OldEnglish
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Apr 21, 2001
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I’ve sat back and enjoyed many stories on this forum, so I thought I would take the time to post a short, little fantasy of mine. It really isn’t about anyone in particular; I can’t even claim to be the narrator. It never happened, nor has something like this ever come close to happening in my life. What it is, though, is something that I had been thinking of in my head for quite some time, and now that I have some free time, have finally sat down to create. The story certainly won’t win any awards, but I hope you enjoy it.
The Tickle Challenge
Copyright 2/2007
Old English
I remember it as if it were yesterday. I had been admiring Kelly for quite a long time, but due to reasons beyond my control, nothing could ever come from it. We were trapped in one of those situations where you have been friends for too long to move onto the next stage. There was also the issue of her boyfriend to consider, a consideration that I certainly did not want to enter into the middle of. That situation had created a great sense of awkwardness in my mind; touching of any kind, even an innocent hug, seemed out of the question in my mind. Admittedly, I was probably looking too much into the situation, but I could not help it. Fantasies aside, I did not want to wreck the friendship. The situation became all the more unbearable for me one winter season when Kelly took to wearing nylons and jeans quite often. Being a big fan of that combination, my eyes would always be drawn to her perfect feet every time she took her shoes off that winter. More often than not, I would be blessed with the sight of a faultless pair of feet encased in a pair of suntan hose. Michelangelo could not paint something as exquisite as the sight that I was both blessed and cursed with seeing almost every day.
As I said, I was quite uncomfortable establishing any kind of touch with Kelly, and because of that, I had not found out the answer to the question that I had long been wondering: whether or not Kelly was ticklish. More specifically, I was dying to get my hands on those feet, but just could not muster up the courage. I knew the winter was slowly coming to an end, and though I yearned for the days of the spring, I realized that springtime temperatures would probably mean Kelly would put away the nylons. I knew I had to act fast.
Fate seemed to hear my inner monologue and stepped in to help, for one day I found myself alone with Kelly. It was part of a skiing trip with some friends, and we had just returned back from dinner. Kelly’s boyfriend was not able to make the trip, but a few of our friends were with us.
We all walked into the place we had rented after we returned from dinner. As we walked into the living room, we all plopped down in a state of exhaustion. A long day skiing coupled with getting up early had worn us out. I sat back in my chair and pretended not to notice as Kelly pulled her UGG boots off, revealing a pair of white socks. Old friend Fate stepped in again, though, as Kelly slowly pulled off those socks to reveal that she had been wearing a pair of suntan nylons under the socks. I honestly can not explain why, but I was not complaining. At the very least, I would have something to look at tonight.
After just sitting and shooting the breeze for a while, some of the group wanted to go to the video store we had passed on the way to the condo to see if we could rent a movie or video game for the night. To be honest, I was feeling too relaxed to go out, and any desire to go to the video store was completely erased when Kelly said that she would hang at the condo. As the door shut behind the last person leaving for the video store, just Kelly and I were left.
Kelly spread out across the couch while I remained in my chair. We made small talk, nothing major. I couldn’t even tell you what we discussed, as my mind was focused on her feet and the inner dialogue that had begun in my mind. It was sifting through all of the facts, quickly trying to decide whether I should become a man and reach over to tickle her foot. Finally, I couldn’t it any longer, and I went up to get a drink of water, offering her some as I walked away.
As I was pouring the water, it all came to me. I devised what I thought to be a perfect plan on how to tickle her feet. All that was left was mustering up the courage to do so.
I walked back to the living room area to find Kelly still sitting as she was before. She was sprawled out on her stomach across the entire length of the couch. A white long sleeve shirt was under her black sweater, which came down to her blue jeans. Those blue jeans, of course, gave way to her nyloned feet at the end of the couch. Putting my glass down, I figured it was now or never, and I made my move…
I sat down on the back off Kelly’s legs, commenting on how lumpy the couch seemed. She gave a playful laugh and called me a jerk, but I remained on her legs as we watched television. I knew she couldn’t see me because she was staring at the television straight ahead, so I took a quick sneak at her feet, which at this point were just inches from my hands.
