves in most every respect. Tara still should be able to ‘pretend’ the way she always has. Even if you keep it up and threaten to ‘never stop,’ she might be able to hold out for a very long time against the tickling in her conscious state. I mean, if you have to tickle her for 15, 20, 30 minutes before you even get a reaction, that’s awfully impractical. She held out for almost 10 minutes while hypnotized, which is pretty impressive.”
“OK, I see.”
“I think the best option for tickling her in the future—that is, if you feel it’s right—is a post-hypnotic suggestion.”
“How would that work?”
“I’m going to plant the suggestion that whenever you say to Tara, ‘Don’t pretend with me,’ for the next hour she won’t be able to hide what she’s really feeling. Her ability to fake things—such as not being ticklish—will be blocked when you use those words. Her deeper, more primitive responses will have to come out.
I swallowed hard.
“But the question is,” Peter continued, “are you OK with the idea of planting a suggestion, Jeff?”
“Well, yeah, Tara agreed to this…” Truthfully, I was way too far into it now to turn back. “And it will only happen when I use that phrase, right?”
“Yes. But Jeff, there’s a chance it won’t work—remember that. It doesn’t always take. Ultimately, on some level, she has to want the truth to come out. By the way, when I bring her out of it, she won’t remember what happened during the hypnosis. She’ll feel rested and refreshed and will probably believe that she wasn’t even put under. I’m going to let her think that. So whether you ever try to tickle her again is totally up to you.”
“I understand,” I exhaled, and watched as Peter headed toward the living room.
*******
A week passed and in the meantime I had been living my life as if that bizarre night of Natalie Portman, hypnosis, and getting tickled by another woman had never occurred. Besides, Tara had a really busy and stressful week at her job. But I think I was afraid to find out that the post-hypnotic suggestion didn’t work—or maybe I was afraid that it did. For God’s sake, what would Tara say if she found out that now she was vulnerable to tickling?
My nervousness about the situation struggled against my curiosity and, frankly, my desire to tickle her. That feeling had grown much stronger in recent days. Things came to a head that Sunday night. Tara was sitting in the living room paying bills, and I was doing the dishes in the kitchen. She was barefoot on the couch, wearing just her running shorts and a white T-shirt. Her brown hair hung loose around her shoulders.
Apropos of nothing, Tara called over to me, “I can’t believe Peter thought he could hypnotize me.”
“What?” I said, not sure I heard her correctly over the running water.
“I said—I can’t believe Peter thought he could put some kind of spell on me and control me with hypnosis.”
I immediately put down the half-washed pot I was working on and began to walk slowly toward the living room. “Yeah,” I answered as neutrally as possible and sat down at the other end of the couch from her.
“What a crazy ‘profession’ he has. I knew the whole hypnosis thing was fake, just like magic.”
I stayed quiet, but Tara was looking to me for confirmation. “You know what I mean?”
I nodded vaguely and she raised an eyebrow.
“What?” she said, “You don’t still think there’s something to it, do you?” She paused and got a teasing look in her eye. “Or are you still dreaming about Natalie Portman—no! I bet you’re still dreaming about the tickling you got from Alexis! Right? Huh?” As she questioned me, she brought her foot across to my side and poked her toes into my ribcage. I squirmed slightly. “You really need to toughen up a little, dear. I don’t want my man to be at the mercy of every hussy in the neighborhood.” I smiled politely. “And that Alexis! Talk about a girl with no willpower….”
“Are you sure you’re so much tougher than her?” I blurted out.
Tara looked at me for a moment questioningly. “Hell yes. I mean, the way Peter toys with her, my God.”
“And no one could do that to you, right?” I heard myself say. Now I was committed. I reached out and grabbed Tara’s ankle, stretching her leg across my lap.
“Oh no, are you serious? Not again.” She rolled her eyes and I brought my fingers into contact with the bottom of her foot, lightly tickling up her arch and around her toes. “Fine, I could use a massage,” she said and leaned back.
I tickled harder. “This doesn’t bother you at all?”
“Nope.”
“You’re not just …acting like it doesn’t tickle, are you?”
“Ha. That’s funny, Jeff.”
I gulped and sensed my heart speeding up in my chest. I cleared my throat and took a breath. “Come on, Tara, tell the truth—don’t pretend with me…”
I saw my wife’s face go blank for a second and she looked like she was attempting to recall some far-away fact, like the capital of North Dakota.
I kept tickling and seconds later I felt her leg tense up. I turned toward her face and saw some mild confusion there. She was looking down at her own foot and blinking more rapidly than normal. She bit her lower lip. Suddenly her foot jerked.
“Jeff, let me up…I have to go to the bathroom.”
“You just went, like a half hour ago.”
“Well…I have to go again…” Her foot jumped a second time, and then I heard her make the tiniest little whimper.
