RaoulDukeJr
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One of my very favorite stories from the earlier days of the internet. Found it on the old hidden rose garden site, by way of the wayback machine. Sadly, the other two parts seem to have been lost to time. I know it's a long shot, but if the other two parts are in anybody's possession, posting them would earn you my eternal gratitude 
Summer Camp Tickling (Part I of III)
by Nostradamus
I went to a pretty rowdy school known for its "party reputation". Southern Illinois University, (S.I.U. for short) is located in a small city called Carbondale. In fact, the population of the city, is about the same, or smaller than the college when classes are in session.
I was in the Recreational Therapy program, and the semester was winding down when I heard about a summer camp for the mentally/physically disabled from a couple of pretty hot female students who worked there last year. They said the camp was hiring "counselors" and "specialists" and you could get some course credits if you made it through. I asked around about this camp and got some strange stories about what went on there. It was run by two women, who hired mostly women (well, most therapy students WERE female) and they were always aggressively seeking males with some experience working with the handicapped. I was told they disappeared to a secret camp, deep in the woods for weeks at a time, then come back briefly and terrorize the bars on "The Strip", like sailors on shore leave. The work was physically demanding, and you had to be in pretty good shape; you also had to be interviewed and spend two weeks in training before the actual camp season began. I talked to a senior (named Steve) at the weight room who had worked there for the last three summers in "small watercraft" (i.e. pontoon, canoes, watersports). He said the camp ran on a pretty small budget but always produced a lot of money for the school. It was a fun way to spend the summer, make some pretty good ching, and meet some great (and wild) girls. It was a great way to save money, too. The only time you had to pay for anything was when they cut you loose every other weekend. He said you were also kind of "favored" by the instructors in R.T. because many of them had initially started the camp. They had a soft-spot for the place and really wanted to keep it going. He made it sound challenging, and a sense of adventure overcame me. I was sold...and he told me where to apply.
I was accepted as a LifeGuard (I had a W.S.I.) which fell under the "specialist" catagory and got a few extra bucks for that...cool. I could also use sign-language fluently, and the women commented on it when they read my application. They gave me a hand-drawn map and a short list of what I would need. I had to scramble, 'cause it started in less than three weeks AND I had finals, and still had to get out of the dorms. But I traveled pretty light and had an old '57 Chevy BelAir 4 door that was monsterous. All my stuff fit easily in the trunk, and there was tons of room to spare (my friends joked you could bury a family of four in that trunk).
Camp specialist training got underway, and after a week of that...the counselors arrived for their training. God, I couldn't believe some of the "granola" hotties that were gracing this place...they ranged from girl-next-door cute to drop-dead SI swimsuit models, not really a bad one in the bunch. They also outnumbered the guys 3 to 1. After the training was over, the directors would always buy a keg, build a bonfire, and throw a party somewhere at camp. This place was huge...on it's own lake...and very remote. The party was never in the same place twice, and it happened every time we "changed over" camp sessions.
At the first party everyone was just getting to know each other and it started out pretty run-of-the-mill. As the beer flowed, and darkness crept in, some guys set up a stereo and the whole mood kinda picked up...lots of flirting...lots of drinking...and it was getting loud, but no one cared; We were deep in the sticks for sure. Then a couple of the Arts and Crafts girls, Donna and Joan asked me and Steve (the guy who told me about the camp) if we wanted to get high. I said "Sure" and we went down to my old car in the gravel parking lot. These girls weren't the greatest looking of the bunch, but still...pretty nice, and, as I would later find out...very cunning and deceptively devilish.
They said they really loved the car...and just couldn't believe how HUGE it was. I rigged up a sound system in it, but other than that, it was totally stock, and in pristine shape (I bought it from an old mechanic the year before...he told me he was the only owner of "her"...his wife cried a little when he signed the title over).
I heard them whispering and laughing about something: ***whaddidjasay** nuttin' **iheardsumthin***
We were outta beer (and gettin' cottony) so we decided to go back to the party. On the way back, Joan asked me if they could use my car to "initiate" some of the new male counselors and a couple of new specialists (most of the spec.'s had previous experience). I said it was cool, just don't make a mess. They laughed and said it wasn't "like that' and then laughed some more. I looked at Steve...and he just kinda shrugged and looked back at them with an "idunnoaboutthesecrazychics" grin. He knew them, and knew they were up to something, but wanted no part of it.