“Oh look what I found,” I mentioned, and swiped one finger down Kelly’s foot. It all happened so fast. I still can’t believe I finally did it. Time to wait for the reaction…
Her foot twitched, but she couldn’t pull it back because I was sitting on her legs. “No tickling allowed,” she asserted, putting on her best mean face. She had taken it as a joke, eliminating a great sense of uncertainty that had been plaguing my mind.
Gathering up courage I did not know I had, I replied, “I didn’t read anything about that on our rental agreement,” and ran one more finger down her sole.
Her foot twitched again, and I felt her try to pull her feet to safety under the weight of my body, but she was trapped. I thought I heard a giggle escape her lips, and she turned as best she could to face me. “Cut that out down there, you,” she admonished, still seemingly taking it all as the joke I hoped she would.
I was determined to see this through, so I probed some more. “What’s the matter,” I asked. “All I’m doing is this…” and ran one more finger down her foot.
I was rewarded for my efforts as I saw her jump a bit. She slapped my wrist lightheartedly and stated the obvious answer that I had been hoping to hear: “It tickles when you do that.”
It was as if the water I had sipped a few moments ago had acted as a shot of alcohol and limited my inner uncertainties, as I found myself continuing with this whereas the person who sat in his chair ten minutes ago would have been too nervous to continue. I played dumb, and asked, “It tickles when I do this?” and swiped one more finger down her foot. “I’m not sure I see how I am causing you to laugh.”
I was surprised she was playing along with it as much as she saw, and after giggling a little, she responded with more confessions that I had wanted to hear all winter: “You’re tickling my feet and I have nylons on,” she said matter-of-factly. “Do the math, Sherlock.”
“So,” I pressed, “Would I be right in thinking that I am in control right now?” I asked, taking a daring leap that I had not planned on taking. To emphasize my point, I rested one finger on her heel, not tickling it, but letting her know that it would soon be coming.
Knowing how competitive Kelly was, I can’t say that I was shocked by her response, looking back at it in hindsight. I can say, though, that I wasn’t expecting it when she said it. “Well,” she began, “I am probably going to go insane if you keep tickling me, but I can take anything that you can offer. I’m the one in control.”
“Sounds like a challenge to me,” said someone whose voice sounded much like my own, though I would swear my body had been taken over by someone else at this point.
“Oh, bring it on,” challenged Kelly. “It’s on!”
With that, it was indeed on. I took the five fingers that had been resting on her heel and began flickering each of them all across the bottom of her foot. As if being electrocuted, her body jumped with a jolt as soon as the sensation of the fingers registered. Her once confident façade was replaced with a portrait of someone who was entrapped in hysterical laughter. She was no longer turned to face me. Instead, she had fallen back on her stomach. Her face was buried into one of the pillows as she tried to hide the hysterical laughing that was escaping from her lips. Beneath myself, I felt her trying with all of her might to pull her feet from their predicament, all to no avail. Her feet were trapped, and I was using that to my definite advantage. I was using my fingers in a wave-like manner, undulating them all across the soles of her feet, from top to bottom.
It seemed like forever, though it was probably only about ten seconds, when she pushed herself up with her hands, somehow forming the words “OK stop!” between rounds of laughing. I relented as soon as I heard her ask, as I was still wary of overstepping my boundaries.
I let her catch her breath for a moment before asking, “I’m sorry, but did that just prove that I won the challenge?”
“First of all,” she stated, with an air of confidence that suggested she did not realize how vulnerable she really was at the moment, “that was totally not fair. I can’t move at all. How am I expected to defend myself?”
“Well, if I give you an inch, you’ll take a mile,” I retorted back with an authority that I did not have, still while sitting on the back of her legs.
“I wouldn’t do that,” she lied, and with a quick swipe of my fingers on her feet, she reneged her claim, pleading, “OK, OK, I admit that I would. But it still isn’t fair, though.”
“How is it not fair?” I asked her, astonished that she wasn’t screaming at me at this point.
