TeeHeeLawrence
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*The following lovesick M/FF fever dream is copyright 2015 by the author.
*No reasonable offer to adapt this into the pilot for a hit HBO anthology tickling series will be refused.
"Toe Tickling Temptation"
a Vellication Vignette by Tee Hee Lawrence
The planning session for the demonstration ran late, very late.
Nick glanced at his phone and whistled when he realized it was nearly 4am. Part of the reason was a lengthy back-and-forth on strategies for those willing to be arrested, and an even more lengthy, and, at times heated, discussion of how to deal with vocal and possibly violent counter-demonstrators.
Truth to tell, there had also been cups of wine passed around, and, on the deck at the back of the house, joints shared, decreasingly furtively. Over the nearly eight hours of the meeting, Nick had his fair share of both. He was admittedly a bit woozy.
When the moderator suggested that they end the meeting--for the demonstration was, after all, the next afternoon--everyone wearily agreed. Nick had come with six other students in a van from the campus thirty minutes away. He and a few others debated whether they were too sleepy and stoned to travel safely. The hosts, a faculty couple at the College, generously offered those remaining a couple of guest beds and a sofa upstairs, as well as yoga mats and sleeping bags in the finished basement.
Nick happily stayed. He admitted to himself that it was an easy decision. One of the others sleeping over was Alyson, a willowy, pale Pre-Raphaelite beauty who, like him, was an adjunct in the English Department, and upon whom he had a semester-long crush. He probably wouldn't have come tonight, or even joined the group planning to demonstrate, if she hadn't, with a lovely smile, handed him a flyer, chatted him up, and invited him to come. It was the longest exchange they'd ever had, and he tried to hide his eagerness when he agreed to join her and the others vanning from the campus.
A short time later, Nick, Alyson and several others were stretched out in the bags or on the mats in the basement. Moving the furniture provided enough space, but it was still fairly tight quarters. Someone had half-joked that it might be a good idea if, to make sleeping in such close company easier, they alternated their sleeping directions so they wouldn't face each other. They'd had a good laugh over that, but, sure enough, when they settled down to sleep, that's how they arranged themselves. One person slept with his head towards the stairs, the next with her feet towards the stairs, and so forth.
Nick told himself that he hadn't TRIED to put his sleeping bag next to Alyson's cushioned mat. Somehow, though, there they were, less than a foot apart, him sliding into his bag, she to his left kicking off her sky blue and white sneakers to settle back, covered with a thin blanket, on her mat. From each end, they exchanged polite goodnights.
On his other side, a full-figured, dark-haired pre-med sophomore named Deanna was sitting on her sleeping bag, slipping off her checkerboard Skechers from her white ankle-socked feet. She set the empty shoes between their bags and muttered, "It's a good thing I can sleep anywhere, in ANY company. Otherwise, I'd be DEAD tired tomorrow." She was certainly attractive, but her aggressive and sardonic chatter during the meeting had put him off, and the implication that she was none too happy to find herself next to him now didn't add to her charm. He was relieved when Deanna got into her bag with her head in the appositely opposite direction from his, and went right to sleep.
Their hosts turned off the lights--except for one at the top of the stairs--and climbed up to their beds. In the dimness, a little residual conversation amongst the group soon gave way to quiet and sibilant sleeping sounds.
Sighing, Nick tried to fall asleep. He was certainly sleepy enough. A bit restless, though, he turned his head to the left. Before him, he saw the rise of Alyson's feet under the blanket. All too easily, the heady sense that the magnificent Alyson was so close--within arm's length!--challenged sleep gamely. Still, he almost dozed off, when...
Under her blanket, Alyson stirred. She rolled over onto her right side. He was thinking sadly that now her back was to him. Then, before giving into deeper sleep, she extended her legs a little, so that her bare feet slipped out from under the blanket, now covering her slim form only from chin to ankles.
He became all too aware, and sleep suddenly seemed impossible. "God, she's lovely down to her toes," he thought, marveling even in the dim at the long, graceful sweep of her soles and the perfection of her cute toes. He knew that he should move onto HIS right side, so he'd be facing away from those sexy bare feet, and have a prayer of falling asleep before dawn.
But, he was entranced, and instead rolled onto his LEFT side, the better to admire her barefooted beauty in her slumber and his sleeplessness. This he did for probably just a few minutes, though it seemed a gradually pulse-quickening hour. Then, the unthinkable came to mind.
He tried to suppress it. He really did. He just wanted to quietly go to sleep, so he'd be ready to march near her at the demonstration tomorrow. He didn't want to shamble like a zombie in the videos people would be Tweeting worldwide.
