johnnybiggs
TMF Novice
- Joined
- Aug 22, 2007
- Messages
- 73
- Points
- 0
There was venom. I could feel it oozing out of her glare and in her maliciously spat words. I think she would have done me great harm if she had the chance. As it was, she was doing herself no favors. Hogtied, as expertly as she was, all she could really do was lay there and tell me in words and attitude what she was going to do to me upon her release. Hardly a motivation to begin untying her.
Now, here’s the thing. I never knew that I was such a dominant. I always considered myself to be the nicest guy that you could meet. In truth, the thought of violence is anathema to me. I would never want to harm anyone. So, before today I’d never have believed that I would have a gorgeous woman begging me to, “PLEASE???? STOP!!!!” The hysterical pitch rising as I went on and on. I would never have believed that her anguish would be such music to my soul. A music that I adored but ignored for the entirety of the whole afternoon.
I’d heard the expression about having a tiger by the tail, but until today it was just an abstraction. Now I was beginning to understand. So, I’ll get back to the woman on the bed, who had just been mercilessly tickled to the point that she began begging God to intervene. For now, however, I’d better start at the beginning and tie the whole thing together.
As a freshman in high school I was beginning to believe that there was something wrong with me. My friends all spent great amounts of time talking amongst themselves about how we were suddenly in the presence of beautiful girls everywhere. In every class, at the store, on the street, EVERYWHERE. I didn’t get it. I would sit there and nod and pretend that I too was caught up in the hormonal whirlpool of freshman boys. I would much rather be talking about football and fishing and who was going to be the first of us to get a car. Still, I needed to fit in, so, I tolerated the talk about girls but really they were still mild irritants at best. I just didn’t get it.
It all changed right after Christmas break. We came back to class in January and there in the first row of Mr. Allen’s history class sat a new girl. She was built like Olyv Oyl. She had a stick figure, a bowl cut, and she wore bib overalls that did nothing to soften her boyish appearance. My friend Pat at first thought she was a boy. After class he was making jokes about the new kid but he really did figure out she was a girl. Her name was Shannon Vance. (Of course, not her real name). She had brown hair and from the first millisecond I saw her I knew one day we would be married. So, it would seem, my lack of interest in girls was over. Like that stupid little bunny in the deer movie, I was twitterpated beyond all hope.
Over the coming weeks I did all the classic things that boys do to get girls to like them. I teased her, I made fun of her, and went out of my way to embarrass her. It worked like a charm. In reverse. She hated me, and what was worse she had a crush on my friend Pat. Pat, thirty five plus years later, is still the stand up guy he was then. He fended off her obvious crush and convinced her that I really, really liked her. Unbelievably she took the bait. We had our first date, shared our first kiss, and fell into a blazing inferno of puppy love.
Over the course of that spring, we had both went out for freshman track. So, not only did we
go to the same classes but our circle of friends became condensed into a clique of track kids and their boyfriends and girlfriends. It was the girlfriends that came up with the idea of our first house party. Looking back, all I can remember about it is that I never could have guessed how life defining it was. I had, by now, become, like my friends before me, a veritable walking vessel of hormones in tennis shoes. I couldn’t look at Shannon without nearly popping. Literally and figuratively.
Anyway, to the house party. That night we met at Dave Skinner’s house and we're all surprised that the ten of us had the house to ourselves. His parents had gone out for the evening. Holy crap. In my mind, tonight was gonna be a threshold that separated the men from the boys. In Shannon’s mind she was excited that we were all gonna have pizza and Coke. Slightly different agendas I would say.
All night I tried to take Shannon upstairs. She fended me off. Both out of a sense of embarrassment and a sense of not wanting what I was after. As I kept pestering her, she became pretty fed up and it was the beginning of our first real fight. She threatened to leave if I kept pressuring her and my friends told me to knock it off. I was so frustrated that I went into the backyard and was ignoring her. Pat came out and told me that I was a real big jerk for making Shannon cry. I looked in and saw her in the living room with Joyce Burke. Joyce was hugging Shannon and Shannon was slumped against her sobbing. OMG. I melted.
Sheepishly i meandered into the room and kind of head pointed to Joyce to leave. Joyce shot me a look that was all business. I knew she was warning me to be nice. I heeded her warning for two reasons. One, I couldn’t bear the guilt for making Shannon cry, and two, Joyce’s boyfriend was half ape and would clean my clock if Joyce told him to. So, I found myself alone with Shannon and I was trying to say I’m sorry and she was hiding her tear swollen face as crying women the world over do.
