OldEnglish
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- Apr 21, 2001
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Hey everyone,
So I know this isn't the next chapter of Katy & Amber that most people were hoping for (that is still in the works, don't worry). But this is something that I felt like I had to write for myself.
What follows is a tale of a cross-dressing male, Ian, who gets tickled by an ex-girlfriend, Jen. Though this story is entirely fictional, it is rooted in real life. As much as I hesitate to admit this, Ian is me and Jen is an ex-girlfriend from years gone by. My dressing isn't something that I've ever shared with anyone in "real life", and the weight of that seems to grow heavier and heavier with each passing year. It's not something that consumes or defines me by any means - indeed, Ian's classification is essentially spot-on to mine - but it is something that I felt like I could share under the cloak of anonymity that is the OldEnglish screen name.
I recognize that this might not be everyone's cup of tea, but I hope the designation of this being a f/cd-m story in the title was enough to keep those people away. I suppose if there is strong outrage towards this, I can always delete the story. On the other hand, if people like the story, I've left open the possibility for more.
But personally, I felt it needed to be written and shared. It's a part of my life. It's my wish. It's who I am.
So without further ado, I present to you...
A Little Ditty About Ian and Jen (f/cd-m, nylons)
Ian paused and looked at himself in the mirror. It was still difficult for him to believe that the person staring back at him in that mirror was actually himself. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever imagine that a day like this would come. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, Ian thought back to the sequence of events that had led him to this point in his life…
***
It had started out like any other mundane Saturday would start for Ian. Sleeping in a little later than usual… Breakfast, morning coffee, and then out and about to run some errands… Eventually, at his stomach’s urging, his travels brought him to his favorite sandwich shop, a small mom-and-pop place that made the best Italian sub Ian could find. Ian hoped he wasn’t too late; afterall, it was nearing two o’clock in the afternoon, close to closing time for the establishment, and the parking lot seemed empty save for one other car. Fortunately, fate was on Ian’s side this day, as he pushed the glass door open and walked into the shop, greeted immediately by the fragrance of all of the day’s previous lunches.
“Phew,” said Ian, walking through the door as if he had just broken the ribbon after a marathon run. “I thought I would be too late.”
“You just made it, dear,” said the owner’s wife from her usual perch behind the cash register.
“The lunch rush is over, I guess, huh?” asked Ian, making polite conversation as he neared the counter.
“Slow day today,” said the woman. As she was wont to do, she began rehashing the goings-on of the day, both from a business and a personal view point. Seeing every customer as an extension of her social network, the woman tended to be quite chatty, a trait that quite honestly had peeved a few customers and driven them elsewhere, not wanting to spend their precious few moments of their lunch break from work standing in the growing line. The regulars didn’t mind, though, and especially not on the weekends; indeed, the banter between the owner and his wife reminded most of the back-and-forth between Frank and Estelle Costanza. “You’re the first customer in a while,” she said, wrapping up her soliloquy. “Just you and this poor woman whose car won’t start.”
Ian gave a quick look around the place but saw the owner coming out from behind the food prep area, but no woman. IIan exchanged pleasantries with the owner, who recognized Ian as a casual regular; placed his order, a large Italian sub with lettuce, pickles, olives, and green peppers; and sat down in a booth as he waited for his lunch.
“Ian?” a female voice called out, pulling Ian from his momentary daydream. The voice was coming from behind Ian, likely from around the corner, as that is where the bathroom was located. Ian turned to see who had recognized him.
“Jen?” asked Ian, with just as much disbelief in his tone as Jen had in hers.
“Oh my gosh,” yelled Jen, running up to Ian to give him a hug. “It’s been forever!”
Indeed, it had. Ian and Jen had dated in college, which, at this point in their lives, was appearing further and further away in the rear-view mirror of their lives. There was nothing out of the ordinary about their relationship; it had been as normal as most could be, the pair dating exclusively for a few months before eventually drifting apart. There hadn’t been a giant argument or an infidelity scandal or anything of the like; instead, the two had merely drifted apart, the principle rationale being that the two had different majors which had led them to different social circles.
With his sandwich sitting on the counter, Ian and Jen began chatting; having not seen each other for about ten years - not even in the realm of social media, there was an awful lot to catch up on.