I wish someone had been video taping from the other side of the picture that hung over the fireplace, because I have relived her next statement countless times over in my head, though I have never replayed it with the same amazing quality as when she first said it. “OK,” she began, “My feet are my most ticklish spot, first of all. Secondly, I have nylons on, which just makes it all the worse. Walking on the carpet without shoes on tickles enough as it is, never mind you going all out tickling my feet.”
Truth be told, I think I was too stunned to talk. I had envisioned what this would be like over and over in my mind, but I never thought that it would unfold like this. This was beyond perfect. She continued to add to the perfection, though, and it is a good thing, too, because I honestly believe I was frozen in place after that last admission.
“Maybe if you just did the one finger thing that you were doing before I would be able to take it,” she offered, completely amazing me even more. I had nothing to say, so I just kind of asked her dumbly if she was serious, and she replied, “Well, let’s try it. You’re not going to beat me with this. I have to prove to you that I can take it or you’re going to be tickling me all the time now,” she said, not knowing how true her words were in my ideal world.
“So you just want me to do this and you think you’ll be able to take it?” I asked, running one of my fingers from side to side of her heel.
“Well, she said through clenched eyes and teeth, “It still tickles, but I think I can take it,” she said as a few giggles escaped her lips. When I moved the path of my tickling finger up a little to her arch, though, her eyes shot open and she screamed, “No, not there!” I stopped, thinking she was mad, and waited for a response. After one second, though, she calmed down a bit, laughed, and admitted, “It’s way too ticklish there. I can’t take it.” After hearing that music to my ears, I quickly touched her arch with one finger, laughing at her predicament. “I give, I give!” she screamed before I had even worked up a steam. “I can’t believe I am admitting this, but that is THE worst spot,” she said with emphasis. “It is my absolute weakness.”
“Really?” I asked, my own voice sounding more like a flirtatious male than the previously scared boy that was sitting here fifteen minutes ago. “So how many people know about this absolute weakness?”
She seemed to panic for a moment, though I think she realized it was all in fun, and begged, “Oh my god, you can’t tell anyone. I mean, some people know, but I would die if everyone knew about it.”
“Well,” I said, “I think we can keep this a secret,” noticing the appreciative smile spread across her face as I said this, “on one condition.”
“What is that one condition?” she asked. It appeared as if my luck was running out, because she seemed genuinely concerned, almost weirded-out, when I said that. I figured in my head later on that she must have been thinking I wanted some sort of sexual favor or something along those lines. As much as I had tried to block any signs of my affection for her, I was sure she was aware of it, and my shy, reticent side always assumed she made fun of me for it behind my back.
“Well,” I started, trying to lighten the mood a little, “since I did win the tickle challenge,” as I began to thump my chest like a professional wrestler, “I feel as I should be given the trophy. In this case, that trophy is a little bit of information.”
She was starting to come around, and now seemed more intrigued by where I was going with this than alarmed. “What information do you want?” she asked.
“Well, since this is your absolute weakness, as you state, I want to know the precise information regarding that,” I stated, crossing my mental fingers that she wouldn’t consider that request weird.
“Oh,” she laughed, obviously taking this in a light-hearted manner as I hoped. “You drive a hard bargain, but I guess I’m not in the position to negotiate. What do you want to know?”
“I’ll settle for you telling me about your ticklish spots,” I said as I laid down the terms. “I don’t need any information that Brad [her boyfriend] would kill me if I knew, just the basics. You know, in case a tickle fight were to ever break out.”
“Well,” she began, “I think it is obvious that if we ever have a tickle fight, I stand no chance of winning,” she said before pausing and then looking at me with a confident smile, “unless, of course, you’re just as ticklish…”
My mind was racing. I figured she wasn’t flirting, but I still could not believe that she had just said that. I had to think of a response quickly. “Well, I won’t lie. Everyone’s ticklish,” I admitted, before changing the subject. “But we can discuss that later. Start dishing out your ticklish spots or your feet get it again,” I playfully threatened.
