In 1992 I dated a woman named Georgette, and to this day I think of her as Georgette the Tickle Queen. My five months dating Georgette defined PROLONGED frustration.
My time with Georgette helped me appreciate how all the girls I've tickled must have seen me. Georgette tickled me the most frequently anyone has in my adult life without me being in a position to retaliate.
Georgette and I met through her friend Maria, an acquaintance I knew from a dance club. Maria asked me if she could give my phone number to "a friend" who was looking for a boyfriend. That friend turned out to be Georgette.
Georgette called. During the phone conversation she mentioned tickling (talking about giving kids a "tickle-tickle" so they behave) a couple of times. That made me curious.
Nothing happened our first date, when I took Georgette to lunch. I did not try to tickle her, not even when she kissed me as I dropped her off.
Georgette's appearance sure pleased me. She was around 26 or 27, in the prime of her youth. Standing 5'4," Georgette had auburn, wavy shoulder-length hair, a fair complexion and pouty lips. Her slender figure was accented by perfect B-cup breasts and a perky behind. Despite such wonderful looks (Georgette was the most attractive woman I ever called my girlfriend), in the five months we dated Georgette never dressed in a flattering way.
On our second date, Georgette fired the first shot in what would be a one-sided tickle war. It would be a war where I lost almost every battle.
We had gone to a dance club. Georgette got me from behind, tickling my ribs as I reached to take our coats from the coat check girl. It was an intense ten-finger dig, making me bend forward and draw my arms to my sides while still trying to hold the coats. Driving her home that night, I admitted she got me good. Georgette said she had plenty of tickling practice growing up, tickling her younger brother.
Getting me from behind would turn out to be Georgette's favorite tickling method as we dated every week or so for about five months. For instance, at the grocery store Georgette did the same thing to me when I was reaching for a gallon of milk.
When Georgette was feeling frisky, she attacked me from the front, tickling my stomach until I could wrestle her down.
My attempts to tickle Georgette on her ribs and stomach got no reaction. One time she had her arms up, trying to fasten a behind-the-neck button, and I danced my fingers on her underarms. No dice. It did not tickle.
This is hard to explain, but Georgette savored control. I guess that's one reason she liked tickling, which can be a power play. She was a graduate student and always put me second to her studies, the reason we only dated once in a while. Georgette was good at deflecting questions and situations that made her uncomfortable, so any tickle talk or tickle play were always on her terms. I never got to pin down Georgette on her tickling passion, much less flat out ask her, "Look, where are you ticklish?" Georgette was the opposite of several girlfriends I tickled like mad. I had been the dominant one in those relationships. Now, Georgette, as if she was getting even with me for the sake of my ex-girlfriends, turned the tickling table 180 degrees.
But, as even my old girlfriends at least tickled me once in a while, I got in a couple tickles at Georgette's expense. One time I had Georgette flat on her stomach on my bed. I straddled her, held her arms behind her back with one hand and reached back to tickle her stocking feet with my other hand. Georgette said it tickled, saying she almost cried from it and that she'd "never been tied and tickled." But her reaction didn't seem ticklish. Georgette didn't laugh, scream, struggle or beg, nor did she move her feet. So I'm not sure she wasn't pretending so I could feel like I got her back.
However, another time we were wrestling on my sofa. Georgette was seated, with her feet up. I stood, lifted her by the ankles and tickled her on the thighs. That panicked, ticklish look rushed across her face and this time she begged me to stop! "I'm not used to that," she said. THAT time, I got her.
Thinking back to that thigh tickling, Georgette's words, "I'm not used to that," were the words of a dominant type who for once did not get her way. She had the look of an athlete whose team had just lost to the underdog.
Being tickled by someone you can't tickle is FRUSTRATION. But being a dominant tickler who has a girl turn the tables on him for five months is PROLONGED FRUSTRATION. To this day, when I think about Georgette the Tickle Queen, I feel jazzed up.
With 20/20 hindsight, I realize I was just a convenience to Georgette and made myself too available to her, putting up with seeing her at most once a week. But even then I knew her comely appearance was the reason I held on despite being unimportant to her.
