PeterPanGrl
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An Innocent Fantasy
It is a typical Friday night in a small town movie theater. I haven't come to the movies in awhile, mostly because it was rare to have a Friday night off. I can't help but feel a bit shy around the large crowd. I've never enjoyed being around a lot of people, unless it was for a concert. I keep telling myself that it would be fine. The particular movie I wanted to see tonight had been out for a few weeks, so the crowd would not be quite so large. I exit my car to approach the ticket booth.
Despite my socially shy nature, I do enjoy going out. I do enjoy the looks that I get while I'm out. I try to modest in my own head, but I know that I am rather attractive to some people. I acknowledge it, but also feel ashamed at my own arrogance. However, the looks of lust when I get my tickets are my way of feeling better. I see them stare at me while I wear a black metal band shirt that I cut off to show my belly. Tonight, I chose to pair this with a black skirt that only covers from about halfway up my thighs. Normally, I would complete this outfit with a pair of evil-looking boots, but tonight I knew I should wear some simple black sandals.
I take my seat inside the empty theater. I intentionally arrive early for any showing to get a good spot. Tonight, I knew I could get a decent spot regardless, but I had other reasons for coming early. Long before the previews begin, I sit in the middle; the hotspot for people to show up. I remove my sandals, and place them under my seat. I then put my bare feet between the two seats in front of me. With my heart beating faster, I wait.
I have done this often. I fantasize about a person, or people, coming in and tickling my feet between the seats throughout the movie. I cannot explain this fantasy, but I have tried to act on it. A few times, I would get an occasional finger stroke my soles once, but most often people just avoid sitting where I keep my feet. I had one person ask me, very rudely, to move them, to which I feigned ignorance. I don't know why I still do this. Yes, I like being tickled, but my feet aren't a particularly favorite place to be tickled. I guess it is because it is the one spot most associated with the act of tickling. I don't think that my feet are cute, but I do whatever I can to draw attention to them in this situation. I had gotten a rather large tattoo of a sea turtle on my left foot, and I make sure to keep my toes painted. Tonight they are painted black.
People start to filter in. I try to control the sinking feeling in my belly, and pretend to just be relaxing. "Relax, Laurel," I tell myself. "You're just a young woman relaxing, not a weird tickle fiend openly begging for people to tickle you," my inner voice of reason echoes in my head. I watch more and more people come in. I begin to wonder if I had made a mistake in thinking that this movie wouldn't draw as large of a crowd. Before I can even think further on it, a man sits in the seat to the left of my bare feet. Does he see them? There are still more seats available, so surely he could sit somewhere else if he was bothered. He is a little heavy-set, African-American, bald, wearing some thin glasses, and from what I see, he is wearing a cyan button-down shirt with a collar. He looks as if he just got out of work at some sort of office; a grown-up job according to my inner voice.
I sit still, glancing at the man in front of me. It seems like the majority of the audience that will be here is here. I have no one sitting close to me. There is only one couple to the far end of my row, on my right. The man taps me on my leg as I stare off in the distance. I jump at the sudden touch, and see him turning his head to look at me, smiling in a friendly manner.
"Excuse me, but I was just wondering how much that tattoo had hurt," he says. He points on large finger at the top of my left foot. It was quite painful, however I usually tell people that it wasn't any worse than the other tattoos I have. I smile shyly, and swallow my anxiety enough to speak to him.
"It actually hurt quite a bit," I find myself saying, despite what I had originally planned to say. He chuckles a bit, looking me directly in the eyes. He opens his mouth to say something else, but the room starts to darken. He mouths something that I can't quite make out due to the darkening room. The green screen that shows the preview's rating illuminates the room, and in that moment, I see he had turned around to look at the screen. I begin to stare blankly at the screen, watching the previews that I suspect will be more interesting than the movie I paid to see.
I begin to feel the need to stretch my foot. My ankles need to stretch. I flex my feet back and forth, easing the discomfort. I watch the titles to the movie appear slowly on screen. Suddenly, I feel it. A single finger, with a bit of a fingernail, drags itself up my left sole. The sensation sends a jolt up my entire body, and my feet respond by jerking themselves out of the spot between the seat. He looks back at me with an embarrassed, almost scared expression on his face, which can only be made out a bit in the dark of the theater. He turns around quickly. I assume that he is probably scared that he had offended me. With a heavily beating heart, and the light fluttering of butterflies in my belly, I put my feet back in the spot between the seats, right next to him. I cross both feet, my right over my left, and nudge his arm with the toes on my right foot.