“OK, OK,” she begged, trying to pull my arm away from her legs. “Well, I don’t know where to begin. I mean, I’m ticklish everywhere. It’s pretty bad: sides, stomach, armpits, feet, everywhere. I go insane.”
“Your ideas intrigue me and I wish to subscribe to your newsletter, “I replied, quoting from the Simpsons, a show that we both enjoyed. “Tell me of your greatest weakness and I might let you go,“ I added.
“Well,” she began again, “I think I said my feet are my most ticklish spot. They are really bad. And you just happened to get them at their worst: nylons make it tickle so much more. I go crazy,” she stated, before adding, “but I guess you noticed that.”
“So,” I asked, sensing the end was near, “does this mean now that you will never again walk barefoot or in nylons around me because you are worried about getting tickled?”
She smiled, said I was cute, and added, “Well, nothing would ever stop me from walking barefoot, especially in the summer. Growing up with two sisters who know I am ticklish has taught me to dangers of walking barefoot. Nylons, though,” she paused and seemed to be seriously thinking about it. “I’ll tell you what… If you promise to never tell anyone about it, I won’t hide my weakness from you,” she said with a smile.
“Deal!” I said, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. I didn’t mind, though, as I believed I had officially entered heaven. My trip to heaven was interrupted when I heard car doors shutting in the driveway, signaling the return of our friends. “Would you like your feet back?” I asked, with full intention of giving them up anyways.
“That would be nice,” she said,” and she pulled them out of their trap as I lifted up a bit. She swung over on the couch so she was sitting next to me, and whispered the following to me: “Let’s make another deal that’s just between you and me. We’ll form a team. Marybeth [another one of the girls in the group] is just as ticklish as I am, and she has been wearing nylons under her socks for the entire trip. Would you like another victim, master tickler?” She had again dumbfounded me, and I was not sure what to say, so I said her what she had in mind. “Leave it to me. I’ll take care of the details, and we’ll totally ambush her.”
“Madam,” I said, pretending to be a diplomat, “you have yourself a deal,” and extended my hand to seal the deal. Everyone came back into the room at that moment, arms filled with DVDs and video games to amuse us that night. They asked what we had done while they were out, and Kelly said we had just watched television and talked. She nudged me when she saw Marybeth zip her boots off her feet, though, and we exchanged a smile that no one else seemed to notice…
THE END
The Tickle Challenge
Copyright 2/2007
Old English
I remember it as if it were yesterday. I had been admiring Kelly for quite a long time, but due to reasons beyond my control, nothing could ever come from it. We were trapped in one of those situations where you have been friends for too long to move onto the next stage. There was also the issue of her boyfriend to consider, a consideration that I certainly did not want to enter into the middle of. That situation had created a great sense of awkwardness in my mind; touching of any kind, even an innocent hug, seemed out of the question in my mind. Admittedly, I was probably looking too much into the situation, but I could not help it. Fantasies aside, I did not want to wreck the friendship. The situation became all the more unbearable for me one winter season when Kelly took to wearing nylons and jeans quite often. Being a big fan of that combination, my eyes would always be drawn to her perfect feet every time she took her shoes off that winter. More often than not, I would be blessed with the sight of a faultless pair of feet encased in a pair of suntan hose. Michelangelo could not paint something as exquisite as the sight that I was both blessed and cursed with seeing almost every day.
As I said, I was quite uncomfortable establishing any kind of touch with Kelly, and because of that, I had not found out the answer to the question that I had long been wondering: whether or not Kelly was ticklish. More specifically, I was dying to get my hands on those feet, but just could not muster up the courage. I knew the winter was slowly coming to an end, and though I yearned for the days of the spring, I realized that springtime temperatures would probably mean Kelly would put away the nylons. I knew I had to act fast.
Fate seemed to hear my inner monologue and stepped in to help, for one day I found myself alone with Kelly. It was part of a skiing trip with some friends, and we had just returned back from dinner. Kelly’s boyfriend was not able to make the trip, but a few of our friends were with us.
