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REPOST - True Tales No. 1

glentickle

TMF Regular
Joined
Apr 22, 2001
Messages
173
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Good morning, folks. I'm a bit of a newcomer to this place, having registered only a week or so ago. But I've been visiting for a couple of months, thinking of posting a story...but which one? I've got so many. True ones, I mean. True tickling stories, my favorite kind.

Don't get me wrong -- I'm no stud, no "tickling ladies man." I was a real nerd as a kid, and I would have been a total outcast if I hadn't been good at sports. It's kind of a simple formula for boys: if you can catch, throw, and run fast, you'll always have other boys to play with. Of course, I always preferred to play with girls. Who ever thought of tickling a boy? So I tagged along after my older sister, who hated me for it, especially because her friends thought I was so cute. I'd tickle them at every opportunity, unable to control myself, especially when their shoes were off...bare feet drove me nuts. There was one girl, Jessica, who would intentionally lie on her stomach, with her knees bent and feet in the air, pretending not to see me sneaking up on her. She'd pull her feet away at first touch, so I never got to tickle her very long, but it was the anticipation of tickling (more than the tickling itself) that made my head spin. My sister would get furious! I used to tickle her too, of course. Years later she was my first real Tickle Victim, but that's another story.

The joy of being a little brother! I know there are plenty of you out there who know what I'm talking about -- boys who were younger brothers, and girls who thought their friends' younger brothers were cute. It was a salvation. And it got me used to being around girls, being friends with them. So by the time I was a teenager, I had only a couple of guy-friends, but plenty of girl-friends.

Again, don't get me wrong -- I was no stud. Plenty of girl-friends, never a girlfriend. I was still a nerd inside, and this was complicated by my insane love of tickling (to the near exclusion of all other sexual acts), and so there were some parts of my development that ended up stunted. But not all of them, not completely...

Debbie (name changed to protect the guilty) was one of my best friends back when I was a teenager. We'd known each other since childhood; her big sister and my big sister were friends. I was one year older. One time, in the fifth grade, I got into more trouble, more trouble than usual, that is, and my teacher made me spend an entire month in the fourth grade; I was in Debbie's class. (Sometimes they'd made you spend an hour in another class, or longer if you did something really bad...usually in your own grade, though. So you can just imagine...if they put me in a lower grade, for a whole month.) We became friends when we were thirteen, when we were part of the same large crowd. That crowd had broken up by the time I was sixteen, but Debbie and I remained friends. We used to spend hours and hours talking about life, getting stoned, growing closer.

She was cute. Shoulder-length brown hair, large brown eyes. Her most striking physical characteristic, though, was her skin. Pale white -- um, excuse me, "alabaster," -- and extremely soft. Baby-bottom soft. Debbie was a late bloomer; her older sister was one of the neighborhood sluts (to put it bluntly) and this reputation made Debbie cautious. But around age fifteen she went through some kind of change. Started dressing differently. Carrying herself differently. Suddenly guys began noticing her, and she became quite popular. She got a boyfriend, whom I never met because he lived in another neighborhood. But that didn't keep us from getting stoned together often, and trading massages.

Ah, the massage! That unmistakable Prelude To A Tickle. "Oh, Glen, would you give me a massage?" "Oh, all right, but you have to lie down on your stomach; I can't give massages sitting up." And suddenly there's a girl stretched out under you, and you're straddling her from above, and if you wanted to just start brushing and wiggling your fingers up and down her sides, there would be no way for her to stop you. A girl lets you give her a massage like that, and you can hold her in place with your legs (I had strong legs), and tickle, without stopping, for as long as you like. For as long as you dare. There's nothing she can do but laugh, beg, plead, scream, laugh some more, and hope you'll stop sometime soon. But you can't really cut loose like that, you can't dare, because then she'll KNOW. Then your miserable little secret is out. So instead you massage her shoulders, then work your way down her back, and "accidentally" go too far around the sides, making her jump. "Oops, sorry, didn't mean to tickle you." You know the routine. Many of you do.

Debbie knew the routine too. Tickle-massages became a regular part of our friendship. It got to the point where we knew, every time we hung out, that eventually I'd tell her to lie down on her stomach, that I'd give her a massage...she never said no, though she knew I'd tickle her, and I stopped disguising it. Sometimes I wouldn't even massage at all. She'd lie down, I'd hop on top of her, and just start lightly brushing her sides. She was so ticklish, too! All it took was the slightest contact and she'd start laughing, and it was such a delightful laugh. Soft giggles, with sighs mixed in every time I let her catch her breath. Three or four seconds of tickling, making her let out that beautiful laugh, then a few seconds for her to breathe...she'd inhale, and sigh when she let it out.

We never discussed it. Once, and only once, she tried to. She mentioned something about being so glad she's ticklish. This made me so uncomfortable, and she must have noticed, because she never mentioned it again. But I know I stopped tickling her so freely after that.

That didn't stop me from fantasizing, though. I'd tickled plenty of girls, with massages or other ruses, and there were a bunch of times I'd just grabbed some girl, wrestled her to the ground, and tickled until she could break free. My best friend was a guy named Jimmy, and he must have had a tickling fetish too, because there were a few times we teamed up on some poor girl, one of us holding her down while the other one tickled her silly. But these never lasted for too long. Sometimes less than a minute, sometimes five minutes, but always with other people around, friends to come to her aid, always, somehow, less than a perfect setting. What I wanted was to tickle a girl, all out, with no one else around, no one to witness my depravity...and there was one obvious candidate.