“It’s a shame we don’t have more time,” said Ian, looking at the clock on the wall and the impatient stare from the owner’s wife. “Looks like they’re trying to close up here.”
“Yeah,” said Jen, looking at her watch. “I should really let them close. My car is dead out in their parking lot and they’ve been nice enough to let me stay here out of the rain, but it’ll be at least another three hours before I can get a tow truck.”
“Three hours?” said Ian, incredulously. “That’s ridiculous,” he said. “Why don’t we take our sandwiches to go and we can wait at my place until the tow truck comes?”
“You don’t mind?” asked Jen.
“We both said we had a lot more to catch up on, didn’t we?” asked Ian, picking up his sandwich from the counter and paying the woman. Convinced, Jen agreed, and the two left the sandwich shop with sandwiches in tow and started towards Ian’s car.
The conversation flowed easily between the two as they drove from the sandwich shop and made their way into Ian’s apartment. They discussed anything and everything, from asking about each other’s career and family situation to discussing how the two of them ended up in the same sandwich shop after all these years to remembering the good ol’ days back at school to raving about the incredible sandwiches that had been prepared for them.
“I should really use the restroom,” said Jen after swallowing the last bite of her sandwich.
“Down the hall and to the right,” said Ian, sinking into the couch cushion with the dual sense of satisfaction of both a quality sandwich and the good times of reminiscing with an old friend. Life sure did have a funny way sometimes, he thought to himself. Though their time had surely passed - despite the fact that neither of the two were currently involved with someone, it was nice to see Jen again, even if just for old time’s sake.
“Hey,” called Jen from down the hall. “I thought you said you didn’t have a girlfriend,” she said, her voice becoming louder as she neared the living room area.
“I….don’t?” said Ian confused, not knowing what in his apartment might suggest that Ian was attached to anyone.
“Then whose shoes are these?” Jen asked, holding a pair of black flats from the tips of two of her fingers.
Ian had no explanation. His physical body could form no words, but he was cursing himself amidst his inner thoughts. How could he be so careless? How could he have not double-checked? All of these years successfully hiding this from everyone… All gone because of one careless mistake.
Ian was a cross-dresser. Or at least that’s the term that he found most closely matched how he would describe himself. And even still, he wasn’t sure that the term cross-dresser was right, either. There was no underlying reason for his dressing other than the fact that he had come to prefer women’s clothing. He preferred their look, their texture. He felt they fit him better. It wasn’t anything sexual for him by any means. He just… enjoyed it.
And to be sure, his dressing wardrobe would not be considered flashy in the least. Ian was certainly not going for the Vegas showgirl look by any means. Rather, he went for a more comfortable, more casual look, one that wouldn’t be all that different than what a “real” woman might wear. Some skinny jeans. Leggings. Ian considered it a cardinal sin that it was not socially acceptable for men to wear leggings. A few camisoles and some cute tops to match. And, of course, the shoes..
And up until now, this had been a secret that he had kept hidden from everyone in the world, opting to dress only behind closed doors and with the shades fully drawn. Though he had long hoped to be able to spend even one night hanging out with someone while dressed - just to make it feel even a little normal - it a secret that he believed he would take to his grave.
And yet, here was Jen, an ex-girlfriend of years gone by, standing in the living room just a few feet from him, his pair of black flats - the ones he loved with the cute gold buckle detail on the top - hanging from her fingers, her head tilted to the side a little as she awaited an explanation. Just a few moments ago, I had been having a wonderful day - everything seemed to be going his way. He had been able to sleep in. He had completed a lot of errands. And he had even run into an old friend from the past. But now, this was quickly turning into Ian’s worst nightmare…
Ian struggled to come up with an explanation to offer Jen, some reason why he might have a pair of women’s shoes in his bedroom. But his brain had cramped because of his nerves, the anxiety of being confronted about this. Nothing was coming.
“They’re….. mine,” Ian whispered, feeling at the same time both a giant weight being lifted off his shoulders for finally admitting it but also a giant blow to the guy for actually uttering those words.
“Yours?” Jen asked, completely not expecting that response. “You… wear these?”