Staring at the soles and toes of her lovely bare feet, though, led to a dangerous thought: "I wonder if she's...ticklish...." His breath caught.
"Geez, WHY did I have to think THAT?" he moaned to himself.
Now, he couldn't get out of his mind the notion to reach out and give her cute toes a little tickle. He squeezed his eyes shut. "C'mon, Nick! Be an adult. Don't do something that will get you arrested BEFORE the demonstration. Don't give in to a dumb temptation. (Hey, that rhymes!) Don't-even-THINK-of-tickling-her-feet!"
It was now so quiet that he thought he could hear Alyson breathing, as he stared raptly at her sleeping soles. She wore a ring on the second toe of her top, that is, left foot. In his adaptation to the dim light, and the intensity of his gaze, he beheld a few fetching wrinkles on the tops of her soles, and the artful curves of her pronounced arches. Her sole skin looked very tender, without blemish or callus. He imagined it would be very, very sensitive to the touch, HIS touch. "Damn!" he murmured. "THAT doesn't help!" He closed his eyes.
He opened them again, and sighed at her bare feet, so close. "You've barely spoken to the woman," he thought. "Tomorrow might be a way to get to know her. That's blown out of the water if you do something stupid now. One tickle now and she'll troll and Tweet your ass outta school. Go-to-sleep, Nick!" He closed his eyes and rolled onto his back.
Moments later--or was it an hour?--he opened them again. Someone beyond was softly (fortunately) snoring. To his left, Alyson's bare feet were still--and still tempting.
He took a deep breath, held it, and reached out with his left hand. He brought his fingers so close to Alyson's soles that he thought he could feel the warmth wafting off of them. He hovered his fingertips just before the balls of her feet. He wondered if one could tickle someone with REALLY sensitive feet by merely stirring the air upon them.
Like a powerful magnet, her tempting toes attracted his touch. He fluttered his fingertips just beyond her toe tips. He swallowed, thinking, "I'm at the one-yard line...the, uh, one FOOT line." He took a deep breath, and thought, crazily, "Coochie-coo, Alyson."
He allowed the tip of his forefinger to graze first her left, and then her right, big toe. "Coochie...coochie...coo," he thought, as his fingertip teased under her right second toe. Emboldened, he ever-so-lightly tickled her from pinky toe to pinky toe. Her toes flinched, and his heart stopped as he pulled back.
Long, still, silent seconds later, he, assured that she still slept, grazed his fingertips down the outer edge of her left sole from pinky toe to heel. That earned some slight toe wiggling. He then drew his fingertips along the middle of her right sole from heel to toes. She sighed and stirred, rubbing her right sole with her left toes. He was dying--and thrilled--simultaneously. Tickling her lively, sleeping feet, he was more intoxicated than at any time this night.
Long, loud heartbeats later, he went for broke. Spidering his fingertips, he delicately danced them upon the silken circle formed by her two tender arches. This time, her breath caught, she moaned ever so softly, and she moved her feet away, just far enough, beyond his reach. But, she was still apparently quite asleep.
He had yanked his hand back at her stirring. His heart was still beating fast. He figured that he'd tempted fate quite enough, thank you, sadly regarding her cute toes, now a safe distance from his risky mischief. He closed his eyes, resigned to sleep and sensible insensibility.
It was then that he heard a soft throat-clearing to his right. He kept his eyes closed. A few seconds later, he heard a faint, but distinct, "Pssst!"
He looked right and saw Deanna now apparently sleeping on her back UPON her sleeping bag. He noted that, between them, her Skechers were now filled with her socks. Beyond them, he further noted that her shapely legs in khakis were now crossed at her bare ankles. Her petite fleshy bare feet were extended off the bag, right across from his face, quite easily within his reach. This was relevant, because her feet were slowly, sensuously rubbing each other, as her bee stung toes continuously, tantalizingly wiggled.
Deanna MAY have been asleep, but her toes were certainly NOT, and they were sending an invitation even HE couldn't miss.
Less tentatively than he would have thought possible even one hour before, he reached out his right hand and ran his fingertips along her soft wrinkly left sole.
She jerked her foot away, softly giggling, "Hehhehhehheh. About TIME, tickle boy!"
She moved her bare feet even closer, wiggling toes practically seeking his hand, if not his nose. She opened her eyes and flashed him a sensual look that made plain that he shouldn't be shy tickling HER.
He'd reached a Rubicon in his expensive education: when he suddenly realized that political action and raging hormones certainly made ticklish bedfellows.
