Boomtown13
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- Joined
- Jul 24, 2001
- Messages
- 209
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Hello everyone.
Mercury's about to go retrograde, so what better time to reflect on ticklings past? I posted a few real life tickling stories on AMT back in the old days, the gay '90's. I'm going to repost certain ones here for Tickling: The Next Generation to assimilate, and I'll write some that never got told back then. Don't worry, they're not SO old, just a few years. It's not like they're in sepia tone.
The thing about these stories is that they're all from that period where I was like the tickling bandit. Maybe I should capitalize it. Where I was like the Tickling Bandit. I'm still very much a tickler, but I no longer prowl the streets looking for an exciting, quasi-anonymous tickling encounter, as I did back then. As you'll read.
Now, I get off on NC tickle torture as much as the next guy or gal, but, let's face it, I'm a sweetie and as such I'm happiest when my ticklee is enjoying herself. The following experience occured in a waiting room with a pretty woman who I'd never met before, who I tickled incessently for five minutes, and who admittedly enjoyed it. Wanna hear?
I was alone in the waiting room, reading magazines until my friend finished up with her counselor. As I was waiting, this pretty, dark-auburn-haired woman walked into the room talking on her cellular phone. She wore a good-looking tan business suit, no stockings, and no shoes.
NO SHOES???
The magazine sagged in my hand. I felt myself grow a little warmer. When she entered the small room, I had been standing by the magazine credenza. I had watched her walk in, push the call button for her counselor, seat herself in the middle of a couch and cross her legs, dangling a bare foot as a result, all the while chatting on her phone.
Now, though, I was putting the magazine down on the credenza and crossing the room to her in the most charming way I could affect. When I stepped right in front of her, she finally looked up into my eyes. I smiled, bent down, and began grazing my fingertips along the bottom of her dangling foot.
She sucked in a breath. Her eyes widened with clarity and she gritted her teeth, offering me the widest of grimaces. I didn't stop the tickling. She sucked in more breath, but otherwise never let on to her friend on the phone what was happening. She kept responding into the phone with strained "Yes"s and "Mm-hmm"s. I continued tickling her foot -- her heel, her arch. She campaigned to her phonemate with a series of "Look, I'm gonna have to go"s but he -- I could hear his voice now -- wasn't letting her hang up. I never took my fingers off of her foot -- the sole, the ball, the toes, the sides. I tickled it in expert ways. She wiggled her foot every which way, never pulling it away from me. Instead, she smiled and grinned at me, keeping steady eye contact while continueing to try hanging up with this guy. He wasn't letting her. This went on for 2 or 3 minutes.
Then I finally took my fingers away from her dangling foot, but only in order to begin digging into the other one, which rested on the carpet. And her response -- she let me! As soon as my fingertips just touched her other foot, she lifted it up on its heel to grant me easy access to its ticklish underbelly. So, gentlemen and ladies, I tickled. She sucked in air a few more times. She winced and surged in those ways that drive ticklers like us crazy. Never laughing out loud, but demonstrating in no uncertain terms that it indeed DID
tickle! All the while keeping eye contact with me, all the while talking to this bozo on the phone, trying to lose him. The second foot got equal tickling time as the first; and she gave great reactions -- reactions indicating she was not only very ticklish, but also very pleased!
Finally, she succeeded in ending her call, but her counselor came into the room at that very instant to collect her. I jumped up, bringing the tickling euphorialand to an abrupt halt. I tried to smoothly (yeah, right!) move onto the other couch as her counselor greeted her. But the auburn-haired tickle vixen stood up, stepped over to me and stuck out her hand. We shook. She told me her name, and I told her mine. She said, "I want to thank you." I replied
with, "You're not wearing any shoes, my dear." She said, "That's because I just got this beautiful pedicure...which I'm glad you got to enjoy." A few more niceties were exchanged (but no phone numbers), and then she headed off into another room with her counselor. As they were walking away, I heard the counselor say, "What happened?" My beauty responded with "I got a great FOOT
tickle." Then they were out of earshot.
Aaahhhhh. Brings a tear to my eye whenever I tell it.
So, to address what you're all thinking, yes, I went back there looking for her, on the same day of the week at the same time, but she wasn't there. Never saw her again. I think she was a gift from God for me. I think I was good that week or something.
Don't you just love it when that stuff happens?