Ian sat back down on the couch, his shoulders slumped as he began explaining the situation to Jen. Everything. From when it started when he was a young kid to the awkward days through middle and high school to how it manifested itself today. What it meant to him. How it made him feel. What he enjoyed about it. What he wore. Everything. It was like the tap had been unsealed and everything was just pouring out.
He half-expected - rather, wholly-expected - Jen to stand up and walk out, to be disgusted by everything he was saying to her. But she remained sitting on the couch, listening to whatever Ian had to say, never once seeming repulsed. Eventually, Ian had run out of things to say, had spilled his guts entirely to his friend.
“So that’s it?” Jen asked.
“That’s it?” Ian repeated, blown away by Jen’s response. There was no mocking. No insulting. No jeering. ‘That’s it?’ is what she had asked.
“I mean,” Jen began explaining herself, “that’s not all that bad. So you like women’s clothing? Who can blame you?” Jen said with a laugh.
“You’re not…” Ian began.
“Not what?” Jen asked, cutting Ian off. “Repulsed? Grossed out?” she asked, saying the words Ian himself was about to use. “Why would I be? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Wow,” said Ian. “I guess I’m speechless,” he said, legitimately unaware of how to respond.
“So when do you want to do it?” Jen asked.
“Do what?” asked Ian, unsure of what Jen meant.
“You said you always dreamed of being able to hang out with someone while dressed,” explained Jen. “When do you want to do it?”
***
And, thus, here they were, a few weekends later, Ian in his bedroom examining himself in the mirror while Jen sat in the living room waiting for him to come out. Butterflies filled Ian’s stomach. He had stood in front of this very mirror countless times in the past, looking at himself, but he had never done so with someone else in the next room. Ian set himself in multiple poses in front of the mirror, checking himself from every angle. But Ian wasn’t looking for confirmation about the outfit; he was looking for confirmation of himself.
Indeed, the outfit Ian had chosen for this day was one of his favorites. Conservative in nature despite this interest of his, Ian’s clothing style shared the same qualities. After careful consideration, Ian had chosen to wear a pair of skinny jeans with the faux rip detail on the thighs. He had paired that with a simple white camisole that he wore under a deep burgundy cardigan sweater that remained opened. He had worn press-on fingernails that showed a french manicure to give himself a more feminine look. The fake fingernails combined with the long sleeves of the cardigan sweater and the full length of the skinny jeans ensured that any skin showing from the neck down could appear to be an actual woman’s skin. Ian had completed the outfit with the very black flats that Jen had found to start this entire turn of events. A pair of suntan pantyhose completed his outfit. Ian knew that the pantyhose were the only part of the outfit that a “real” woman likely wouldn’t be wearing on any given day - indeed, he had seen countless women wearing the jeans/camisole/cardigan outfit over time - but he thought they added a layer of “cuteness” to his outfit - no matter how little of them actually showed. Plus, Ian felt that it was more comfortable wearing dressier shoes of any kind with hosiery of some kind; the idea of barefeet in any dressier shoe that was closed-toe was not a look that Ian felt was comfortable.
“Are you coming out or what?” called out Jen jokingly.
Taking a deep breath, Ian turned away from the mirror, opened the door, and began the slow walk into the living room for Jen to see.
“Wow,” said Jen, getting up from the couch for a closer look. “You actually look… nice,” she said.
“Gee, thanks,” said Ian sarcastically.
Jen laughed. “No, I mean it,” she said, now aware of how her earlier tone could be interpreted. “So honest analysis,” she said, bringing her arm to her chin and giving Ian a thrice-over. “I mean, obviously above your neck is clearly a guy, but that’s nothing a little makeup and a wig wouldn’t solve,” she said, “but neck down, not even joking, you easily could pass as a woman.”
“Yeah right,” said Ian, not ever considering it a possibility that he might be passable.
“No,” Jen said with a laugh again. “I mean it. Neck down, you could totally pass as a woman. It’s actually a really good look on you,” said Jen, herself not fully expecting Ian to look as natural as he did in women’s clothing. She wasn’t exactly sure what to expect, of course, since this was all unchartered territory for her, as well, but she certainly didn’t expect him to look… good. “To be honest, I’m actually kind of… jealous,” she said, sharing a laugh with Ian after she said it. “You look better than I do today.”