*No reasonable offer to adapt this into the pilot for a hit HBO anthology tickling series will be refused.
"Toe Tickling Temptation"
a Vellication Vignette by Tee Hee Lawrence
The planning session for the demonstration ran late, very late.
Nick glanced at his phone and whistled when he realized it was nearly 4am. Part of the reason was a lengthy back-and-forth on strategies for those willing to be arrested, and an even more lengthy, and, at times heated, discussion of how to deal with vocal and possibly violent counter-demonstrators.
Truth to tell, there had also been cups of wine passed around, and, on the deck at the back of the house, joints shared, decreasingly furtively. Over the nearly eight hours of the meeting, Nick had his fair share of both. He was admittedly a bit woozy.
When the moderator suggested that they end the meeting--for the demonstration was, after all, the next afternoon--everyone wearily agreed. Nick had come with six other students in a van from the campus thirty minutes away. He and a few others debated whether they were too sleepy and stoned to travel safely. The hosts, a faculty couple at the College, generously offered those remaining a couple of guest beds and a sofa upstairs, as well as yoga mats and sleeping bags in the finished basement.
Nick happily stayed. He admitted to himself that it was an easy decision. One of the others sleeping over was Alyson, a willowy, pale Pre-Raphaelite beauty who, like him, was an adjunct in the English Department, and upon whom he had a semester-long crush. He probably wouldn't have come tonight, or even joined the group planning to demonstrate, if she hadn't, with a lovely smile, handed him a flyer, chatted him up, and invited him to come. It was the longest exchange they'd ever had, and he tried to hide his eagerness when he agreed to join her and the others vanning from the campus.
A short time later, Nick, Alyson and several others were stretched out in the bags or on the mats in the basement. Moving the furniture provided enough space, but it was still fairly tight quarters. Someone had half-joked that it might be a good idea if, to make sleeping in such close company easier, they alternated their sleeping directions so they wouldn't face each other. They'd had a good laugh over that, but, sure enough, when they settled down to sleep, that's how they arranged themselves. One person slept with his head towards the stairs, the next with her feet towards the stairs, and so forth.
Nick told himself that he hadn't TRIED to put his sleeping bag next to Alyson's cushioned mat. Somehow, though, there they were, less than a foot apart, him sliding into his bag, she to his left kicking off her sky blue and white sneakers to settle back, covered with a thin blanket, on her mat. From each end, they exchanged polite goodnights.
On his other side, a full-figured, dark-haired pre-med sophomore named Deanna was sitting on her sleeping bag, slipping off her checkerboard Skechers from her white ankle-socked feet. She set the empty shoes between their bags and muttered, "It's a good thing I can sleep anywhere, in ANY company. Otherwise, I'd be DEAD tired tomorrow." She was certainly attractive, but her aggressive and sardonic chatter during the meeting had put him off, and the implication that she was none too happy to find herself next to him now didn't add to her charm. He was relieved when Deanna got into her bag with her head in the appositely opposite direction from his, and went right to sleep.
Their hosts turned off the lights--except for one at the top of the stairs--and climbed up to their beds. In the dimness, a little residual conversation amongst the group soon gave way to quiet and sibilant sleeping sounds.
Sighing, Nick tried to fall asleep. He was certainly sleepy enough. A bit restless, though, he turned his head to the left. Before him, he saw the rise of Alyson's feet under the blanket. All too easily, the heady sense that the magnificent Alyson was so close--within arm's length!--challenged sleep gamely. Still, he almost dozed off, when...
Under her blanket, Alyson stirred. She rolled over onto her right side. He was thinking sadly that now her back was to him. Then, before giving into deeper sleep, she extended her legs a little, so that her bare feet slipped out from under the blanket, now covering her slim form only from chin to ankles.
He became all too aware, and sleep suddenly seemed impossible. "God, she's lovely down to her toes," he thought, marveling even in the dim at the long, graceful sweep of her soles and the perfection of her cute toes. He knew that he should move onto HIS right side, so he'd be facing away from those sexy bare feet, and have a prayer of falling asleep before dawn.
But, he was entranced, and instead rolled onto his LEFT side, the better to admire her barefooted beauty in her slumber and his sleeplessness. This he did for probably just a few minutes, though it seemed a gradually pulse-quickening hour. Then, the unthinkable came to mind.
He tried to suppress it. He really did. He just wanted to quietly go to sleep, so he'd be ready to march near her at the demonstration tomorrow. He didn't want to shamble like a zombie in the videos people would be Tweeting worldwide.