One by one Joan and Donna selected the newbies (new-boys?!) and walked them down to the '57, where Allison, Julie, and Tessa were waiting...now these chics were femme fatales, and very in-tune with their female powers of flirtation and innocence. They were smart and fun, and had a way of luring in ANY guys they wanted...they called it "fishin" cause they'de hook ya.
And one by one...the guys would stagger back *grinning* looking like someone dumped a bottle of Jack Daniels down their throats and had them wrestle a bear. These guys wouldn't talk, though. Sometimes their shirts were torn up and their hair was all sweaty and mussed-up. They looked out of breathe and kinda disheveled. We tried to figure out what the hell was going on down there, and slowly, the whole focus of the party began to turn to the strange, but exciting events taking place over the hill and down in the lot. I swear I saw some of the veteran girls (and guys) smirking and secretly laughing as the rookie males were escorted away.
Then soon enough, my turn came. I was still pretty buzzed from smoking, and all the beer I drank didn't help either, but still pretty much had my shit together. Donna and Joan where laughing and goosing me on the way there, grabbing me behind each arm and marching me like a prisoner toward my car. They asked me if I was nervous, and I kinda laughed saying, "What, do my nerves work?" They gave each other an *oh-so-sly* smile, and continued marching me toward the car. I didn't know at the time how funny (and fortelling) that comment would be...
They said they had to conduct a couple of tests, to see if I was fit to work at "their" camp. I had to pass three tests to determine my "worthiness" (college rituals ROCK).
They had a pitcher of beer on the hood, and one by one, would take a big gulp, and "transfer" the beer to you, kissing you...and beer-bonging you at the same time. Half the beer ended up down my chest as I struggled to keep from choking and laughing at the same time. This was the "beerkisstest".
Next was the "feats of strength" where you did as many push-ups as you could, with the girls taking turns riding on your back. This only took a few seconds with each and you were tired and winded.
Then finally, they stuffed me in the back seat, Donna to my left, and Joan to my right. Julie, Tessa, and Allison all in the front seat and turned around facing me, grinning like Cheshire Cats. Joan said, "put your arms around us handsome...I feel like I'm in 'Grease' in the back of this car". So I did it, and cracked "heyyyyy...Backseat Betty...Owyoodoooin'?" Then they put their arms together, over mine behind my back, and locked them together at the elbow, squeezing me tight to them, not allowing any seperation, and effectively pinning my arms behind their backs. Julie and Allison each grabbed a leg and flung it over the front seat, lifting my butt slightly off the back seat. Then they straddled each leg and held my knee to the seat while while Tessa easily disposed of my flip-flops smurking, "Ya won't be needing these, Greaser boy... Guess what test this is !?...it's the TESTtickle!!
Then, all at once, the onslaught began. Donna and Joan using their free hands to attack my sides and stomach...and the girls in the front treated my ultra ticklish knees and feet to their roaming fingertips. I screamed with laughter and trashed violently, but couldn't get any leverage. Combined with being tired from the push-ups, I could barely get out a plea for mercy. Every second the tickling went on drained more of what little energy I had left. I bucked fiercely, well... a little less fierce every passing minute, but they held fast. The next 5 minutes (that's all the longer they said they tickled me) are a blur. The overwhelming sensation of being tickled so many places at once caused a nervous-system overload.
I had never been tickled like that before, and at such a physical disadvantage to women. They were shocked at my reaction to "a little tickle" and said they quit a lot sooner on me than the other guys. THEY were shocked...I was a varsity wrestler on the college level and thought it nearly impossible to be controled by women. When they finally quit, I was a chocolate mess. It was the most intense five minutes of my life.
Looking back on the summer that changed my life and my narrow views of sexuallity, I sometimes wonder how "into" tickling these girls were. It was probably just Joan, and the others following suit, but I tell you...there was a gleam in the eyes of those girls that night, tradition or not...they were having a *blast* making us poor guys suffer under their magic touch.