About ten years later I located Georgette, who was living in Wisconsin (I live in New Jersey). I sent her an e-mail but she never responded. Some things never change.
My time with Georgette helped me appreciate how all the girls I've tickled must have seen me. Georgette tickled me the most frequently anyone has in my adult life without me being in a position to retaliate.
Georgette and I met through her friend Maria, an acquaintance I knew from a dance club. Maria asked me if she could give my phone number to "a friend" who was looking for a boyfriend. That friend turned out to be Georgette.
Georgette called. During the phone conversation she mentioned tickling (talking about giving kids a "tickle-tickle" so they behave) a couple of times. That made me curious.
Nothing happened our first date, when I took Georgette to lunch. I did not try to tickle her, not even when she kissed me as I dropped her off.
Georgette's appearance sure pleased me. She was around 26 or 27, in the prime of her youth. Standing 5'4," Georgette had auburn, wavy shoulder-length hair, a fair complexion and pouty lips. Her slender figure was accented by perfect B-cup breasts and a perky behind. Despite such wonderful looks (Georgette was the most attractive woman I ever called my girlfriend), in the five months we dated Georgette never dressed in a flattering way.
On our second date, Georgette fired the first shot in what would be a one-sided tickle war. It would be a war where I lost almost every battle.
We had gone to a dance club. Georgette got me from behind, tickling my ribs as I reached to take our coats from the coat check girl. It was an intense ten-finger dig, making me bend forward and draw my arms to my sides while still trying to hold the coats. Driving her home that night, I admitted she got me good. Georgette said she had plenty of tickling practice growing up, tickling her younger brother.
Getting me from behind would turn out to be Georgette's favorite tickling method as we dated every week or so for about five months. For instance, at the grocery store Georgette did the same thing to me when I was reaching for a gallon of milk.
When Georgette was feeling frisky, she attacked me from the front, tickling my stomach until I could wrestle her down.
My attempts to tickle Georgette on her ribs and stomach got no reaction. One time she had her arms up, trying to fasten a behind-the-neck button, and I danced my fingers on her underarms. No dice. It did not tickle.
This is hard to explain, but Georgette savored control. I guess that's one reason she liked tickling, which can be a power play. She was a graduate student and always put me second to her studies, the reason we only dated once in a while. Georgette was good at deflecting questions and situations that made her uncomfortable, so any tickle talk or tickle play were always on her terms. I never got to pin down Georgette on her tickling passion, much less flat out ask her, "Look, where are you ticklish?" Georgette was the opposite of several girlfriends I tickled like mad. I had been the dominant one in those relationships. Now, Georgette, as if she was getting even with me for the sake of my ex-girlfriends, turned the tickling table 180 degrees.
But, as even my old girlfriends at least tickled me once in a while, I got in a couple tickles at Georgette's expense. One time I had Georgette flat on her stomach on my bed. I straddled her, held her arms behind her back with one hand and reached back to tickle her stocking feet with my other hand. Georgette said it tickled, saying she almost cried from it and that she'd "never been tied and tickled." But her reaction didn't seem ticklish. Georgette didn't laugh, scream, struggle or beg, nor did she move her feet. So I'm not sure she wasn't pretending so I could feel like I got her back.
However, another time we were wrestling on my sofa. Georgette was seated, with her feet up. I stood, lifted her by the ankles and tickled her on the thighs. That panicked, ticklish look rushed across her face and this time she begged me to stop! "I'm not used to that," she said. THAT time, I got her.
Thinking back to that thigh tickling, Georgette's words, "I'm not used to that," were the words of a dominant type who for once did not get her way. She had the look of an athlete whose team had just lost to the underdog.
Being tickled by someone you can't tickle is FRUSTRATION. But being a dominant tickler who has a girl turn the tables on him for five months is PROLONGED FRUSTRATION. To this day, when I think about Georgette the Tickle Queen, I feel jazzed up.
With 20/20 hindsight, I realize I was just a convenience to Georgette and made myself too available to her, putting up with seeing her at most once a week. But even then I knew her comely appearance was the reason I held on despite being unimportant to her.
About ten years later I located Georgette, who was living in Wisconsin (I live in New Jersey). I sent her an e-mail but she never responded. Some things never change.
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