Staring at the soles and toes of her lovely bare feet, though, led to a dangerous thought: "I wonder if she's...ticklish...." His breath caught.
"Geez, WHY did I have to think THAT?" he moaned to himself.
Now, he couldn't get out of his mind the notion to reach out and give her cute toes a little tickle. He squeezed his eyes shut. "C'mon, Nick! Be an adult. Don't do something that will get you arrested BEFORE the demonstration. Don't give in to a dumb temptation. (Hey, that rhymes!) Don't-even-THINK-of-tickling-her-feet!"
It was now so quiet that he thought he could hear Alyson breathing, as he stared raptly at her sleeping soles. She wore a ring on the second toe of her top, that is, left foot. In his adaptation to the dim light, and the intensity of his gaze, he beheld a few fetching wrinkles on the tops of her soles, and the artful curves of her pronounced arches. Her sole skin looked very tender, without blemish or callus. He imagined it would be very, very sensitive to the touch, HIS touch. "Damn!" he murmured. "THAT doesn't help!" He closed his eyes.
He opened them again, and sighed at her bare feet, so close. "You've barely spoken to the woman," he thought. "Tomorrow might be a way to get to know her. That's blown out of the water if you do something stupid now. One tickle now and she'll troll and Tweet your ass outta school. Go-to-sleep, Nick!" He closed his eyes and rolled onto his back.
Moments later--or was it an hour?--he opened them again. Someone beyond was softly (fortunately) snoring. To his left, Alyson's bare feet were still--and still tempting.
He took a deep breath, held it, and reached out with his left hand. He brought his fingers so close to Alyson's soles that he thought he could feel the warmth wafting off of them. He hovered his fingertips just before the balls of her feet. He wondered if one could tickle someone with REALLY sensitive feet by merely stirring the air upon them.
Like a powerful magnet, her tempting toes attracted his touch. He fluttered his fingertips just beyond her toe tips. He swallowed, thinking, "I'm at the one-yard line...the, uh, one FOOT line." He took a deep breath, and thought, crazily, "Coochie-coo, Alyson."
He allowed the tip of his forefinger to graze first her left, and then her right, big toe. "Coochie...coochie...coo," he thought, as his fingertip teased under her right second toe. Emboldened, he ever-so-lightly tickled her from pinky toe to pinky toe. Her toes flinched, and his heart stopped as he pulled back.
Long, still, silent seconds later, he, assured that she still slept, grazed his fingertips down the outer edge of her left sole from pinky toe to heel. That earned some slight toe wiggling. He then drew his fingertips along the middle of her right sole from heel to toes. She sighed and stirred, rubbing her right sole with her left toes. He was dying--and thrilled--simultaneously. Tickling her lively, sleeping feet, he was more intoxicated than at any time this night.
Long, loud heartbeats later, he went for broke. Spidering his fingertips, he delicately danced them upon the silken circle formed by her two tender arches. This time, her breath caught, she moaned ever so softly, and she moved her feet away, just far enough, beyond his reach. But, she was still apparently quite asleep.
He had yanked his hand back at her stirring. His heart was still beating fast. He figured that he'd tempted fate quite enough, thank you, sadly regarding her cute toes, now a safe distance from his risky mischief. He closed his eyes, resigned to sleep and sensible insensibility.
It was then that he heard a soft throat-clearing to his right. He kept his eyes closed. A few seconds later, he heard a faint, but distinct, "Pssst!"
He looked right and saw Deanna now apparently sleeping on her back UPON her sleeping bag. He noted that, between them, her Skechers were now filled with her socks. Beyond them, he further noted that her shapely legs in khakis were now crossed at her bare ankles. Her petite fleshy bare feet were extended off the bag, right across from his face, quite easily within his reach. This was relevant, because her feet were slowly, sensuously rubbing each other, as her bee stung toes continuously, tantalizingly wiggled.
Deanna MAY have been asleep, but her toes were certainly NOT, and they were sending an invitation even HE couldn't miss.
Less tentatively than he would have thought possible even one hour before, he reached out his right hand and ran his fingertips along her soft wrinkly left sole.
She jerked her foot away, softly giggling, "Hehhehhehheh. About TIME, tickle boy!"
She moved her bare feet even closer, wiggling toes practically seeking his hand, if not his nose. She opened her eyes and flashed him a sensual look that made plain that he shouldn't be shy tickling HER.
He'd reached a Rubicon in his expensive education: when he suddenly realized that political action and raging hormones certainly made ticklish bedfellows.
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