Years ago, I stumbled on a site devoted to tickling. I lurked in the shadows as I was still of an impression that this kind of curiosity was unhealthy. In the safety of invisibility, I saw pictures and watched videos. I read stories and got lost in other people’s fiction. But, in my mind, this predilection was someone else and not me. At least that’s what I told myself.
The Story Of Why is a revelation about fantasy that I never thought normal. In the past seven years, I have learned more about myself than in the previous four decades. But, if I am to share where I’m going, I believe it is important to understand where I have been.
Touch was something that wasn’t a part of my family. The concept of giving love was wrapped up in provision and survival. I remember a particular conversation with my mother in which I wanted to tell her how much I loved her. “I want to know what YOU know about love. Love is a roof over your head. Love is the shoes on your feet. Love is the food in your stomach. What do YOU know about love? You don’t know NOTHING about love.”
I never dated anyone in high school. If a girl smiled at me, I was ready to give her my heart. I almost married in college … twice. Suffice to say I was saved from myself many times. I remember asking my father how he knew mom was “the one”. His answer to me was just as telling as my mother’s. He said, “You know son, I was married before I met your mother. After we dated a few times, she took a look at my finances and I took a look at hers. When we realize we were both okay, I said, ‘Hey … let’s get married.’” As I look back on the conversation, I came to understand that theirs was not a love. Theirs was a business merger.
I told my parents that we were engaged. They both said, “That’s what happens when a man and a woman get together”. I told my parents that I was going to be a father. They both said, “That’s what happens after a man and woman get married”.
I was married for twenty-three years to the same person. When life got hard, I found out just how deep the love went. We were both responsible for the failures. My first wife knew as little about love as I did. We accepted our responsibility. We learned from our mistakes and grown to be semi friendly. In the meantime, I learned about love (physical, emotional and spiritual) since meeting my best friend.
My second wife was married twice before. She tells me that she had known good sex, though she had never been loved before she met me. When we dated, there was a time that I feared for her safety. One night, I left my back door open because I’d hoped she would come to me. This was the beginning of what I know now.
That night was the first time I was inside any one since the birth of my child that (1985). It wasn’t just the physical feeling. I was drawn to someone in a way that I had never known before. She jokes with me even now about how she created an insatiable monster. She’s right. I feel as if we make love from the moment we wake up and until we fall asleep.
Not long after we were together, she found out just how ticklish I was. That’s when I found out just how much I loved being tickled.
Make no mistake. We are both EXTREMELY sensitive. That knowledge is such a vital part of who we are as a couple. Many times, we sat on our sofa. My fingers danced around her neck and breasts while she giggled for hours. It wasn’t long before we were in the bedroom, her kneeling and holding to the bedpost while I thrust myself from behind and tickle the soles of her feet. She would know whether to moan and laugh. All she knew is that she wanted more. And it pleased me to give to her more every day.
One night, we cuddled on our bed, as we often did before we went to sleep. She ran her fingers across my side and I laughed harder than ever before. Her eyes widened like a little girl with a new doll. She sat up on the bed. She would poke and I would laugh and tell her if it was enjoyable. I have determined that lights strokes are more effective than pokes or hard tickling. Whenever she begins, it’s as if she’s experimenting for the very first time.
It’s far beyond my pleasure to be her submissive. We have Velcro straps attached to our bed, although most times she loves me to keep my arms above my head. I’m told not to fight or resist unless I want the worst experience I could get. Of course, there is a bit of resistance, which works wells for the both of us. She rolls me around where she wants me to be and focuses her fingers everywhere. By the time she’s done, she will have tickled every place on my body. I’m out of breath from laughter and completely aroused. I’m exhausted and hungry for more.
I will cover myself with powder because I know that it makes me more sensitive. She has lotions, toothbrushes and combs that take me to a new level. I’m turned on my stomach … she starts with my feet. There is the usual giggling that isn’t very intense. While her fingers slide and wiggle lightly up both legs, I begin to quiver with anticipation because I know what is next. She stops at the back of my knees and slows her progression, drawing circles that cover from butt cheek, inner thigh, outer thigh and the back of each knee. I know we have not arrived at the first climactic level yet.
In short order, one hand strokes my manhood and the other hand tickles my side. The hand of the tickles my side then travels a path from thigh to armpit. The hand that strokes becomes fingernails that scratch my head. She keeps this up for what seems like hours. She stops and lays across my back facing my right side. One set of fingers dances in my armpit while the other set of fingers scratches across the back of my knee and her tongue tickles my side. Once I am completely out of breath, she stops long enough for both hands to tickle the back of my neck.
When she’s done with me on my stomach, she will turn me on my back. As I catch my breath, I watch her smile wide. She IS love to me. What happens to us in the physical is better reflection of what we have in a deeper place (as you will soon see).
She will often bend my leg so that she can tickle my foot and pelvis while running her tongue up and down my manhood. Recently, she’s begun running her tongue up and down my pelvis, tickling my inner thigh and massaging my head simultaneously.