“Or maybe you’re just trying to stop my tickling…” I taunted, and switched to the other foot, concentrating around her toes.
“Jeff, stop. I can’t…” She took several quick deep breaths and rubbed her hands against her eyes. “No!” she said to herself, but then I heard something like ‘urrrgh.’
“Why, what’s wrong?” It was amazing to see Peter’s suggestion at work. I felt like his magic show assistant.
Tara tried to block the tickling with her other foot, but when that failed she began to sit up and reach for my waist. I had anticipated this and quickly shifted on top of her and dug my hands into her waist instead. She immediately started squirming beneath me.
“No, God, Jeff…don’t…tickle me…” Tara screwed up her face tight. But I saw the corners of her mouth twitching in spite of herself. Then she shook her head from side to side and plucked at my hands ineffectually.
Feeling both aroused and unnaturally bold, I grabbed Tara’s left arm and raised it easily over her head and held it down as I plopped myself alongside her on the couch, pinning her right arm under me. My own right hand was thus free and I began tickling her armpit through the thin T-shirt. Tara sputtered a few times, desperately trying to hold something back, down, inside.
“Tickle, tickle, tickle” I said teasingly as I continued to rub and poke her underarm and alongside her breast. These three words seemed to make my wife struggle harder and all of a sudden she was smiling. So I said it again, this time more slowly. The smile grew wider and more forced. I just loved the effect my words were having on her.
“Tara…I’m not going to stop.” I informed her, and tickled her ribs.
“Noooooooo, stoooooop! Dooooooooooon’t.”
“I might never stop.”
I could almost feel the powerful column of sound rising from her gut.
“HeheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheeeeeeeeeeeehahahahahahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.”
Tara was writhing and bucking as she laughed. The laughter was so much louder than I thought it would be. I had to shift my head because it was hurting my ear. And it sounded familiar, which was strange until I realized that she sounded a lot like Alexis laughing. But it was my Tara.
“NOOOOOOOOOO! JEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEFFF, NOOOOOOOOOOO! HOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOO!! DOOOON’T TIIIICKLE!!!”
Now that she started to laugh, every place I touched provoked a peal of giggles and guffaws. I squeezed her waist—
“STOOOOOOOPAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!!
And then I pressed her hip bone—
“GAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHANAAAAAANOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOO.”
Grabbing her thigh literally made Tara whoop. Tickling above her knee forced a high-pitched squeal out of her. She seemed very musical to me that night. I could tickle her with both hands now; she was laughing too hard to put up much of a fight. I sat on her lower legs and stared for a moment at her lovely feet, so bare, so vulnerable—so ticklish. I went for both soles at once and clawed them up and down.
“JEEEEFFF!!!! HEHEHEHEHEHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE HEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE DOOOOON’T TIIIICKLE MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEEEEEEEE!!!”
It was such a contrast to the times I had gotten nothing from stroking the same skin in the same way. I heard her pounding the couch behind me and wished I had eyes in the back of my head. But I just kept tickling her feet, up and down, up and down. I decided I was going to take a stand right there, so to speak. Looking back, I can see that I was a little possessed.
“JEEFFFF! NOOOOOOOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOO, MYGOOOOOD, STOOOOOOOOP!!!!”
I kept tickling the bottom of her tiny feet and Tara jerked spasmodically beneath me as she laughed and laughed. She couldn’t resist the sensations at all anymore. Then she started to beg.
“MYGODMYGODMYGODJEEEFFFFF PLEEEEEAAASSSSE, NOTMYFEEET HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEEHEHEHEHEHEHE, NOTMYFEEET
HEHEHEHENOOOOMOOOORE! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHANOTMYFEEEEET!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHANOOOOMOOOOORE!!!! STOOOOOOPPLEEEEAAAAAASSSSSEE!!
But I wouldn’t stop. Maybe I couldn’t. I tickled the bottom of Tara’s feet on and on. Finally, I had to steal a look behind me. I almost fell off of her. My wife was… masturbating. She was laughing like a madwoman and squirming helplessly …and pleasuring herself.
Our eyes met. For one second Tara stopped laughing. Consciously or not, she quoted Natalie Portman in Closer. “Fuck me,” she said, clear as day, then broke out into another stream of giggles.
Now I was the one with confusion on his face. But I realized that Tara’s command was exactly what I needed to do. I turned around and quickly pulled down her shorts. She was still chuckling as I entered her. Then, as I began to move, she surprised me again—a much, much deeper surprise. “Tickle me,” she said very quietly.
I laughed. And I complied, starting at her belly. My stroking—my strokings—made her moan and made her laugh. It was the strangest, most beautiful combination of sounds ever. And as I tickled her sides and hips and belly, she jumped and twisted and giggled and lost control in ways that felt to me like a whole new magic.
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