He looks down to see my feet back in the original spot. He turns again to me. I give him a nod, hoping that the darkness of the room hides my blush. He runs his finger up my right foot from the heel to the ball. Despite the tickling sensation, I hold still, only moving my toes as I feel his finger. With hesitation, he repeats the same action on my left foot. Again, I hold still. A few seconds pass, I nudge his arm with my toes again to signal that it is okay. Taking my cue, he wraps his arm around both of my feet. This is it! This is happening!!
I feel his fingers, and those evil nails, scratching slowly back and forth across my heels. I bite the side of my finger to keep from giggling too loudly. He takes one finger and scratches lightly, but quickly, up and down my left sole. This new sensation causes my toes to curl downwards. He seems to enjoy the new reactions from me. He repeats the one-finger scratching along my arch. He feels my feet struggling to stay still under his arm. I feel the tickling stop, and his hands begin to rub and massage my feet. I begin to relax under the pressure of his massage. Then, I feel what I was really hoping for. He takes the big toe of my left foot between his thumb and index finger. I expect a vigorous assault on my sole with his fingers holding my toe captive. Instead, I feel two of his fingers tickling quickly over the soft pad of my big toe. Instantly, I let out a squeal. He stops upon hearing my high-pitched squeal, my toe still in his fingers. I compose myself by biting my lip, and wiggle my big toe in his fingers to signal that he can keep going. One of his fingernails swirls circles on my big toe, tickling the pad, the tip, and the little part underneath. Writhing in my seat, stifling giggles, I manage to hold my feet and toes still. He puts my feet side by side next to each other, and lets all of his fingers spider up and down all ten of my toes. I arch my toes backward, holding them still to allow for his wiggling fingers to play with my toes.
Several minutes pass before I feel a sudden stop in the tickling. He gets up and walks out of the theater. Did I do something? Is he just needing to use the restroom? My inner voice says he may have gotten too excited. Many thoughts flood my head. I decide that it was fun while it lasted, and I watch the movie. Ten minutes pass, and I have finally become focused on the movie. I don't even notice until I feel a presence beside me. I look to my left. There he is. He came to sit beside me. I am unsure of what to do or say, so I just offer him a shy smile. He sits next to me in the seat, and he leans over to whisper in my ear.
"So, why are you letting me tickle your feet?" he asks. I giggle under my breath, and I lean to whisper back.
"I like being tickled," I say. I have never told anyone that before, and I had just told a complete stranger this secret. He smiles that polite smile he had shown earlier. I feel his eyes looking at my body, specifically eyeing my bare belly. He leans in to whisper again, this time saying the words that I never knew I wanted to hear. "Is your belly ticklish?"
Before I can answer, I feel the same light fingers spidering their way over my bare tummy. I instantly have to cover my own mouth to avoid the screams of laughter that would erupt. He sees this, and quickly helps me by putting his own hand over my mouth. I grip the armrests of my chair as his fingers slowly begin their spidering on my belly. I can't help but squirm at his touch, the light tickle touches eliciting all manners of reactions from me.
"A koochie koochie koo," he whispers in my ear. I begin to melt at his words and the ticklish assault. He smiles, no longer a polite smile, but a hungry smile like the grin of a shark. "Woochie woochie woochie woo," he taunts as his finger circles itself around my helpless bellybutton. I begin to feel myself squirming in a way to get his finger in my bellybutton. I want him to tickle my navel nonstop while whispering those teasing words in my ear.
The finger enters my bellybutton, wiggling lightly and quickly. "A koochie koochie koo, tickle tickle tickle, ooo kitsy kitsy," he says melting my body at his touch and words. His light tickles gradually became harder and faster, as if he was finger-fucking my bellybutton. How long has passed? I can't tell. I've been writhing in ticklish ecstasy for a long time. I look up at the screen between my brief moments of clarity. It looks like the movie is ending. His tickling begins to slow down. His finger is pulled out of my bellybutton. I pant for breath at what looks like the last action sequence of the movie. We can both tell the movie is nearing its end.
"We should do this again sometime," he says, returning to his polite demeanor. I look at him, my chest still heaving, bits of sweat appearing on my forehead. "Definitely," I say, feeling the best I have ever felt.