I’m out of my mind … throbbing, unbelievably aroused and out of breath. She stands on the bed and straddles me. I anticipate the feeling of her on top of me, rubbing her womanhood on me, stimulating even more. She sits with me inside of her and clenches. I’m told to keep my arms above my head. Being somewhat rebellious, I stretch my arms straight out … which lets her tickle my upper arms and armpits … a fitting punishment that I absolutely adore.
While she runs her fingers across my entire upper body, she begins to thrust up and down. I want to simply close my eyes and lose myself and the feeling. But if I do, I cheat myself of the gift of watching her face and telling her how much I love her. She stops thrusting and begins to bounce with me inside. My skin tingles and my moans are replaced with laughter.
She will slow the rhythm of her bounce to a slow thrust, reach behind and begin drawing lines between my thighs and kneecaps. I laugh so hard that the sounds are replaced with silence. When I think I’m ready to endure this, she begins to bounce again. By now, I will not moan. I will only laugh because EVERYTHING tickles more than I can bear.
She climbs off of me, kisses me and then proceeds to run her tongue across my neck and tickle whatever she can reach. She places her mouth squarely over my manhood begins to thrust up and down. I’m overwhelmed with the feeling, which is when she begins to tickle my thigh. The sensations over while my mind.
More than once in this process, I have come very close to explosion. I am used to anticipating that feeling and saying no. But by now, my mind can process WHAT I feel or WHEN I feel. My mind can only process THAT I feel. Every nerve ending is primed for tickling: so much so that she kisses and I giggle. So much so that the anticipation makes me laugh.
She climbs on top of me for one last attack. Just as before, she is maneuvering herself until I am inside her. I am already laughing, partially from anticipation and partially because my whole body is extremely ticklish now. As she begins to thrust, she placed her fingers in each armpit. She travels from the armpits to the upper arms, which sends me into more hysterics.
She begins to bounce with me inside and completely hysterical. Instead of pacing, she stops suddenly and tickles my knees. Once again, she starts to bounce. I’m beside myself with laughter. She will now ignore my pleas to stop. I am moments away from completion. The alternating bouncing and tickling continues until she knows I’m at my edge. She’ll begin to thrust and tickle my knees or sides until I explode. But she is not finished with me yet.
As ticklish as I have been up until now, I am even more so afterwards. She tickles my inner thighs and kneecaps because I cannot reach her to stop her. She tickles my pelvis and shaft until I cannot stand it. She knows that I wish for her to go longer. Every time, she pushes me to a new limit.
Three years ago, she was diagnosed with stage three breast cancer. Three years ago, she thought our love life was over. Three years ago, I told you I would find other places to tickle.
I have learned to love and be loved. I have learned to give and receive. I have found freedom in the gift of submission and servitude. I’m glad to provide myself to her. She is my rock. She is my hero. I am her muse and grateful to be so over and over again.
The Story Of Why is a revelation about fantasy that I never thought normal. In the past seven years, I have learned more about myself than in the previous four decades. But, if I am to share where I’m going, I believe it is important to understand where I have been.
Touch was something that wasn’t a part of my family. The concept of giving love was wrapped up in provision and survival. I remember a particular conversation with my mother in which I wanted to tell her how much I loved her. “I want to know what YOU know about love. Love is a roof over your head. Love is the shoes on your feet. Love is the food in your stomach. What do YOU know about love? You don’t know NOTHING about love.”
I never dated anyone in high school. If a girl smiled at me, I was ready to give her my heart. I almost married in college … twice. Suffice to say I was saved from myself many times. I remember asking my father how he knew mom was “the one”. His answer to me was just as telling as my mother’s. He said, “You know son, I was married before I met your mother. After we dated a few times, she took a look at my finances and I took a look at hers. When we realize we were both okay, I said, ‘Hey … let’s get married.’” As I look back on the conversation, I came to understand that theirs was not a love. Theirs was a business merger.
I told my parents that we were engaged. They both said, “That’s what happens when a man and a woman get together”. I told my parents that I was going to be a father. They both said, “That’s what happens after a man and woman get married”.
I was married for twenty-three years to the same person. When life got hard, I found out just how deep the love went. We were both responsible for the failures. My first wife knew as little about love as I did. We accepted our responsibility. We learned from our mistakes and grown to be semi friendly. In the meantime, I learned about love (physical, emotional and spiritual) since meeting my best friend.
My second wife was married twice before. She tells me that she had known good sex, though she had never been loved before she met me. When we dated, there was a time that I feared for her safety. One night, I left my back door open because I’d hoped she would come to me. This was the beginning of what I know now.
That night was the first time I was inside any one since the birth of my child that (1985). It wasn’t just the physical feeling. I was drawn to someone in a way that I had never known before. She jokes with me even now about how she created an insatiable monster. She’s right. I feel as if we make love from the moment we wake up and until we fall asleep.
Not long after we were together, she found out just how ticklish I was. That’s when I found out just how much I loved being tickled.
Make no mistake. We are both EXTREMELY sensitive. That knowledge is such a vital part of who we are as a couple. Many times, we sat on our sofa. My fingers danced around her neck and breasts while she giggled for hours. It wasn’t long before we were in the bedroom, her kneeling and holding to the bedpost while I thrust myself from behind and tickle the soles of her feet. She would know whether to moan and laugh. All she knew is that she wanted more. And it pleased me to give to her more every day.