We all walked into the place we had rented after we returned from dinner. As we walked into the living room, we all plopped down in a state of exhaustion. A long day skiing coupled with getting up early had worn us out. I sat back in my chair and pretended not to notice as Kelly pulled her UGG boots off, revealing a pair of white socks. Old friend Fate stepped in again, though, as Kelly slowly pulled off those socks to reveal that she had been wearing a pair of suntan nylons under the socks. I honestly can not explain why, but I was not complaining. At the very least, I would have something to look at tonight.
After just sitting and shooting the breeze for a while, some of the group wanted to go to the video store we had passed on the way to the condo to see if we could rent a movie or video game for the night. To be honest, I was feeling too relaxed to go out, and any desire to go to the video store was completely erased when Kelly said that she would hang at the condo. As the door shut behind the last person leaving for the video store, just Kelly and I were left.
Kelly spread out across the couch while I remained in my chair. We made small talk, nothing major. I couldn’t even tell you what we discussed, as my mind was focused on her feet and the inner dialogue that had begun in my mind. It was sifting through all of the facts, quickly trying to decide whether I should become a man and reach over to tickle her foot. Finally, I couldn’t it any longer, and I went up to get a drink of water, offering her some as I walked away.
As I was pouring the water, it all came to me. I devised what I thought to be a perfect plan on how to tickle her feet. All that was left was mustering up the courage to do so.
I walked back to the living room area to find Kelly still sitting as she was before. She was sprawled out on her stomach across the entire length of the couch. A white long sleeve shirt was under her black sweater, which came down to her blue jeans. Those blue jeans, of course, gave way to her nyloned feet at the end of the couch. Putting my glass down, I figured it was now or never, and I made my move…
I sat down on the back off Kelly’s legs, commenting on how lumpy the couch seemed. She gave a playful laugh and called me a jerk, but I remained on her legs as we watched television. I knew she couldn’t see me because she was staring at the television straight ahead, so I took a quick sneak at her feet, which at this point were just inches from my hands.
“Oh look what I found,” I mentioned, and swiped one finger down Kelly’s foot. It all happened so fast. I still can’t believe I finally did it. Time to wait for the reaction…
Her foot twitched, but she couldn’t pull it back because I was sitting on her legs. “No tickling allowed,” she asserted, putting on her best mean face. She had taken it as a joke, eliminating a great sense of uncertainty that had been plaguing my mind.
Gathering up courage I did not know I had, I replied, “I didn’t read anything about that on our rental agreement,” and ran one more finger down her sole.
Her foot twitched again, and I felt her try to pull her feet to safety under the weight of my body, but she was trapped. I thought I heard a giggle escape her lips, and she turned as best she could to face me. “Cut that out down there, you,” she admonished, still seemingly taking it all as the joke I hoped she would.
I was determined to see this through, so I probed some more. “What’s the matter,” I asked. “All I’m doing is this…” and ran one more finger down her foot.
I was rewarded for my efforts as I saw her jump a bit. She slapped my wrist lightheartedly and stated the obvious answer that I had been hoping to hear: “It tickles when you do that.”
It was as if the water I had sipped a few moments ago had acted as a shot of alcohol and limited my inner uncertainties, as I found myself continuing with this whereas the person who sat in his chair ten minutes ago would have been too nervous to continue. I played dumb, and asked, “It tickles when I do this?” and swiped one more finger down her foot. “I’m not sure I see how I am causing you to laugh.”
I was surprised she was playing along with it as much as she saw, and after giggling a little, she responded with more confessions that I had wanted to hear all winter: “You’re tickling my feet and I have nylons on,” she said matter-of-factly. “Do the math, Sherlock.”
“So,” I pressed, “Would I be right in thinking that I am in control right now?” I asked, taking a daring leap that I had not planned on taking. To emphasize my point, I rested one finger on her heel, not tickling it, but letting her know that it would soon be coming.
Knowing how competitive Kelly was, I can’t say that I was shocked by her response, looking back at it in hindsight. I can say, though, that I wasn’t expecting it when she said it. “Well,” she began, “I am probably going to go insane if you keep tickling me, but I can take anything that you can offer. I’m the one in control.”