It is a typical Friday night in a small town movie theater. I haven't come to the movies in awhile, mostly because it was rare to have a Friday night off. I can't help but feel a bit shy around the large crowd. I've never enjoyed being around a lot of people, unless it was for a concert. I keep telling myself that it would be fine. The particular movie I wanted to see tonight had been out for a few weeks, so the crowd would not be quite so large. I exit my car to approach the ticket booth.
Despite my socially shy nature, I do enjoy going out. I do enjoy the looks that I get while I'm out. I try to modest in my own head, but I know that I am rather attractive to some people. I acknowledge it, but also feel ashamed at my own arrogance. However, the looks of lust when I get my tickets are my way of feeling better. I see them stare at me while I wear a black metal band shirt that I cut off to show my belly. Tonight, I chose to pair this with a black skirt that only covers from about halfway up my thighs. Normally, I would complete this outfit with a pair of evil-looking boots, but tonight I knew I should wear some simple black sandals.
I take my seat inside the empty theater. I intentionally arrive early for any showing to get a good spot. Tonight, I knew I could get a decent spot regardless, but I had other reasons for coming early. Long before the previews begin, I sit in the middle; the hotspot for people to show up. I remove my sandals, and place them under my seat. I then put my bare feet between the two seats in front of me. With my heart beating faster, I wait.
I have done this often. I fantasize about a person, or people, coming in and tickling my feet between the seats throughout the movie. I cannot explain this fantasy, but I have tried to act on it. A few times, I would get an occasional finger stroke my soles once, but most often people just avoid sitting where I keep my feet. I had one person ask me, very rudely, to move them, to which I feigned ignorance. I don't know why I still do this. Yes, I like being tickled, but my feet aren't a particularly favorite place to be tickled. I guess it is because it is the one spot most associated with the act of tickling. I don't think that my feet are cute, but I do whatever I can to draw attention to them in this situation. I had gotten a rather large tattoo of a sea turtle on my left foot, and I make sure to keep my toes painted. Tonight they are painted black.
People start to filter in. I try to control the sinking feeling in my belly, and pretend to just be relaxing. "Relax, Laurel," I tell myself. "You're just a young woman relaxing, not a weird tickle fiend openly begging for people to tickle you," my inner voice of reason echoes in my head. I watch more and more people come in. I begin to wonder if I had made a mistake in thinking that this movie wouldn't draw as large of a crowd. Before I can even think further on it, a man sits in the seat to the left of my bare feet. Does he see them? There are still more seats available, so surely he could sit somewhere else if he was bothered. He is a little heavy-set, African-American, bald, wearing some thin glasses, and from what I see, he is wearing a cyan button-down shirt with a collar. He looks as if he just got out of work at some sort of office; a grown-up job according to my inner voice.
I sit still, glancing at the man in front of me. It seems like the majority of the audience that will be here is here. I have no one sitting close to me. There is only one couple to the far end of my row, on my right. The man taps me on my leg as I stare off in the distance. I jump at the sudden touch, and see him turning his head to look at me, smiling in a friendly manner.
"Excuse me, but I was just wondering how much that tattoo had hurt," he says. He points on large finger at the top of my left foot. It was quite painful, however I usually tell people that it wasn't any worse than the other tattoos I have. I smile shyly, and swallow my anxiety enough to speak to him.
"It actually hurt quite a bit," I find myself saying, despite what I had originally planned to say. He chuckles a bit, looking me directly in the eyes. He opens his mouth to say something else, but the room starts to darken. He mouths something that I can't quite make out due to the darkening room. The green screen that shows the preview's rating illuminates the room, and in that moment, I see he had turned around to look at the screen. I begin to stare blankly at the screen, watching the previews that I suspect will be more interesting than the movie I paid to see.
I begin to feel the need to stretch my foot. My ankles need to stretch. I flex my feet back and forth, easing the discomfort. I watch the titles to the movie appear slowly on screen. Suddenly, I feel it. A single finger, with a bit of a fingernail, drags itself up my left sole. The sensation sends a jolt up my entire body, and my feet respond by jerking themselves out of the spot between the seat. He looks back at me with an embarrassed, almost scared expression on his face, which can only be made out a bit in the dark of the theater. He turns around quickly. I assume that he is probably scared that he had offended me. With a heavily beating heart, and the light fluttering of butterflies in my belly, I put my feet back in the spot between the seats, right next to him. I cross both feet, my right over my left, and nudge his arm with the toes on my right foot.