She was wearing her bib overalls and for a change of pace, instead of tennis shoes, she was wearing flip flops. All track season we ran all afternoon in the warm spring sunshine and our legs were all tan. For the first time, as I sat on the far end of the couch I noticed Shannon’s feet. They were untanned, really, really white and I thought it was cute that she had painted her nails purple, (our school colors). She finally swung around and pulled her feet up under herself, hugging her knees to her chest. It was funny how her feet were so untanned that they almost seemed to glow. That’s an exaggeration but they really were in high contrast right at the point where her footies ended just below her ankles.
Like all smart freshman boys I immediately took her facing me as a sign that we were now made up. We weren’t. She was just getting ready to tell me how upset she was about my wanting to go upstairs, (we all knew what that implied). So, in retrospect it probably wasn’t the best time to tease her about her tanned legs and white feet. She was just all of a sudden so mad at me. She pushed her feet out and began flutter kicking at me and screamed that if I didn’t like her feet then that was too bad. I kinda grabbed her ankle as she flailed at me. I was holding on and being jerked around and I could tell she wasn’t playing. I told her that I liked everything about her, including her feet. I said how sorry I was that I had been a jerk and I would do anything to make it up to her. I even offered her a foot rub as a peace offering. She tried to pull her foot away but I was still holding on for dear life. She was still trying to pull away and I saw her toes were pointed like a ballerinas and the arch was high and beautiful. It almost took my breath away.
I really never had any idea how erotically perfect the female foot was. I would have time to worry about whether or not I was a full fledged pervert later but for now I was just utterly blown away. I remember that a few years prior to that we had found a playboy in Pat’s older brothers dresser. In truth, the impact of seeing a fully naked woman for the first time paled in comparison to the flood of animal lust that overcame me as I sat there holding her foot.
Her skin was flawless and as I began my apologetic foot rub. I couldn’t believe how pillowy softy and sensual her feet were. As I firmly rubbed my thumb into her fluid arch I felt her kind of ease into a low moaning sigh of contentment. When I eased my grip she no longer tried to pull away. It seemed she liked having it done as much as I liked doing it. To her it was just innocent and pleasant. To me it was an explosion of senses that I had no chance of comprehending.
All I knew is that I had found my bliss.
I just continued kneading and rubbing and obviously she didn’t mind. I had no idea what was happening but as I look back I realize that this was the beginning of my knowing that I had a foot fetish, (even though I didn’t even know the word for it), and that in spite of her boyish figure she had something that none of the other girls I knew had. She had absolutely perfect, unblemished, soft, feminine, sexy, wonderful feet. I even managed to get a look at her pink wrinkled soles and was struck by how much I was excited by the silky feel and appearance. It was that stupid bunny all over, I was transformed in an instant.
Now, you might imagine that that would be way more than enough for one evening but I had one more little surprise in store for the both of us. As I sat there listening to her purr like a kitten I apologized over and over for being a jerk. I snuck in a quick tickle under the excuse of getting her to smile. She sat bolt upright and jerked her foot so hard I had no chance to hold on. She had an almost panicked half smile and her eyes were overly wide. “Don’t do that. I am WAY too ticklish. My sister Karen tickles my feet and it drives me crazy!”
She had no idea that she had just awoken a monster. I didn’t quite know then but for the next twenty five years (we got married eventually and had a family of our own), tickling her feet was never far from my conscious thought. I fought really hard to not overdo it and I really did a pretty disciplined job of not driving her insane with constant non-stop tickling. But from that night onward, I found her feet beautiful, sexy and desirable. Even during low ebbs, (in a marriage that eventually failed), I just marveled at how pretty and impossibly sexy her feet were.
This transformative event, which showed me how devoted I would become to Shannon and her feet, lasted less than ten minutes. That was way back in 1978 but I was hooked for life. I always thought she was beautiful, even then, and her feet and ticklishness made her more so……..
My next install will not be about the history but more about how her feet became an integral component of our relationship and how she and I grew together to understand how much I was captivated by her feet…..BTW…….i would add this…..Shannon and I broke up several times throughout high school and college. While we eventually ended up married, (and subsequently divorced), there were times that we were apart and we were with other people.
I have dated more than a few girls and I have never seen feet like hers. I have seen a few adult stars with great feet, (Roxy DeVille, Cherie DeVille, and a few others), but still, her high arches, flawless skin, wrinkled soles, and the great way she carried her feet will always be the standard to which I compare other women’s feet. I wonder if it was like imprinting.
Did she really have beautiful feet or did I think hers were beautiful because they were the first feet that I ever was turned on by? And further, I have read a lot by you guys and we have a lot in common in our descriptions of what turns our crank. Does this mean there is an instinctual appreciation of what makes a female foot attractive for foot fetishists? I’d be very interested to hear what anybody has to say on this. Thanks in advance….jb……much more to come. Including the time I finally talked her into letting me tickle her during orgasm, (hers, not mine, lololol). Many detailed stories like that to follow.