“Sounds like a challenge to me,” said someone whose voice sounded much like my own, though I would swear my body had been taken over by someone else at this point.
“Oh, bring it on,” challenged Kelly. “It’s on!”
With that, it was indeed on. I took the five fingers that had been resting on her heel and began flickering each of them all across the bottom of her foot. As if being electrocuted, her body jumped with a jolt as soon as the sensation of the fingers registered. Her once confident façade was replaced with a portrait of someone who was entrapped in hysterical laughter. She was no longer turned to face me. Instead, she had fallen back on her stomach. Her face was buried into one of the pillows as she tried to hide the hysterical laughing that was escaping from her lips. Beneath myself, I felt her trying with all of her might to pull her feet from their predicament, all to no avail. Her feet were trapped, and I was using that to my definite advantage. I was using my fingers in a wave-like manner, undulating them all across the soles of her feet, from top to bottom.
It seemed like forever, though it was probably only about ten seconds, when she pushed herself up with her hands, somehow forming the words “OK stop!” between rounds of laughing. I relented as soon as I heard her ask, as I was still wary of overstepping my boundaries.
I let her catch her breath for a moment before asking, “I’m sorry, but did that just prove that I won the challenge?”
“First of all,” she stated, with an air of confidence that suggested she did not realize how vulnerable she really was at the moment, “that was totally not fair. I can’t move at all. How am I expected to defend myself?”
“Well, if I give you an inch, you’ll take a mile,” I retorted back with an authority that I did not have, still while sitting on the back of her legs.
“I wouldn’t do that,” she lied, and with a quick swipe of my fingers on her feet, she reneged her claim, pleading, “OK, OK, I admit that I would. But it still isn’t fair, though.”
“How is it not fair?” I asked her, astonished that she wasn’t screaming at me at this point.
I wish someone had been video taping from the other side of the picture that hung over the fireplace, because I have relived her next statement countless times over in my head, though I have never replayed it with the same amazing quality as when she first said it. “OK,” she began, “My feet are my most ticklish spot, first of all. Secondly, I have nylons on, which just makes it all the worse. Walking on the carpet without shoes on tickles enough as it is, never mind you going all out tickling my feet.”
Truth be told, I think I was too stunned to talk. I had envisioned what this would be like over and over in my mind, but I never thought that it would unfold like this. This was beyond perfect. She continued to add to the perfection, though, and it is a good thing, too, because I honestly believe I was frozen in place after that last admission.
“Maybe if you just did the one finger thing that you were doing before I would be able to take it,” she offered, completely amazing me even more. I had nothing to say, so I just kind of asked her dumbly if she was serious, and she replied, “Well, let’s try it. You’re not going to beat me with this. I have to prove to you that I can take it or you’re going to be tickling me all the time now,” she said, not knowing how true her words were in my ideal world.
“So you just want me to do this and you think you’ll be able to take it?” I asked, running one of my fingers from side to side of her heel.
“Well, she said through clenched eyes and teeth, “It still tickles, but I think I can take it,” she said as a few giggles escaped her lips. When I moved the path of my tickling finger up a little to her arch, though, her eyes shot open and she screamed, “No, not there!” I stopped, thinking she was mad, and waited for a response. After one second, though, she calmed down a bit, laughed, and admitted, “It’s way too ticklish there. I can’t take it.” After hearing that music to my ears, I quickly touched her arch with one finger, laughing at her predicament. “I give, I give!” she screamed before I had even worked up a steam. “I can’t believe I am admitting this, but that is THE worst spot,” she said with emphasis. “It is my absolute weakness.”
“Really?” I asked, my own voice sounding more like a flirtatious male than the previously scared boy that was sitting here fifteen minutes ago. “So how many people know about this absolute weakness?”
She seemed to panic for a moment, though I think she realized it was all in fun, and begged, “Oh my god, you can’t tell anyone. I mean, some people know, but I would die if everyone knew about it.”
“Well,” I said, “I think we can keep this a secret,” noticing the appreciative smile spread across her face as I said this, “on one condition.”