He looks down to see my feet back in the original spot. He turns again to me. I give him a nod, hoping that the darkness of the room hides my blush. He runs his finger up my right foot from the heel to the ball. Despite the tickling sensation, I hold still, only moving my toes as I feel his finger. With hesitation, he repeats the same action on my left foot. Again, I hold still. A few seconds pass, I nudge his arm with my toes again to signal that it is okay. Taking my cue, he wraps his arm around both of my feet. This is it! This is happening!!
I feel his fingers, and those evil nails, scratching slowly back and forth across my heels. I bite the side of my finger to keep from giggling too loudly. He takes one finger and scratches lightly, but quickly, up and down my left sole. This new sensation causes my toes to curl downwards. He seems to enjoy the new reactions from me. He repeats the one-finger scratching along my arch. He feels my feet struggling to stay still under his arm. I feel the tickling stop, and his hands begin to rub and massage my feet. I begin to relax under the pressure of his massage. Then, I feel what I was really hoping for. He takes the big toe of my left foot between his thumb and index finger. I expect a vigorous assault on my sole with his fingers holding my toe captive. Instead, I feel two of his fingers tickling quickly over the soft pad of my big toe. Instantly, I let out a squeal. He stops upon hearing my high-pitched squeal, my toe still in his fingers. I compose myself by biting my lip, and wiggle my big toe in his fingers to signal that he can keep going. One of his fingernails swirls circles on my big toe, tickling the pad, the tip, and the little part underneath. Writhing in my seat, stifling giggles, I manage to hold my feet and toes still. He puts my feet side by side next to each other, and lets all of his fingers spider up and down all ten of my toes. I arch my toes backward, holding them still to allow for his wiggling fingers to play with my toes.
Several minutes pass before I feel a sudden stop in the tickling. He gets up and walks out of the theater. Did I do something? Is he just needing to use the restroom? My inner voice says he may have gotten too excited. Many thoughts flood my head. I decide that it was fun while it lasted, and I watch the movie. Ten minutes pass, and I have finally become focused on the movie. I don't even notice until I feel a presence beside me. I look to my left. There he is. He came to sit beside me. I am unsure of what to do or say, so I just offer him a shy smile. He sits next to me in the seat, and he leans over to whisper in my ear.
"So, why are you letting me tickle your feet?" he asks. I giggle under my breath, and I lean to whisper back.
"I like being tickled," I say. I have never told anyone that before, and I had just told a complete stranger this secret. He smiles that polite smile he had shown earlier. I feel his eyes looking at my body, specifically eyeing my bare belly. He leans in to whisper again, this time saying the words that I never knew I wanted to hear. "Is your belly ticklish?"
Before I can answer, I feel the same light fingers spidering their way over my bare tummy. I instantly have to cover my own mouth to avoid the screams of laughter that would erupt. He sees this, and quickly helps me by putting his own hand over my mouth. I grip the armrests of my chair as his fingers slowly begin their spidering on my belly. I can't help but squirm at his touch, the light tickle touches eliciting all manners of reactions from me.
"A koochie koochie koo," he whispers in my ear. I begin to melt at his words and the ticklish assault. He smiles, no longer a polite smile, but a hungry smile like the grin of a shark. "Woochie woochie woochie woo," he taunts as his finger circles itself around my helpless bellybutton. I begin to feel myself squirming in a way to get his finger in my bellybutton. I want him to tickle my navel nonstop while whispering those teasing words in my ear.
The finger enters my bellybutton, wiggling lightly and quickly. "A koochie koochie koo, tickle tickle tickle, ooo kitsy kitsy," he says melting my body at his touch and words. His light tickles gradually became harder and faster, as if he was finger-fucking my bellybutton. How long has passed? I can't tell. I've been writhing in ticklish ecstasy for a long time. I look up at the screen between my brief moments of clarity. It looks like the movie is ending. His tickling begins to slow down. His finger is pulled out of my bellybutton. I pant for breath at what looks like the last action sequence of the movie. We can both tell the movie is nearing its end.
"We should do this again sometime," he says, returning to his polite demeanor. I look at him, my chest still heaving, bits of sweat appearing on my forehead. "Definitely," I say, feeling the best I have ever felt.