It was the first Planned Tickle I'd ever carried out. A fully Pre-Meditated Tickle. The chance came when Debbie was about to leave for her first semester at college. We hadn't seen each other much for a few months -- our friendship was like that; we'd go months at a time without seeing each other, then hang out every day for a week. She called me the day before she was to leave, all filled with anxiety over this big change in her life. She was packing her suitcases, and no one was home. She wanted me to come over to "keep her company" while packing. I swear I nearly hyperventilated as I walked over; I knew exactly what I was going to do, and her parents weren't going to be home for hours and hours...

She was really in an agitated state when I arrived. Her entire wardrobe was spread out around her room (she had a LOT of clothes) and three or four suitcases were open on her bed. She was almost in tears, unable to figure out what to bring, afraid that everyone at college would hate her...she might make friends, she thought, if only she brought the right clothes...and she was usually so level-headed! I felt sorry for her. We talked for a while, and she started to calm down, but then freaked out again when she returned to packing. I laughed and asked if she wanted a massage; she said she guessed she could use one.

"All right. Let's get these suitcases off your bed," I said. We took them off. "Now lie down on your stomach." She did. I climbed on top of her, feeling like I was moving in a dream. I remember the sensation to this day: disbelief that it was all happening so perfectly.
"You're so tense!" I said, beginning to massage her shoulders.
"I know, I know, my neck is killing me." So I massaged her neck. I massaged her shoulders, and her back, waiting, waiting...letting her get more and more relaxed.
"It's like you've got rocks in your shoulders."
"Yes, but that feels so good..."
"Listen, Debbie, this isn't like you. You know you're gonna get to school, and once you're there everything will be fine. Right now you're just afraid of the unknown."
"I know, that's what I keep telling myself, but even though I know it, I'm probably not going to feel any better until I get there."
"No, that's not true. I know what would make you feel better." (Holding my breath.)
"What's that?" (Clueless.)
"Well, I don't think you really need a massage." (Slowly, carefully. My mouth had gone dry and I was having trouble speaking.)
"What do I need?" (So innocent, so unaware...or maybe she wasn't?)
"You need...a good...tickling!" And for a moment I sat perfectly still, with my hands in the air, just above her sides, by her lower back. I was dizzy, literally, so I am not sure of what happened next; I think she actually raised her arms a little higher over her head; who can be sure? I let my fingers drop softly on her sides, and she twitched. She had on a soft black cotton tee shirt, and I slipped my fingers under the bottom, feeling her soft skin. That's all it took. She buried her face in the pillow, laughing, not fighting to break free. I tickled with both hands at once, symmetrically tracing little circles around her hips, moving up her sides, over her ribs. She raised her head, laughed out loud, then buried her face in the pillow again. Kicked her feet, one then the other. I tickled back down her sides, around her hips, then up to her ribs again, under her shirt...over her bra, nearly into her armpits...she cried out, raising her head again, laughing from her belly and making a high-pitched sound as she breathed in, gasping, laughing, gasping, kicking, but not fighting to break free. She didn't even lower her arms, didn't try to swat my hands away. Only when I brought my hands all the way into her armpits did she bring her arms down, but of course she only trapped my fingers in there, and I just wiggled them, pressing down, feeling the sides of her breasts with my fingertips. I was on my knees now, sitting further up, holding her in place by squeezing my thighs around her rib cage. She wore soft black sweatpants; I had no shoes on. My knees were up near her armpits now, and I squeezed my toes in underneath her, just below her hips, near her crotch, at the top of her thighs; it turned out she was even more ticklish there than on her upper body, if that were possible. She began to buck, and scream, unable to stand being tickled by my toes so far below her hips. But there was nothing she could do. My hands, still tickling in her armpits, held her in place; my thighs were around her back, and I was leaning forward, pressing down on her. I knew she'd feel my erection on her back, but I didn't care. My head was right behind hers; I wanted to kiss her ears, but for some reason I didn't. She was trying to say my name, trying to tell me to stop, but she couldn't get the words out. I'd never made her laugh out loud like that before. "Ahhh!....Ahhhh!....Gl....Gleh....Glehhhhhaaaaahhhhhhh!!!!!!!! Sss...ssss.....sssst......sssstoooooooohhhhhaaaaaahhhahhhhhh.....ayyyyyyaaaaaaaiii!!!! Finishing in a high-pitched scream. "Hold on, hold on," I said softly. "It's almost over."

And then it was. I stopped, but didn't get up, and I thought about starting again...but I didn't have the heart. I stayed straddling her, and she rolled over onto her back, just lying there. I looked down at her, suddenly having to face her. I tried to cover up.
"There. Now don't you feel better?"

She said nothing, no sound except her heavy breathing, still catching her breath minutes later. Finally I got up, awkward, but too exhilarated to be scared. Fuck it. I had done it. No turning back now. She'd leave for college the next day, and it would be months before we'd see each other again. Maybe we'd lose touch completely, and never see each other again.
And then finally she spoke again. "Thank you," she said.
 
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