I feel like I should attempt to detail some tickling events that happened to me the other night, so here we go. Apologies if this is fairly rambling.
A small group of us went out to celebrate my 20th birthday on Saturday night. We went to a pub, and sat around drinking at the one table until about…3am. But that’s not why I’m telling this story.
One of my ‘newer’ friends is a rather nice 21-year-old girl; let us refer to her as Danielle, even though that is not her name. She was 5’9”, thin, with dark hair and blue eyes, and certainly attractive even to a sober eye. For much of the night she was seated to my left at this small round table. At one point, I briefly tousled with my friend who was sitting across from me and inadvertently spilt a small amount of beer, most of it landing on her knee. I leant down to try and ‘dry it’ with my hand and you can pretty much see where this is going from there.
I was ‘drying her’, she briefly started giggling and complaining that it ‘was ticklish’, and with me being fairly drunk at that point that was like dangling some red in front of an already aggravated bull and shouting ‘gore me.’ Over the course of the next few hours I tickled her intermittently, finding that she was quite ticklish on her thighs, her knees, further down, and rather hysterically so underneath her knee. All of which I took care to explore in the kind of semi-joking way we drunken ticklephiles do. She kept saying she didn’t like it but was never particularly upset that I was doing it – and rarely tried to fight me off or anything, so I think I can free myself of the worry that I was really annoying her. There was much tickling that evening, though she never attempted to ‘fight back’ in a way that would have sealed the deal.
After the pub closed we decided to walk to her home, about half an hour away in drunk time. The walk there was full of many events that are completely unrelated to the story I detail here, so I will skip over them. Needless to say we arrived at her home, an average sized flat where she lives alone. It had a small lounge room type area, with TV, a few chairs, and in the absence of a couch, a converted mattress type thing that was really very ‘student’ in orientation. Next to the ‘couch’, for some reason, was a four foot long inflatable palm tree that had been tipped over, the base of it about a foot from the TV. Danielle took up residence on the mattress; I sprawled out with my head on the base of the palm tree, within operational distance of the video and quite comfortably close to her feet at that point too. She had taken off her shoes as she entered, revealing some purple socks, and I openly pulled these off within about 2 minutes of her sitting down on the mattress. I think I was even tickling one foot before I had ‘freed’ the other. It was that kind of night.
Her bare feet were very soft and quite lovely, long and thin. Her nails were unpainted, as has always been my preference, and they were seemingly so ticklish that she was involuntarily squealing before I had really started. We started to watch the video and she hastened to bring out a doona and some blanket things, spreading them over the mattress in such a way that I was covered also, and under the same one as she was. Thus, her feet were fully in range, and I was invisible in my tickling.
Over what must have been the next hour or so, at least, I tickled the soles of her feet as she giggled and twitched, at one point giggling aloud ‘he’s tickling my feet!’ And if I’m not entirely insane I think she might have enjoyed this bit. I was not tickling all out at this point, but rather in an ‘off and on’ sort of fashion, and at points when I had stopped she would poke me with her foot, wiggling her toes in my right armpit in what I took then to be an invitation to recommence tickling and an attempt to tickle me.
When ‘reclining’ between these tickles she would more often than not place her feet together with the bare soles turned toward me, and deliberately sticking out from under the blanket, clearly visible to me. How could this not be deliberate, I asked myself? At least it seemed that way at the time, but there were points where I was so drunk I was having trouble focusing on the television. But there was fairly ample distraction.
So all in all, it was quite a happy birthday. I think, actually, that this marks the third year birthday celebrations for me have featured tickling of bare female feet. Maybe that makes up for the rest of the year often being fairly barren in that regard.
And when I got home the day after, I found her socks in my pocket.
A small group of us went out to celebrate my 20th birthday on Saturday night. We went to a pub, and sat around drinking at the one table until about…3am. But that’s not why I’m telling this story.
One of my ‘newer’ friends is a rather nice 21-year-old girl; let us refer to her as Danielle, even though that is not her name. She was 5’9”, thin, with dark hair and blue eyes, and certainly attractive even to a sober eye. For much of the night she was seated to my left at this small round table. At one point, I briefly tousled with my friend who was sitting across from me and inadvertently spilt a small amount of beer, most of it landing on her knee. I leant down to try and ‘dry it’ with my hand and you can pretty much see where this is going from there.
I was ‘drying her’, she briefly started giggling and complaining that it ‘was ticklish’, and with me being fairly drunk at that point that was like dangling some red in front of an already aggravated bull and shouting ‘gore me.’ Over the course of the next few hours I tickled her intermittently, finding that she was quite ticklish on her thighs, her knees, further down, and rather hysterically so underneath her knee. All of which I took care to explore in the kind of semi-joking way we drunken ticklephiles do. She kept saying she didn’t like it but was never particularly upset that I was doing it – and rarely tried to fight me off or anything, so I think I can free myself of the worry that I was really annoying her. There was much tickling that evening, though she never attempted to ‘fight back’ in a way that would have sealed the deal.
After the pub closed we decided to walk to her home, about half an hour away in drunk time. The walk there was full of many events that are completely unrelated to the story I detail here, so I will skip over them. Needless to say we arrived at her home, an average sized flat where she lives alone. It had a small lounge room type area, with TV, a few chairs, and in the absence of a couch, a converted mattress type thing that was really very ‘student’ in orientation. Next to the ‘couch’, for some reason, was a four foot long inflatable palm tree that had been tipped over, the base of it about a foot from the TV. Danielle took up residence on the mattress; I sprawled out with my head on the base of the palm tree, within operational distance of the video and quite comfortably close to her feet at that point too. She had taken off her shoes as she entered, revealing some purple socks, and I openly pulled these off within about 2 minutes of her sitting down on the mattress. I think I was even tickling one foot before I had ‘freed’ the other. It was that kind of night.
Her bare feet were very soft and quite lovely, long and thin. Her nails were unpainted, as has always been my preference, and they were seemingly so ticklish that she was involuntarily squealing before I had really started. We started to watch the video and she hastened to bring out a doona and some blanket things, spreading them over the mattress in such a way that I was covered also, and under the same one as she was. Thus, her feet were fully in range, and I was invisible in my tickling.
Over what must have been the next hour or so, at least, I tickled the soles of her feet as she giggled and twitched, at one point giggling aloud ‘he’s tickling my feet!’ And if I’m not entirely insane I think she might have enjoyed this bit. I was not tickling all out at this point, but rather in an ‘off and on’ sort of fashion, and at points when I had stopped she would poke me with her foot, wiggling her toes in my right armpit in what I took then to be an invitation to recommence tickling and an attempt to tickle me.
When ‘reclining’ between these tickles she would more often than not place her feet together with the bare soles turned toward me, and deliberately sticking out from under the blanket, clearly visible to me. How could this not be deliberate, I asked myself? At least it seemed that way at the time, but there were points where I was so drunk I was having trouble focusing on the television. But there was fairly ample distraction.
So all in all, it was quite a happy birthday. I think, actually, that this marks the third year birthday celebrations for me have featured tickling of bare female feet. Maybe that makes up for the rest of the year often being fairly barren in that regard.
And when I got home the day after, I found her socks in my pocket.