“Oh, stop,” said Ian, giving Jen a playful nudge on her shoulder. Yes, Ian did seem a tad more formal than Jen did, but chiefly because Ian had gone to great lengths to try to make himself look as un-grotesque - in his mind - as he possibly could. Not that Jen looked like a slouch or anything by any means. She wore her outfit - a pair of gray leggings with a pink long sleeve top under a gray hoodie that she had discarded at the door - quite well.
The two then sat down and went about their time uneventfully, as if nothing was different from the last time that they had chatted on this couch. The pair talked, flipped through the television and through Netflix - finding nothing of merit in either avenue - and contemplated ordering a pizza, all with no mention of Ian’s outfit. It felt… natural.
“What?” asked Ian, sensing that Jen was staring in his direction. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he said with a laugh.
“Wha.. Oh, sorry,” said Jen, not realizing how much she was actually staring at Ian, having been lost in her thoughts. “I just… I just can’t get over how good you actually look in that outfit,” Jen admitted.
Ian blushed a bit, realizing Jen was being serious.
Indeed she was serious. The two had been both sitting on the sofa, each on opposite ends, and Ian had crossed his left leg over his right, catching Jen’s eye. In this position and from her vantage point, Jen could see the entirety of Ian’s leg, his skinny jeans clinging tight to his legs. Ian had always had strong legs, she recalled, but she never realized how well those strong legs would translate in women’s clothing. Not helping matters was that Ian had taken to popping his flat on and off his hanging left foot ever so slightly, as if being done entirely by the slipperiness of the nylon material of his pantyhose. When he felt his heel lightly pop out of the flat, Ian aided in the process, flexing his foot just so, leaving his flat dangling off the tip of his toes. Jen was impressed.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to jump you or anything,” Jen said with a laugh, qualifying her statement. “I say this merely as girl friend to fellow girl friend. But damn - those jeans make your legs look amazing,” she said truthfully.
“Do you mind if I try on your shoes?” asked Jen, already removing her own UGG boots and slipping off her socks before Ian could even respond.
“Sure,” said Ian, slipping out of his flats for the first time that day. “I mean, they’re a bit big for you, I’m sure,” he said, pointing out the obvious.
“Well, yeah,” Jen said laughing. “They’re cute, though,” she said, slipping her now barefeet into the flats. “And comfy,” she said, taking a couple of steps away from the couch. “You’ve got good taste,” she said, slipping out of the flats by the kitchen island and walking back to the couch to reclaim her spot.
“Thanks,” said Ian, not sure what else to say to show his gratitude.
“The nylons are a super cute touch, too,” said Jen, pointing down to the floor at Ian’s feet. Ian instinctively brought his feet up on the couch, sitting now in a manner so that his feet were tucked off to his side, facing the center of the couch.
“Really?” asked Ian, looking down at his feet now. “You think so? To be honest, they’re the part of the outfit that always gives me most pause,” he admitted.
“Why?” asked Jen.
“I don’t know, really,” said Ian, half-truthfully. “I don’t really know how to describe it. I mean, on the one hand, I love wearing them. They’re super comfy. And I almost feel like I can’t wear a dress shoe without nylons, ya know? On the other hand, I feel like it’s the only part of the outfit that isn’t normal for a real woman,” he said. “Plus, I don’t know… I mean, I like wearing them and how they feel and all, but I feel like if I ever actually admitted that to someone, then they’d think it was something sexual for me,” he said.
“I see what you mean,” said Jen. “And if you told me you ONLY wore pantyhose, then yeah,” she said with a laugh, “then we probably wouldn’t be doing this right now,” she admitted with another laugh. “But no,” she said, seriously now, “the nylons under the jeans - I think anyways - is a super cute look on you. Girl friend to girl friend,” she said with a final laugh.
“Aww, thank,” said Ian, flattered by Jen’s critique. “Girl friend to girl friend,” he said, repeating the term Jen had used a couple of times already that day.
“But we do have to do something about those crooked toe seams,” said Jen, gently grabbing Ian’s ankles and stretching his leg so that his feet now rested on Jen’s lap.
“Yeah, I still need to find a way to get them to stay st--ooo,” blurted out Ian as Jen began adjusting the seams, flinching as soon as she touched his foot.
“You OK there?” Jen asked with a laugh, quickly straightening the seams on Ian’s nylons.
“Yeah, no, sorry,” said Ian. “Just startled was all,” he lied. Jen touching Ian’s toes to straighten the seams had tickled Ian. And it had tickled him way more than he ever thought it would have. Yes, Ian was ticklish - wasn’t everyone? And sure, maybe Ian might have been a little more ticklish on his feet than most - especially compared to other guys. But he had never classified himself so ticklish that someone simply touching his feet would elicit such a ticklish response. Ian replayed the scene over again in his mind. He had both flinched and gasped when Jen had touched his foot, to say nothing of the smile that had reflexively formed on his face as a result. Ian had had girlfriends in the past react in a similar way, but they were girls, and they were super ticklish, for the most part. ‘Why had that tickled so much?’ Ian wondered as he looked down at his feet, which were still resting on Jen’s lap. ‘And had Jen noticed?’
Jen had indeed noticed, though admittedly not instantly. Truth be told, Jen’s initial response was one of worry, concerned that she might have put a run in Ian’s stockings with her nail. Many a pair of her own pantyhose had met their fate at the hands of Jen’s nails over the years, and she had initially been worried that she might have ruined a pair of Ian’s. But that hadn’t been the case; Ian’s nylons showed no sign of any run or ladder. It wasn’t until she had finished straightening his seams and she looked at her feet that it dawned on her. ‘Startled, my ass,’ she thought to herself with a smile. Could that have been a ticklish reaction out of Ian? She scanned through the memories of their time together from years past, trying to recollect any data that could help prove her assumption. She remembered Ian being ticklish, but not exceedingly so. Sure, she remembered times when she’d sneak a tickle on his foot if he happened to be barefoot around her and those many times where she’d mess with his sides and underarms when he had his arm around her on the couch. But nothing stood out as an “omg he’s so ticklish!” type of moment. And that was what Jen would have called what just happened a moment ago. Ian had reacted so strongly that it.. It had to have tickled.. Right?
This new analysis placed Jen in quite the internal pickle. On the one hand, the discovery of a ticklish friend surely needed to be met with a tickle attack of some kind. It was one of nature’s laws. But while Jen was pretty sure that she had elicited a ticklish reaction of Ian, she wasn’t 100% sure of it. Ordinarily, her 90% conviction that Ian was ticklish would have been enough to sway Jen to further tickle action, especially in such an inviting situation - Ian’s feet right on her lap. And truth be told, five minutes ago, Jen would likely already be tickling Ian’s feet without worry. But the very act that precipitated Jen’s potential discovery of Ian’s ticklishness - trying on Ian’s shoes - had left Jen without any shoes or socks on herself. And while she only slightly doubted her idea of Ian’s ticklishness, there was no doubting the level of her own ticklishness. Indeed, it had long been her weakness, from when she was a young child through middle and high school into college and even to this very day. And like so many others, her feet were her most ticklish spot, a condition that many a friend, boyfriend, or family member had discovered throughout the years. Ian was one such boyfriend. Benefiting from the betrayal of Jen’s roommate at the time - who had so nicely shared Jen’s ticklishness with Ian one day unbeknownst to Jen - Ian had targeted Jen’s feet frequently during their time together. But did Ian remember that? It had been a number of years, after all.
But therein lied the dilemma. It would be easy enough to start tickling Ian’s feet. They could not be any more vulnerable to a tickle attack as they rested on Jen’s lap. But in the offchance that Ian wasn’t ticklish - or wasn’t ticklish as Jen had thought him to be based on his reaction - would she be starting a tickle war that she could not win?
Ian wasn’t considering Jen’s ticklishness at all at the moment. He was too consumed with trying to figure out how such an innocent touch had tickled as much as it had. And then there was the severity of his current situation - his feet sitting on Jen’s lap. What if something else brushed up against his foot and elicited another ticklish reaction? Or worse - what if Jen had realized that if tickled Ian and was plotting something against him at this current moment?
Ian was internally debating his next move. He knew the safest move for him would be to get his feet off of Jen’s lap as quickly as he could. If he somehow was as ticklish as he thought he was, it would be foolish to leave his feet as close to Jen as they were. But he was also aware of how that might be perceived… Removing your feet from the area so soon after showing possible ticklishness would surely only confirm in Jen’s mind that it had tickled Ian. As much as he hated to admit it, the longer Ian kept his feet on Jen’s lap, the less likely Jen would think he was ticklish --- or that was Ian’s strategy, anyways. Yes, he would have to will himself the courage to leave himself in such a potentially vulnerable position, but he felt it was the only way to “prove” that it hadn’t tickled.
Ian’s strategy was meeting mixed results. Yes, Jen had some internal doubt as to why Ian wouldn’t be moving his feet off her lap if he was as ticklish as he was, so in that regard, Ian’s strategy was solid. But Jen was a tickler, always the one in the group of friends to start the tickle war or to sneak in as many tickles as she could. And the sight of Ian’s feet in nylons sitting in such a vulnerable manner on her lap was becoming too tempting to resist.
“Do you, uh, want another drink?” Ian asked, hoping that this might be the inconspicuous opportunity for him to get up and get his feet out of harm’s way. Or even better, get his shoes back on.
“Nah, I’m good,” said Jen, thwarting Ian’s plan instantly. She dropped her left arm down so that it was resting across Ian’s shins, not with enough weight to forcibly hold Ian down by any means but certainly enough that any movement of Ian’s legs would now be registered by Jen.
“Cool,” said Ian, discouraged that his plan had not worked.
“So just curious,” asked Jen, not wanting to give Ian an opening to try to get up again. “Do you always wear nylons?”
“Oh,” said Ian, not thinking that Jen would indirectly go back to the subject of his feet so soon. “Yeah, I, uh,” he said awkwardly. “I guess I do.”
“It’s cute,” said Jen. “It’s your thing,” she said with a smile.
“Yeah, I guess so,” said Ian, who at the same time was both happy to be talking about his dressing habits in such a positive light and also wanting to steer the conversation towards anything but his feet at the moment.
A lightbulb went off in Jen’s head. She knew she needed more data and she had just come up with a way to try to get it. She grabbed one of the small throw pillows from the couch and placed it on her lap, making sure to do so in such a way to guarantee that the edge of the throw pillow lightly brushed up against the bottom of Ian’s foot.
Again, Ian flinched, this time a little more so than before.
‘Damn it,’ thought Ian to himself after realizing what had happened. How was this happening? How was literally everything tickling his feet so much? He looked down to Jen to see if she showed any signs of noticing.
Jen was a stone, though, not wanting to give any indication of her victory. There was no denying that Ian had flinched - and there was no denying that Ian had flinched quite a bit. Could he be even more ticklish than she originally thought? From what she could see, his feet sure looked ticklish. Yes, he was wearing nylons, but they were light enough in color and sheer enough that she could make out many features of his actual foot, and there didn’t seem to be a dry spot on them. But he always had nice feet for a guy, remembered Jen, thinking back to how Ian had once admitted that he moisturized on a regular basis. She had never told him back then, but she had always attributed to how ticklish his feet were in college to how often he moisturized. The thought of what all of those additional years of moisturizing might have been doing almost caused Jen to smile, though she bit her lip to maintain her stoic appearance.
Ian, too, also tried to maintain his poker face, though his internal feeling was more of one of panic than joy. There was no way Jen had missed how much he had just flinched, that much was certain. But where Ian was not sure was if Jen had realized why he had flinched. A person could flinch for any number of reasons, right? A muscle spasm? A twitch? Surely, if Jen had thought it tickled, she, too, would have reacted, right? A laugh? A smile? A comment? But nothing. She sat there as if she hadn’t noticed it at all. This threw a dangerous curveball into Ian’s strategy. There was no doubt in Ian’s mind that he was far more ticklish than he had thought, the feeling of a throw pillow against his foot so ticklish that he dreaded what might happen if Jen’s nails made contact with his foot. But his strategy of keeping his feet on Jen’s lap and pretending that nothing was happening seemed to be working to some degree. But as the instances of ticklish touches increased, Ian knew that this strategy could be dangerous. He knew he needed to get his feet off of Jen’s lap, but couldn’t think of a way to do so inconspicuously.
Ian’s situation went from bad to worse as Jen leaned her body to the left in a half-reclining position. This resulted in her upper body now resting most of its weight on Ian’s shins, pinning them down on Jen’s lap. Worse, Jen’s position now meant Ian’s feet were out of his view. The only way he had managed to not audibly gasp when the throw pillow touched his foot was because he saw it happen, was able to anticipate it. With Jen now blocking his view, he had no way of knowing what, if any, peril his feet were in.
Jen smiled a sly smile out of Ian’s view. Sitting before her were a pair of helpless feet, and it was now time to see just how ticklish they actually were. With her strategic move to lean down, she knew the weight of her upper body was making it almost impossible for Ian to pull his legs free, and she could effectively do whatever she pleased.
Jen went back to the pillow, knowing it had elicited a reaction before, and gently pulled it closer to her, to make it look as natural as possible, again making sure, though, that the edge of the pillow brushed against Ian’s foot as it went by.
“Ah!” Ian gasped lightly, flinching his leg as he felt the pillow brush by.
“You OK up there?” Jen asked without turning around, unable to hide the smile on her face.
“Yeah, just, uh… just getting comfortable,” Ian managed to lie, knowing his well of excuses was going dry.
Jen could not contain her smile. It was evident that these were some seriously ticklish feet that lay before her, no matter what Ian may say. This wasn’t her first rodeo. She had tickled many a friend growing up and knew the signs of a ticklish person. She was quite adept at picking out signals that might prove that a person claiming to not be ticklish was fibbing.
“You want some help?” Jen asked. “I could give you a foot massage if you wanted. I know walking in dress shoes can make your feet ache.”
“No!” Ian said a bit more forcefully than he would have liked. “I mean,” he said, adjusting the tone of his voice. “You don’t have to do that,” he said.
“Nonsense,” said Jen, who began rubbing Ian’s feet as they lay before her. “It’s nothing.”
But to Ian, it was most definitely something. Jen’s soft hands lightly rubbing his feet was more than he thought he could handle. The accidental touches tickled enough as it was. Now, Jen’s hands delicately caressed the entirety of his foot, and he could do nothing to contain the involuntary flinching that occured with each touch. When her hands made way to the center of his foot and focused on his arches, he nearly lost it, grabbing a pillow and putting it over his face to try to block out the sensation.
Each touch brought more validation to Jen’s theory, and each flinch caused her to wonder if she had actually underestimated how ticklish Ian’s feet were. It was evidently clear that he couldn’t handle the slightest touch on his feet without flinching. Granted, not many of Jen’s friends could handle a foot massage with a straight face, but this much flinching put Ian in rare territory, classified with a group of friends Jen described as hopelessly ticklish. She knew the signs of this group quite well - she classified herself within that group - and there was no doubt that Ian’s reactions proved he belonged within that group.
Jen turned her head slightly and saw Ian with a pillow over his face, clearly in ticklish agony as he tried in vain to hide any indication of what he was going through. It was time to put an end to the game and let the cat out of the bag.
“Why Ian,” Jen said with a smile. “Are your feet ticklish?” she asked, stopping her foot massage so Ian could answer.
“No,” Ian lied, still clinging to some hope that his lie may work. “I was just yawning.”
“Really?” said Jen, almost enjoying more that Ian was trying to lie his way through this. “Then I guess you won’t mind if I do…. this?” she asked, dragging the tip of one of her fingers down the bottom of Ian’s foot, the first true, actual tickle she had given Ian.
“No, don’t!” Ian gasped, laughing and jumping at Jen’s touch. There was no use trying to hide it at this point; it was without a doubt the most ticklish sensation he had ever felt. “OK, OK. My feet are ticklish,” he admitted. “They’ve just never been… this ticklish,” he said, still not sure what was causing this.
“Well, duh, girl,” Jen said. “You’re wearing nylons,” she said plainly.
“Huh?” Ian asked.
“Oh, that’s right,” Jen said, realizing Ian might not know what she meant. “You’re new to this whole girl thing. A guy wouldn’t really know about this, I guess,” she said, almost explaining it to herself.
“Know about what?” Ian asked.
