glentickle
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Apr 22, 2001
- Messages
- 173
- Points
- 0
In the "Polls" section of this website, someone recently posed a question regarding which ethnicity of women is most ticklish. The responses were immediate and declamatory, unanimously criticizing the practice of such racial profiling. I posted the following response, which I'd orginally intended to be only a sentence or two, but it grew on me all of a sudden.
Another problem with this poll: it left out the obvious first-place candidate: women from the recently liberated republic of Kyrgyzstan. Any tickler worth his salt knows that Kyrgyzstanian women are more highly susceptible to tickling than any others. Why, I once knew a cute little Kyrgyzstevna who could be tickled telekinetically; the point of a finger from a distance of even seven or eight kalishkin would send her into a fit of hohokas, which she could not control even if her pretty little feet were well covered by a pair of leathern bolotoks. To make matters worse, the Kyrgyzstanian men -- who in military combat have the backbone of an oyster -- are yet the most ruthless and sadistic ticklers west of Kamchatka. At the annual Kyrgyzstanian ticklefest (which I attended incognito back in '74) all the poor Kyrgyzstevnas are rounded up like reindeer, rolled over onto their bellies, and bound at the wrists and ankles to wooden racks covered in soft yakskin. There, helpless, their little feet are shorn of all covering, and the eager Kyrgyzstoviches (the men) line up for a massive tickle contest. It is fascinating to behold: the object for each man is to make his Kyrgyzstevna cry out the secret safe word (which I cannot repeat here), after which he runs to find the nearest pair of as-yet-untickled feet, and once again tickles with determination to elicit the safe word -- and so on. The contest lasts three days (four in leap year) and they barely take breaks to sleep and eat. You would think that the Kyrgyzstevnas (who are known for their cunning) would employ the safe word immediately, thus ending their torment, but it isn't that simple. These women believe that the longer they last, the more they please the gods, and the greater will be their crop yield in the coming season. So they have an incentive to hold out. She who lasts longest earns the added benefit of immunity from all further tickling for the rest of her life. It is a brilliantly devious twist, for it induces the most ticklish of the women -- those who hate it the most -- to try even harder to last longer, and so they put themselves through even more excruciating hours of tickling in hopes of never again being so tormented. Oh, the site of it! Row upon row of scrunched-up toes and wrinkly soles, with the laughter filling the air in an endless stream! The man who tickles the most feet during this three-day contest is declared the winner, and he is given the right to tickle any unmarried woman over the legal age, at any time, except for during new and full moons. Of course he becomes a virtual outcast during the year of his reign, since no woman will go within eyesight of him for fear of being picked out. This makes him all the more eager, when finally some poor unfortunate crosses his path. How this tradition developed, I have no idea. But I strongly urge all of you out there to make a pilgrimmage to the holy city where this contest takes place. There are no guidebooks, but once you cross the Caucausus just follow the sound of the laughter.
glen
Another problem with this poll: it left out the obvious first-place candidate: women from the recently liberated republic of Kyrgyzstan. Any tickler worth his salt knows that Kyrgyzstanian women are more highly susceptible to tickling than any others. Why, I once knew a cute little Kyrgyzstevna who could be tickled telekinetically; the point of a finger from a distance of even seven or eight kalishkin would send her into a fit of hohokas, which she could not control even if her pretty little feet were well covered by a pair of leathern bolotoks. To make matters worse, the Kyrgyzstanian men -- who in military combat have the backbone of an oyster -- are yet the most ruthless and sadistic ticklers west of Kamchatka. At the annual Kyrgyzstanian ticklefest (which I attended incognito back in '74) all the poor Kyrgyzstevnas are rounded up like reindeer, rolled over onto their bellies, and bound at the wrists and ankles to wooden racks covered in soft yakskin. There, helpless, their little feet are shorn of all covering, and the eager Kyrgyzstoviches (the men) line up for a massive tickle contest. It is fascinating to behold: the object for each man is to make his Kyrgyzstevna cry out the secret safe word (which I cannot repeat here), after which he runs to find the nearest pair of as-yet-untickled feet, and once again tickles with determination to elicit the safe word -- and so on. The contest lasts three days (four in leap year) and they barely take breaks to sleep and eat. You would think that the Kyrgyzstevnas (who are known for their cunning) would employ the safe word immediately, thus ending their torment, but it isn't that simple. These women believe that the longer they last, the more they please the gods, and the greater will be their crop yield in the coming season. So they have an incentive to hold out. She who lasts longest earns the added benefit of immunity from all further tickling for the rest of her life. It is a brilliantly devious twist, for it induces the most ticklish of the women -- those who hate it the most -- to try even harder to last longer, and so they put themselves through even more excruciating hours of tickling in hopes of never again being so tormented. Oh, the site of it! Row upon row of scrunched-up toes and wrinkly soles, with the laughter filling the air in an endless stream! The man who tickles the most feet during this three-day contest is declared the winner, and he is given the right to tickle any unmarried woman over the legal age, at any time, except for during new and full moons. Of course he becomes a virtual outcast during the year of his reign, since no woman will go within eyesight of him for fear of being picked out. This makes him all the more eager, when finally some poor unfortunate crosses his path. How this tradition developed, I have no idea. But I strongly urge all of you out there to make a pilgrimmage to the holy city where this contest takes place. There are no guidebooks, but once you cross the Caucausus just follow the sound of the laughter.
glen
Attachments
Last edited:
