OldEnglish
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Apr 21, 2001
- Messages
- 235
- Points
- 18
So just a little backstory to this... I am very much in the closet about this "interest" of mine in "real life". No one knows anything about this. I've recently found what I guess we would call a pen pal so to speak. We have discussed this interest, as well as my fascination with nylons and possibly experimenting wearing them at some point. I'd classify our talks more as "psychiatrist talks" than anything else; we've sorted through the origins of them and the manifestations without it being sexual in nature, really. Anyways, at one point, the topic of ideal situations came about. In other words, what would a perfect situation be if I could plan it out in any way? Well, this is the first of what I came up with... It's copied directly from the email, but I thought this (and the subsequent ones) might be of interest to the forum.
It's short, as this was the first one I shared with my pen pal so I didn't know how it would go over, and they do get longer as I go on. I'd be curious to see the forum's thoughts.
---
In this ideal situation, I'm hanging out inside the house. I have on a pair of pantyhose with jeans on over them. In this situation, I'm doing something that otherwise has my mind occupied. Maybe I'm laying on the couch reading a book or a magazine. Maybe I'm going through the mail and the bills. Maybe I'm on the floor playing a video game. Either way, two things are the same: 1) my mind is completely occupied by whatever I am doing and 2) the bottom of my feet are completely exposed. So, like, if I'm sitting on the couch, maybe my legs are stretched out. If I'm looking through the mail, maybe I'm doing it at the kitchen table and I have one of my legs resting on a chair at my knee, so the bottom of my leg and my foot are sticking out knee-level behind me. If I'm on the ground playing video games, maybe I am sitting on my knees with my legs underneath me and my feet sticking out from the back. Either way, like I said, I am totally oblivious to what's around me and my feet are just..there. Totally wide-open. Totally exposed. Totally vulnerable.
And this is something that you spot right away as you enter the room. At this point, you have no idea of whether I'm ticklish or not or if I am, how ticklish I am, but for whatever reason, the sight of my foot there immediately makes your mind wonder. Maybe you see my foot sitting there and you think, "How could it not be ticklish?" Maybe you see my foot sitting there and you think of how ticklish you yourself are and recognize how vulnerable I am at the moment.. Maybe you see my foot sitting there and you notice I have pantyhose on, so you think that any sort of tickle will be magnified. Whatever it is, you've made up in your mind that your sole mission in life for this next five seconds is to sneak up on me and find out if I am ticklish.
You sneak up to me, trying to remain inconspicuous and not give away what evil deed you have in mind. You creep down a little bit to get closer to my foot and a sly little smile creeps across your face in anticipation of what is about to happen. For a brief moment, you almost feel bad for me, as you realize that in roughly five seconds the entire dynamic of our friendship could change. You are hoping that you are about to gain valuable information about me that you could use to your advantage whenever you would like, and I am oblivious to how vulnerable I am to that. You extend the index finger of one hand, exposing the fingernail that in two seconds will become a weapon of mass destruction. You reach your finger closer to my foot, deciding on which area to target for your test. At the last second, you decide that the center of the arch will be the target and you place the bulls-eye on it. The tip of your finger nail hits its mark and there is contact. You intended to slowly drag your fingernail down my foot, past my arch, over the ball of my foot, and end at the toes. Your efforts were thwarted, however, by the fact that pretty much at first contact of the arch, I had jumped about a foot in the air, recoiled my foot away, given a shout of surprise, and tucked my foot away in a defensive position from any further attacks.
Stunned, I turn around and see you BEAMING with a huge smile as a result of this newly found knowledge of yours. You take a step back, caught a bit off guard at how quickly I jumped not expecting me to be as ticklish as I apparently am. A huge smile is spread across your face; you love this new found information. You notice on me a look of both surprise and dread. "Oh. My. God. You're ticklish?" you exclaim, laughing a bit at the idea. "No, I'm not," I say, clearly lying through my teeth as I further pull my feet closer to my body in a futile attempt to gain some protection. "Bullshit," you state, calling my bluff. "You just startled me," I respond, wondering if you'll buy it as a reason while I scan the room desperately searching for a pair of shoes. "Ohhhh OK," you say, playing along, inching a little closer and drawing your fingernails up in a menacing manner. "Well, if it was only because you were startled, you won't mind if I.." but you can't finish your sentence. Recognizing where this line of questioning is going, I interrupt with a worried "NO!", revealing more than I intended as I cup my hands over the bottom of my feet in a defensive stance. You laugh out loud, loving every minute of this; it's not often you have much at such a disadvantage and it is clear that you have discovered some very powerful information this afternoon. "Oh but if you're not ticklish, it won't matter right?" you ask, still laughing while you move closer. I jump back from you some more, re positioning myself so I am now sitting on my feet. I realize defeat. "OK fine. I'm a little ticklish," I say, conceding the obvious. "Hun, that was way more than just a little ticklish," you retort. "You practically jumped through the roof and I barely touched your foot." Still trying to maintain the lie, I rebut: "No, it wasn't that bad," though presently, I have tucked my feet behind my legs to try to keep them out of your reach, but doing so has placed them square in contact with the frilly edges of our blanket on the couch. Those frills are now resting on the bottom of my feet, sending new ticklish sensations to my brain, and I hope you don't realize it. You don't realize what is going on, but you can tell something is bothering me and that I am weakening. "Oh well if it wasn't that bad then you won't mind if I do it again," you say, jumping forward grabbing onto my leg, pulling my ankle and my foot out its protective cover. You timed your attack perfectly as my defenses were weakened as the frills had just made contact my arch, pulling my focus away from you for that brief moment, allowing you to strike. You now have my ankle in a headlock. "No please don't!" I beg, realizing how vulnerable I am at the moment. "Why shouldn't I?" you ask, an air of authority in your voice as you realize you have all of the power at the moment. "Because," I begin, not wanting to finish the sentence but knowing you want to hear it. "Because my feet are ticklish. I have ticklish feet," I say, hoping that my statement of the obvious elicits some sympathy. "Oh do you now?" you ask, playing dumb. "How ticklish are they?" you ask slowly, smiling an evil smile at me. I hesitate at first, not wanting to actually say the words, and you recognize this and bring four fingers up to my foot as a threat. Seeing that, I begin opening up. "So ticklish!" I blurt out. "They'e really ticklish, ok? I have extremely ticklish feet." The words hang in the air. The secret is out. There is no going back now. The dynamic of our friendship has no forever changed. You now posses in your arsenal a means to get me to agree to watch Grey's Anatomy with you. A way to get me to go to the restaurant you want to go to instead of the one I want to. The way to get me to give up the remote control. You laugh and say, "You poor baby" while tracing a circle in my arch with the tip of your fingernail. I fall back laughing before you let go of my ankle, pleased with your work. You slowly walk up to me and then whisper in my ear: "Now I know your weakness" and walk away...
It's short, as this was the first one I shared with my pen pal so I didn't know how it would go over, and they do get longer as I go on. I'd be curious to see the forum's thoughts.
---
In this ideal situation, I'm hanging out inside the house. I have on a pair of pantyhose with jeans on over them. In this situation, I'm doing something that otherwise has my mind occupied. Maybe I'm laying on the couch reading a book or a magazine. Maybe I'm going through the mail and the bills. Maybe I'm on the floor playing a video game. Either way, two things are the same: 1) my mind is completely occupied by whatever I am doing and 2) the bottom of my feet are completely exposed. So, like, if I'm sitting on the couch, maybe my legs are stretched out. If I'm looking through the mail, maybe I'm doing it at the kitchen table and I have one of my legs resting on a chair at my knee, so the bottom of my leg and my foot are sticking out knee-level behind me. If I'm on the ground playing video games, maybe I am sitting on my knees with my legs underneath me and my feet sticking out from the back. Either way, like I said, I am totally oblivious to what's around me and my feet are just..there. Totally wide-open. Totally exposed. Totally vulnerable.
And this is something that you spot right away as you enter the room. At this point, you have no idea of whether I'm ticklish or not or if I am, how ticklish I am, but for whatever reason, the sight of my foot there immediately makes your mind wonder. Maybe you see my foot sitting there and you think, "How could it not be ticklish?" Maybe you see my foot sitting there and you think of how ticklish you yourself are and recognize how vulnerable I am at the moment.. Maybe you see my foot sitting there and you notice I have pantyhose on, so you think that any sort of tickle will be magnified. Whatever it is, you've made up in your mind that your sole mission in life for this next five seconds is to sneak up on me and find out if I am ticklish.