Little did I know, it really was just a "test-tickle". There was much more
Summer Camp Tickling (Part I of III)
by Nostradamus
I went to a pretty rowdy school known for its "party reputation". Southern Illinois University, (S.I.U. for short) is located in a small city called Carbondale. In fact, the population of the city, is about the same, or smaller than the college when classes are in session.
I was in the Recreational Therapy program, and the semester was winding down when I heard about a summer camp for the mentally/physically disabled from a couple of pretty hot female students who worked there last year. They said the camp was hiring "counselors" and "specialists" and you could get some course credits if you made it through. I asked around about this camp and got some strange stories about what went on there. It was run by two women, who hired mostly women (well, most therapy students WERE female) and they were always aggressively seeking males with some experience working with the handicapped. I was told they disappeared to a secret camp, deep in the woods for weeks at a time, then come back briefly and terrorize the bars on "The Strip", like sailors on shore leave. The work was physically demanding, and you had to be in pretty good shape; you also had to be interviewed and spend two weeks in training before the actual camp season began. I talked to a senior (named Steve) at the weight room who had worked there for the last three summers in "small watercraft" (i.e. pontoon, canoes, watersports). He said the camp ran on a pretty small budget but always produced a lot of money for the school. It was a fun way to spend the summer, make some pretty good ching, and meet some great (and wild) girls. It was a great way to save money, too. The only time you had to pay for anything was when they cut you loose every other weekend. He said you were also kind of "favored" by the instructors in R.T. because many of them had initially started the camp. They had a soft-spot for the place and really wanted to keep it going. He made it sound challenging, and a sense of adventure overcame me. I was sold...and he told me where to apply.
I was accepted as a LifeGuard (I had a W.S.I.) which fell under the "specialist" catagory and got a few extra bucks for that...cool. I could also use sign-language fluently, and the women commented on it when they read my application. They gave me a hand-drawn map and a short list of what I would need. I had to scramble, 'cause it started in less than three weeks AND I had finals, and still had to get out of the dorms. But I traveled pretty light and had an old '57 Chevy BelAir 4 door that was monsterous. All my stuff fit easily in the trunk, and there was tons of room to spare (my friends joked you could bury a family of four in that trunk).
Camp specialist training got underway, and after a week of that...the counselors arrived for their training. God, I couldn't believe some of the "granola" hotties that were gracing this place...they ranged from girl-next-door cute to drop-dead SI swimsuit models, not really a bad one in the bunch. They also outnumbered the guys 3 to 1. After the training was over, the directors would always buy a keg, build a bonfire, and throw a party somewhere at camp. This place was huge...on it's own lake...and very remote. The party was never in the same place twice, and it happened every time we "changed over" camp sessions.
At the first party everyone was just getting to know each other and it started out pretty run-of-the-mill. As the beer flowed, and darkness crept in, some guys set up a stereo and the whole mood kinda picked up...lots of flirting...lots of drinking...and it was getting loud, but no one cared; We were deep in the sticks for sure. Then a couple of the Arts and Crafts girls, Donna and Joan asked me and Steve (the guy who told me about the camp) if we wanted to get high. I said "Sure" and we went down to my old car in the gravel parking lot. These girls weren't the greatest looking of the bunch, but still...pretty nice, and, as I would later find out...very cunning and deceptively devilish.
They said they really loved the car...and just couldn't believe how HUGE it was. I rigged up a sound system in it, but other than that, it was totally stock, and in pristine shape (I bought it from an old mechanic the year before...he told me he was the only owner of "her"...his wife cried a little when he signed the title over).
I heard them whispering and laughing about something: ***whaddidjasay** nuttin' **iheardsumthin***
We were outta beer (and gettin' cottony) so we decided to go back to the party. On the way back, Joan asked me if they could use my car to "initiate" some of the new male counselors and a couple of new specialists (most of the spec.'s had previous experience). I said it was cool, just don't make a mess. They laughed and said it wasn't "like that' and then laughed some more. I looked at Steve...and he just kinda shrugged and looked back at them with an "idunnoaboutthesecrazychics" grin. He knew them, and knew they were up to something, but wanted no part of it.