“What is that one condition?” she asked. It appeared as if my luck was running out, because she seemed genuinely concerned, almost weirded-out, when I said that. I figured in my head later on that she must have been thinking I wanted some sort of sexual favor or something along those lines. As much as I had tried to block any signs of my affection for her, I was sure she was aware of it, and my shy, reticent side always assumed she made fun of me for it behind my back.
“Well,” I started, trying to lighten the mood a little, “since I did win the tickle challenge,” as I began to thump my chest like a professional wrestler, “I feel as I should be given the trophy. In this case, that trophy is a little bit of information.”
She was starting to come around, and now seemed more intrigued by where I was going with this than alarmed. “What information do you want?” she asked.
“Well, since this is your absolute weakness, as you state, I want to know the precise information regarding that,” I stated, crossing my mental fingers that she wouldn’t consider that request weird.
“Oh,” she laughed, obviously taking this in a light-hearted manner as I hoped. “You drive a hard bargain, but I guess I’m not in the position to negotiate. What do you want to know?”
“I’ll settle for you telling me about your ticklish spots,” I said as I laid down the terms. “I don’t need any information that Brad [her boyfriend] would kill me if I knew, just the basics. You know, in case a tickle fight were to ever break out.”
“Well,” she began, “I think it is obvious that if we ever have a tickle fight, I stand no chance of winning,” she said before pausing and then looking at me with a confident smile, “unless, of course, you’re just as ticklish…”
My mind was racing. I figured she wasn’t flirting, but I still could not believe that she had just said that. I had to think of a response quickly. “Well, I won’t lie. Everyone’s ticklish,” I admitted, before changing the subject. “But we can discuss that later. Start dishing out your ticklish spots or your feet get it again,” I playfully threatened.
“OK, OK,” she begged, trying to pull my arm away from her legs. “Well, I don’t know where to begin. I mean, I’m ticklish everywhere. It’s pretty bad: sides, stomach, armpits, feet, everywhere. I go insane.”
“Your ideas intrigue me and I wish to subscribe to your newsletter, “I replied, quoting from the Simpsons, a show that we both enjoyed. “Tell me of your greatest weakness and I might let you go,“ I added.
“Well,” she began again, “I think I said my feet are my most ticklish spot. They are really bad. And you just happened to get them at their worst: nylons make it tickle so much more. I go crazy,” she stated, before adding, “but I guess you noticed that.”
“So,” I asked, sensing the end was near, “does this mean now that you will never again walk barefoot or in nylons around me because you are worried about getting tickled?”
She smiled, said I was cute, and added, “Well, nothing would ever stop me from walking barefoot, especially in the summer. Growing up with two sisters who know I am ticklish has taught me to dangers of walking barefoot. Nylons, though,” she paused and seemed to be seriously thinking about it. “I’ll tell you what… If you promise to never tell anyone about it, I won’t hide my weakness from you,” she said with a smile.
“Deal!” I said, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. I didn’t mind, though, as I believed I had officially entered heaven. My trip to heaven was interrupted when I heard car doors shutting in the driveway, signaling the return of our friends. “Would you like your feet back?” I asked, with full intention of giving them up anyways.
“That would be nice,” she said,” and she pulled them out of their trap as I lifted up a bit. She swung over on the couch so she was sitting next to me, and whispered the following to me: “Let’s make another deal that’s just between you and me. We’ll form a team. Marybeth [another one of the girls in the group] is just as ticklish as I am, and she has been wearing nylons under her socks for the entire trip. Would you like another victim, master tickler?” She had again dumbfounded me, and I was not sure what to say, so I said her what she had in mind. “Leave it to me. I’ll take care of the details, and we’ll totally ambush her.”
“Madam,” I said, pretending to be a diplomat, “you have yourself a deal,” and extended my hand to seal the deal. Everyone came back into the room at that moment, arms filled with DVDs and video games to amuse us that night. They asked what we had done while they were out, and Kelly said we had just watched television and talked. She nudged me when she saw Marybeth zip her boots off her feet, though, and we exchanged a smile that no one else seemed to notice…
THE END