One night, we cuddled on our bed, as we often did before we went to sleep. She ran her fingers across my side and I laughed harder than ever before. Her eyes widened like a little girl with a new doll. She sat up on the bed. She would poke and I would laugh and tell her if it was enjoyable. I have determined that lights strokes are more effective than pokes or hard tickling. Whenever she begins, it’s as if she’s experimenting for the very first time.
It’s far beyond my pleasure to be her submissive. We have Velcro straps attached to our bed, although most times she loves me to keep my arms above my head. I’m told not to fight or resist unless I want the worst experience I could get. Of course, there is a bit of resistance, which works wells for the both of us. She rolls me around where she wants me to be and focuses her fingers everywhere. By the time she’s done, she will have tickled every place on my body. I’m out of breath from laughter and completely aroused. I’m exhausted and hungry for more.
I will cover myself with powder because I know that it makes me more sensitive. She has lotions, toothbrushes and combs that take me to a new level. I’m turned on my stomach … she starts with my feet. There is the usual giggling that isn’t very intense. While her fingers slide and wiggle lightly up both legs, I begin to quiver with anticipation because I know what is next. She stops at the back of my knees and slows her progression, drawing circles that cover from butt cheek, inner thigh, outer thigh and the back of each knee. I know we have not arrived at the first climactic level yet.
In short order, one hand strokes my manhood and the other hand tickles my side. The hand of the tickles my side then travels a path from thigh to armpit. The hand that strokes becomes fingernails that scratch my head. She keeps this up for what seems like hours. She stops and lays across my back facing my right side. One set of fingers dances in my armpit while the other set of fingers scratches across the back of my knee and her tongue tickles my side. Once I am completely out of breath, she stops long enough for both hands to tickle the back of my neck.
When she’s done with me on my stomach, she will turn me on my back. As I catch my breath, I watch her smile wide. She IS love to me. What happens to us in the physical is better reflection of what we have in a deeper place (as you will soon see).
She will often bend my leg so that she can tickle my foot and pelvis while running her tongue up and down my manhood. Recently, she’s begun running her tongue up and down my pelvis, tickling my inner thigh and massaging my head simultaneously.
I’m out of my mind … throbbing, unbelievably aroused and out of breath. She stands on the bed and straddles me. I anticipate the feeling of her on top of me, rubbing her womanhood on me, stimulating even more. She sits with me inside of her and clenches. I’m told to keep my arms above my head. Being somewhat rebellious, I stretch my arms straight out … which lets her tickle my upper arms and armpits … a fitting punishment that I absolutely adore.
While she runs her fingers across my entire upper body, she begins to thrust up and down. I want to simply close my eyes and lose myself and the feeling. But if I do, I cheat myself of the gift of watching her face and telling her how much I love her. She stops thrusting and begins to bounce with me inside. My skin tingles and my moans are replaced with laughter.
She will slow the rhythm of her bounce to a slow thrust, reach behind and begin drawing lines between my thighs and kneecaps. I laugh so hard that the sounds are replaced with silence. When I think I’m ready to endure this, she begins to bounce again. By now, I will not moan. I will only laugh because EVERYTHING tickles more than I can bear.
She climbs off of me, kisses me and then proceeds to run her tongue across my neck and tickle whatever she can reach. She places her mouth squarely over my manhood begins to thrust up and down. I’m overwhelmed with the feeling, which is when she begins to tickle my thigh. The sensations over while my mind.
More than once in this process, I have come very close to explosion. I am used to anticipating that feeling and saying no. But by now, my mind can process WHAT I feel or WHEN I feel. My mind can only process THAT I feel. Every nerve ending is primed for tickling: so much so that she kisses and I giggle. So much so that the anticipation makes me laugh.
She climbs on top of me for one last attack. Just as before, she is maneuvering herself until I am inside her. I am already laughing, partially from anticipation and partially because my whole body is extremely ticklish now. As she begins to thrust, she placed her fingers in each armpit. She travels from the armpits to the upper arms, which sends me into more hysterics.
She begins to bounce with me inside and completely hysterical. Instead of pacing, she stops suddenly and tickles my knees. Once again, she starts to bounce. I’m beside myself with laughter. She will now ignore my pleas to stop. I am moments away from completion. The alternating bouncing and tickling continues until she knows I’m at my edge. She’ll begin to thrust and tickle my knees or sides until I explode. But she is not finished with me yet.
As ticklish as I have been up until now, I am even more so afterwards. She tickles my inner thighs and kneecaps because I cannot reach her to stop her. She tickles my pelvis and shaft until I cannot stand it. She knows that I wish for her to go longer. Every time, she pushes me to a new limit.
Three years ago, she was diagnosed with stage three breast cancer. Three years ago, she thought our love life was over. Three years ago, I told you I would find other places to tickle.
I have learned to love and be loved. I have learned to give and receive. I have found freedom in the gift of submission and servitude. I’m glad to provide myself to her. She is my rock. She is my hero. I am her muse and grateful to be so over and over again.
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