Now, here’s the thing. I never knew that I was such a dominant. I always considered myself to be the nicest guy that you could meet. In truth, the thought of violence is anathema to me. I would never want to harm anyone. So, before today I’d never have believed that I would have a gorgeous woman begging me to, “PLEASE???? STOP!!!!” The hysterical pitch rising as I went on and on. I would never have believed that her anguish would be such music to my soul. A music that I adored but ignored for the entirety of the whole afternoon.
I’d heard the expression about having a tiger by the tail, but until today it was just an abstraction. Now I was beginning to understand. So, I’ll get back to the woman on the bed, who had just been mercilessly tickled to the point that she began begging God to intervene. For now, however, I’d better start at the beginning and tie the whole thing together.
As a freshman in high school I was beginning to believe that there was something wrong with me. My friends all spent great amounts of time talking amongst themselves about how we were suddenly in the presence of beautiful girls everywhere. In every class, at the store, on the street, EVERYWHERE. I didn’t get it. I would sit there and nod and pretend that I too was caught up in the hormonal whirlpool of freshman boys. I would much rather be talking about football and fishing and who was going to be the first of us to get a car. Still, I needed to fit in, so, I tolerated the talk about girls but really they were still mild irritants at best. I just didn’t get it.
It all changed right after Christmas break. We came back to class in January and there in the first row of Mr. Allen’s history class sat a new girl. She was built like Olyv Oyl. She had a stick figure, a bowl cut, and she wore bib overalls that did nothing to soften her boyish appearance. My friend Pat at first thought she was a boy. After class he was making jokes about the new kid but he really did figure out she was a girl. Her name was Shannon Vance. (Of course, not her real name). She had brown hair and from the first millisecond I saw her I knew one day we would be married. So, it would seem, my lack of interest in girls was over. Like that stupid little bunny in the deer movie, I was twitterpated beyond all hope.
Over the coming weeks I did all the classic things that boys do to get girls to like them. I teased her, I made fun of her, and went out of my way to embarrass her. It worked like a charm. In reverse. She hated me, and what was worse she had a crush on my friend Pat. Pat, thirty five plus years later, is still the stand up guy he was then. He fended off her obvious crush and convinced her that I really, really liked her. Unbelievably she took the bait. We had our first date, shared our first kiss, and fell into a blazing inferno of puppy love.
Over the course of that spring, we had both went out for freshman track. So, not only did we
go to the same classes but our circle of friends became condensed into a clique of track kids and their boyfriends and girlfriends. It was the girlfriends that came up with the idea of our first house party. Looking back, all I can remember about it is that I never could have guessed how life defining it was. I had, by now, become, like my friends before me, a veritable walking vessel of hormones in tennis shoes. I couldn’t look at Shannon without nearly popping. Literally and figuratively.
Anyway, to the house party. That night we met at Dave Skinner’s house and we're all surprised that the ten of us had the house to ourselves. His parents had gone out for the evening. Holy crap. In my mind, tonight was gonna be a threshold that separated the men from the boys. In Shannon’s mind she was excited that we were all gonna have pizza and Coke. Slightly different agendas I would say.
All night I tried to take Shannon upstairs. She fended me off. Both out of a sense of embarrassment and a sense of not wanting what I was after. As I kept pestering her, she became pretty fed up and it was the beginning of our first real fight. She threatened to leave if I kept pressuring her and my friends told me to knock it off. I was so frustrated that I went into the backyard and was ignoring her. Pat came out and told me that I was a real big jerk for making Shannon cry. I looked in and saw her in the living room with Joyce Burke. Joyce was hugging Shannon and Shannon was slumped against her sobbing. OMG. I melted.
Sheepishly i meandered into the room and kind of head pointed to Joyce to leave. Joyce shot me a look that was all business. I knew she was warning me to be nice. I heeded her warning for two reasons. One, I couldn’t bear the guilt for making Shannon cry, and two, Joyce’s boyfriend was half ape and would clean my clock if Joyce told him to. So, I found myself alone with Shannon and I was trying to say I’m sorry and she was hiding her tear swollen face as crying women the world over do.
She was wearing her bib overalls and for a change of pace, instead of tennis shoes, she was wearing flip flops. All track season we ran all afternoon in the warm spring sunshine and our legs were all tan. For the first time, as I sat on the far end of the couch I noticed Shannon’s feet. They were untanned, really, really white and I thought it was cute that she had painted her nails purple, (our school colors). She finally swung around and pulled her feet up under herself, hugging her knees to her chest. It was funny how her feet were so untanned that they almost seemed to glow. That’s an exaggeration but they really were in high contrast right at the point where her footies ended just below her ankles.