One by one Joan and Donna selected the newbies (new-boys?!) and walked them down to the '57, where Allison, Julie, and Tessa were waiting...now these chics were femme fatales, and very in-tune with their female powers of flirtation and innocence. They were smart and fun, and had a way of luring in ANY guys they wanted...they called it "fishin" cause they'de hook ya.
And one by one...the guys would stagger back *grinning* looking like someone dumped a bottle of Jack Daniels down their throats and had them wrestle a bear. These guys wouldn't talk, though. Sometimes their shirts were torn up and their hair was all sweaty and mussed-up. They looked out of breathe and kinda disheveled. We tried to figure out what the hell was going on down there, and slowly, the whole focus of the party began to turn to the strange, but exciting events taking place over the hill and down in the lot. I swear I saw some of the veteran girls (and guys) smirking and secretly laughing as the rookie males were escorted away.
Then soon enough, my turn came. I was still pretty buzzed from smoking, and all the beer I drank didn't help either, but still pretty much had my shit together. Donna and Joan where laughing and goosing me on the way there, grabbing me behind each arm and marching me like a prisoner toward my car. They asked me if I was nervous, and I kinda laughed saying, "What, do my nerves work?" They gave each other an *oh-so-sly* smile, and continued marching me toward the car. I didn't know at the time how funny (and fortelling) that comment would be...
They said they had to conduct a couple of tests, to see if I was fit to work at "their" camp. I had to pass three tests to determine my "worthiness" (college rituals ROCK).
They had a pitcher of beer on the hood, and one by one, would take a big gulp, and "transfer" the beer to you, kissing you...and beer-bonging you at the same time. Half the beer ended up down my chest as I struggled to keep from choking and laughing at the same time. This was the "beerkisstest".
Next was the "feats of strength" where you did as many push-ups as you could, with the girls taking turns riding on your back. This only took a few seconds with each and you were tired and winded.
Then finally, they stuffed me in the back seat, Donna to my left, and Joan to my right. Julie, Tessa, and Allison all in the front seat and turned around facing me, grinning like Cheshire Cats. Joan said, "put your arms around us handsome...I feel like I'm in 'Grease' in the back of this car". So I did it, and cracked "heyyyyy...Backseat Betty...Owyoodoooin'?" Then they put their arms together, over mine behind my back, and locked them together at the elbow, squeezing me tight to them, not allowing any seperation, and effectively pinning my arms behind their backs. Julie and Allison each grabbed a leg and flung it over the front seat, lifting my butt slightly off the back seat. Then they straddled each leg and held my knee to the seat while while Tessa easily disposed of my flip-flops smurking, "Ya won't be needing these, Greaser boy... Guess what test this is !?...it's the TESTtickle!!
Then, all at once, the onslaught began. Donna and Joan using their free hands to attack my sides and stomach...and the girls in the front treated my ultra ticklish knees and feet to their roaming fingertips. I screamed with laughter and trashed violently, but couldn't get any leverage. Combined with being tired from the push-ups, I could barely get out a plea for mercy. Every second the tickling went on drained more of what little energy I had left. I bucked fiercely, well... a little less fierce every passing minute, but they held fast. The next 5 minutes (that's all the longer they said they tickled me) are a blur. The overwhelming sensation of being tickled so many places at once caused a nervous-system overload.
I had never been tickled like that before, and at such a physical disadvantage to women. They were shocked at my reaction to "a little tickle" and said they quit a lot sooner on me than the other guys. THEY were shocked...I was a varsity wrestler on the college level and thought it nearly impossible to be controled by women. When they finally quit, I was a chocolate mess. It was the most intense five minutes of my life.
Looking back on the summer that changed my life and my narrow views of sexuallity, I sometimes wonder how "into" tickling these girls were. It was probably just Joan, and the others following suit, but I tell you...there was a gleam in the eyes of those girls that night, tradition or not...they were having a *blast* making us poor guys suffer under their magic touch.
Little did I know, it really was just a "test-tickle". There was much more