You sneak up to me, trying to remain inconspicuous and not give away what evil deed you have in mind. You creep down a little bit to get closer to my foot and a sly little smile creeps across your face in anticipation of what is about to happen. For a brief moment, you almost feel bad for me, as you realize that in roughly five seconds the entire dynamic of our friendship could change. You are hoping that you are about to gain valuable information about me that you could use to your advantage whenever you would like, and I am oblivious to how vulnerable I am to that. You extend the index finger of one hand, exposing the fingernail that in two seconds will become a weapon of mass destruction. You reach your finger closer to my foot, deciding on which area to target for your test. At the last second, you decide that the center of the arch will be the target and you place the bulls-eye on it. The tip of your finger nail hits its mark and there is contact. You intended to slowly drag your fingernail down my foot, past my arch, over the ball of my foot, and end at the toes. Your efforts were thwarted, however, by the fact that pretty much at first contact of the arch, I had jumped about a foot in the air, recoiled my foot away, given a shout of surprise, and tucked my foot away in a defensive position from any further attacks.
Stunned, I turn around and see you BEAMING with a huge smile as a result of this newly found knowledge of yours. You take a step back, caught a bit off guard at how quickly I jumped not expecting me to be as ticklish as I apparently am. A huge smile is spread across your face; you love this new found information. You notice on me a look of both surprise and dread. "Oh. My. God. You're ticklish?" you exclaim, laughing a bit at the idea. "No, I'm not," I say, clearly lying through my teeth as I further pull my feet closer to my body in a futile attempt to gain some protection. "Bullshit," you state, calling my bluff. "You just startled me," I respond, wondering if you'll buy it as a reason while I scan the room desperately searching for a pair of shoes. "Ohhhh OK," you say, playing along, inching a little closer and drawing your fingernails up in a menacing manner. "Well, if it was only because you were startled, you won't mind if I.." but you can't finish your sentence. Recognizing where this line of questioning is going, I interrupt with a worried "NO!", revealing more than I intended as I cup my hands over the bottom of my feet in a defensive stance. You laugh out loud, loving every minute of this; it's not often you have much at such a disadvantage and it is clear that you have discovered some very powerful information this afternoon. "Oh but if you're not ticklish, it won't matter right?" you ask, still laughing while you move closer. I jump back from you some more, re positioning myself so I am now sitting on my feet. I realize defeat. "OK fine. I'm a little ticklish," I say, conceding the obvious. "Hun, that was way more than just a little ticklish," you retort. "You practically jumped through the roof and I barely touched your foot." Still trying to maintain the lie, I rebut: "No, it wasn't that bad," though presently, I have tucked my feet behind my legs to try to keep them out of your reach, but doing so has placed them square in contact with the frilly edges of our blanket on the couch. Those frills are now resting on the bottom of my feet, sending new ticklish sensations to my brain, and I hope you don't realize it. You don't realize what is going on, but you can tell something is bothering me and that I am weakening. "Oh well if it wasn't that bad then you won't mind if I do it again," you say, jumping forward grabbing onto my leg, pulling my ankle and my foot out its protective cover. You timed your attack perfectly as my defenses were weakened as the frills had just made contact my arch, pulling my focus away from you for that brief moment, allowing you to strike. You now have my ankle in a headlock. "No please don't!" I beg, realizing how vulnerable I am at the moment. "Why shouldn't I?" you ask, an air of authority in your voice as you realize you have all of the power at the moment. "Because," I begin, not wanting to finish the sentence but knowing you want to hear it. "Because my feet are ticklish. I have ticklish feet," I say, hoping that my statement of the obvious elicits some sympathy. "Oh do you now?" you ask, playing dumb. "How ticklish are they?" you ask slowly, smiling an evil smile at me. I hesitate at first, not wanting to actually say the words, and you recognize this and bring four fingers up to my foot as a threat. Seeing that, I begin opening up. "So ticklish!" I blurt out. "They'e really ticklish, ok? I have extremely ticklish feet." The words hang in the air. The secret is out. There is no going back now. The dynamic of our friendship has no forever changed. You now posses in your arsenal a means to get me to agree to watch Grey's Anatomy with you. A way to get me to go to the restaurant you want to go to instead of the one I want to. The way to get me to give up the remote control. You laugh and say, "You poor baby" while tracing a circle in my arch with the tip of your fingernail. I fall back laughing before you let go of my ankle, pleased with your work. You slowly walk up to me and then whisper in my ear: "Now I know your weakness" and walk away...