Like all smart freshman boys I immediately took her facing me as a sign that we were now made up. We weren’t. She was just getting ready to tell me how upset she was about my wanting to go upstairs, (we all knew what that implied). So, in retrospect it probably wasn’t the best time to tease her about her tanned legs and white feet. She was just all of a sudden so mad at me. She pushed her feet out and began flutter kicking at me and screamed that if I didn’t like her feet then that was too bad. I kinda grabbed her ankle as she flailed at me. I was holding on and being jerked around and I could tell she wasn’t playing. I told her that I liked everything about her, including her feet. I said how sorry I was that I had been a jerk and I would do anything to make it up to her. I even offered her a foot rub as a peace offering. She tried to pull her foot away but I was still holding on for dear life. She was still trying to pull away and I saw her toes were pointed like a ballerinas and the arch was high and beautiful. It almost took my breath away.
I really never had any idea how erotically perfect the female foot was. I would have time to worry about whether or not I was a full fledged pervert later but for now I was just utterly blown away. I remember that a few years prior to that we had found a playboy in Pat’s older brothers dresser. In truth, the impact of seeing a fully naked woman for the first time paled in comparison to the flood of animal lust that overcame me as I sat there holding her foot.
Her skin was flawless and as I began my apologetic foot rub. I couldn’t believe how pillowy softy and sensual her feet were. As I firmly rubbed my thumb into her fluid arch I felt her kind of ease into a low moaning sigh of contentment. When I eased my grip she no longer tried to pull away. It seemed she liked having it done as much as I liked doing it. To her it was just innocent and pleasant. To me it was an explosion of senses that I had no chance of comprehending.
All I knew is that I had found my bliss.
I just continued kneading and rubbing and obviously she didn’t mind. I had no idea what was happening but as I look back I realize that this was the beginning of my knowing that I had a foot fetish, (even though I didn’t even know the word for it), and that in spite of her boyish figure she had something that none of the other girls I knew had. She had absolutely perfect, unblemished, soft, feminine, sexy, wonderful feet. I even managed to get a look at her pink wrinkled soles and was struck by how much I was excited by the silky feel and appearance. It was that stupid bunny all over, I was transformed in an instant.
Now, you might imagine that that would be way more than enough for one evening but I had one more little surprise in store for the both of us. As I sat there listening to her purr like a kitten I apologized over and over for being a jerk. I snuck in a quick tickle under the excuse of getting her to smile. She sat bolt upright and jerked her foot so hard I had no chance to hold on. She had an almost panicked half smile and her eyes were overly wide. “Don’t do that. I am WAY too ticklish. My sister Karen tickles my feet and it drives me crazy!”
She had no idea that she had just awoken a monster. I didn’t quite know then but for the next twenty five years (we got married eventually and had a family of our own), tickling her feet was never far from my conscious thought. I fought really hard to not overdo it and I really did a pretty disciplined job of not driving her insane with constant non-stop tickling. But from that night onward, I found her feet beautiful, sexy and desirable. Even during low ebbs, (in a marriage that eventually failed), I just marveled at how pretty and impossibly sexy her feet were.
This transformative event, which showed me how devoted I would become to Shannon and her feet, lasted less than ten minutes. That was way back in 1978 but I was hooked for life. I always thought she was beautiful, even then, and her feet and ticklishness made her more so……..
My next install will not be about the history but more about how her feet became an integral component of our relationship and how she and I grew together to understand how much I was captivated by her feet…..BTW…….i would add this…..Shannon and I broke up several times throughout high school and college. While we eventually ended up married, (and subsequently divorced), there were times that we were apart and we were with other people.
I have dated more than a few girls and I have never seen feet like hers. I have seen a few adult stars with great feet, (Roxy DeVille, Cherie DeVille, and a few others), but still, her high arches, flawless skin, wrinkled soles, and the great way she carried her feet will always be the standard to which I compare other women’s feet. I wonder if it was like imprinting.
Did she really have beautiful feet or did I think hers were beautiful because they were the first feet that I ever was turned on by? And further, I have read a lot by you guys and we have a lot in common in our descriptions of what turns our crank. Does this mean there is an instinctual appreciation of what makes a female foot attractive for foot fetishists? I’d be very interested to hear what anybody has to say on this. Thanks in advance….jb……much more to come. Including the time I finally talked her into letting me tickle her during orgasm, (hers, not mine, lololol). Many detailed stories like that to follow.