Tickling in Los Angeles,
Boom
Mercury's about to go retrograde, so what better time to reflect on ticklings past? I posted a few real life tickling stories on AMT back in the old days, the gay '90's. I'm going to repost certain ones here for Tickling: The Next Generation to assimilate, and I'll write some that never got told back then. Don't worry, they're not SO old, just a few years. It's not like they're in sepia tone.
The thing about these stories is that they're all from that period where I was like the tickling bandit. Maybe I should capitalize it. Where I was like the Tickling Bandit. I'm still very much a tickler, but I no longer prowl the streets looking for an exciting, quasi-anonymous tickling encounter, as I did back then. As you'll read.
Now, I get off on NC tickle torture as much as the next guy or gal, but, let's face it, I'm a sweetie and as such I'm happiest when my ticklee is enjoying herself. The following experience occured in a waiting room with a pretty woman who I'd never met before, who I tickled incessently for five minutes, and who admittedly enjoyed it. Wanna hear?
I was alone in the waiting room, reading magazines until my friend finished up with her counselor. As I was waiting, this pretty, dark-auburn-haired woman walked into the room talking on her cellular phone. She wore a good-looking tan business suit, no stockings, and no shoes.
NO SHOES???
The magazine sagged in my hand. I felt myself grow a little warmer. When she entered the small room, I had been standing by the magazine credenza. I had watched her walk in, push the call button for her counselor, seat herself in the middle of a couch and cross her legs, dangling a bare foot as a result, all the while chatting on her phone.
Now, though, I was putting the magazine down on the credenza and crossing the room to her in the most charming way I could affect. When I stepped right in front of her, she finally looked up into my eyes. I smiled, bent down, and began grazing my fingertips along the bottom of her dangling foot.
She sucked in a breath. Her eyes widened with clarity and she gritted her teeth, offering me the widest of grimaces. I didn't stop the tickling. She sucked in more breath, but otherwise never let on to her friend on the phone what was happening. She kept responding into the phone with strained "Yes"s and "Mm-hmm"s. I continued tickling her foot -- her heel, her arch. She campaigned to her phonemate with a series of "Look, I'm gonna have to go"s but he -- I could hear his voice now -- wasn't letting her hang up. I never took my fingers off of her foot -- the sole, the ball, the toes, the sides. I tickled it in expert ways. She wiggled her foot every which way, never pulling it away from me. Instead, she smiled and grinned at me, keeping steady eye contact while continueing to try hanging up with this guy. He wasn't letting her. This went on for 2 or 3 minutes.
Then I finally took my fingers away from her dangling foot, but only in order to begin digging into the other one, which rested on the carpet. And her response -- she let me! As soon as my fingertips just touched her other foot, she lifted it up on its heel to grant me easy access to its ticklish underbelly. So, gentlemen and ladies, I tickled. She sucked in air a few more times. She winced and surged in those ways that drive ticklers like us crazy. Never laughing out loud, but demonstrating in no uncertain terms that it indeed DID
tickle! All the while keeping eye contact with me, all the while talking to this bozo on the phone, trying to lose him. The second foot got equal tickling time as the first; and she gave great reactions -- reactions indicating she was not only very ticklish, but also very pleased!
Finally, she succeeded in ending her call, but her counselor came into the room at that very instant to collect her. I jumped up, bringing the tickling euphorialand to an abrupt halt. I tried to smoothly (yeah, right!) move onto the other couch as her counselor greeted her. But the auburn-haired tickle vixen stood up, stepped over to me and stuck out her hand. We shook. She told me her name, and I told her mine. She said, "I want to thank you." I replied
with, "You're not wearing any shoes, my dear." She said, "That's because I just got this beautiful pedicure...which I'm glad you got to enjoy." A few more niceties were exchanged (but no phone numbers), and then she headed off into another room with her counselor. As they were walking away, I heard the counselor say, "What happened?" My beauty responded with "I got a great FOOT
tickle." Then they were out of earshot.
Aaahhhhh. Brings a tear to my eye whenever I tell it.
So, to address what you're all thinking, yes, I went back there looking for her, on the same day of the week at the same time, but she wasn't there. Never saw her again. I think she was a gift from God for me. I think I was good that week or something.
Don't you just love it when that stuff happens?
Tickling in Los Angeles,
Boom