“Nylons are instruments of torture for the ticklish,” Jen said.
“Really?” Ian asked, taking in this new information.
“Definitely,” said Jen without hesitation. “Aren’t they?” she asked, dancing her fingernails quickly along the bottom of Ian’s still trapped feet.
“No, st-ah-ahp!” Ian gasped, unprepared for the tickle attack.
“Doesn’t tickle more?” asked Jen, wanting to hear Ian admit it.
“Yeah,” he said. “I had no idea how ticklish.”
“Why do you think women don’t wear them that often?” Jen asked.
“Because they make you more ticklish?” Ian asked. “I always thought you guys just thought they were uncomfortable.”
“I mean, yeah, some do,” said Jen. “But it’s usually for self-preservation. No one wants to get caught in a tickle war with nylons on,” she said with a laugh.
“I always found them comfortable myself,” said Ian.
“So do I,” agreed Jen. “Not to mention the support they provide,” she said with a laugh, pointing to her hips. “I’d wear them way more often if I could get by without always getting tickled when I had them on,” she said.
“Yeah, I guess I have tickled my fair share of girls in nylons in the past,” said Ian. “So why not just wear them when you know it’s going to be a girls night or something?”
“Are you kidding?” asked Jen, as if Ian had just asked the dumbest question ever. “Girls are even worse offenders than guys!”
“Really?” asked Ian, not expecting to hear that.
“Oh gosh, yeah,” said Jen. “Well, think about it,” she explained. “Any girls who has ever worn nylons likely knows how nylons make you more ticklish, right? And there’s a good chance that a girl already knows if one of her friends is ticklish.”
“Yeah, I see your point,” agreed Ian.
“Yeah,” continued Jen. “And most of the time when you’re wearing nylons, you’re wearing them with some type of heel or some shoe that will come off literally the second you walk through the door, right?”
“That’s true,” Ian agreed again, seeing the logic in Jen’s statement. “I guess that does leave you pretty wide open.”
“Yeah,” said Jen. “Any girl who wears nylons to a girls night out is just asking for trouble.”
“I guess so,” said Ian.
“And you, my dear,” Jen said, a devious smile forming on her lips. “Are a girl wearing nylons to a girls night in,” she said, raising her eyebrows to represent the evil intentions floating through her mind.
Ian’s eyes widened. He pulled at his legs to try to free them from Jen’s lap, but she had too much leverage. “Jennnnn,” he said, trying to reason with her. “This.. This isn’t fair,” he said. “I didn’t know.”
“Oh, it’s more than fair,” said Jen smiling. “I think I have a lot of retribution coming my way,” Jen said.
“Ret- Retribution?” asked Ian, still pulling to no avail.
“Remember all those times you used to tickle me when we were dating?” Jen asked, her left eyebrow raised.
“Jen, no,” Ian pleaded. “I’m sorry. It was all in good fun,” he reasoned, anything to try to convince Jen to not follow through with what she was clearly planning.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Jen reassured. “This will all be in good fun, too,” she said smiling.
“Jen, please,” begged Ian, stopping his efforts to pull his legs away. “I’m not going to be able to… It’s going to be.. I didn’t kno-oh-oh-ho-ha-ha-ha,” Ian said, the coherent words coming to a stop the second Jen’s fingernails made contact with the bottom of his foot.
Ian was instantly in hysterics. Nothing could have prepared him for just exactly how much an actual tickle attack on the bottom of his feet would tickle. He twisted and turned and thrashed on the couch, trying in vain to find a weak grip, to get his feet out of Jen’s grasp, all to no avail.
“Oh, look at youuu,” Jen sang as she danced her fingers along the bottom of Ian’s trapped feet. “Looks like someone’s ticklish, huh?” Jen teased. “These nylons are torture, aren’t they?” Jen asked with a laugh.
Ian couldn’t respond with anything but frenzied laughter, but yes, yes they were torture. ‘How did women wear these on a regular basis?’ he wondered to himself. No wonder they hardly ever wore them. The thin nylon material multiplied each ticklish sensation Jen’s fingers were leaving on the bottom of his foot, and there was no escape from it. Wherever Jen tickled, she tickled nylons, and Ian was helpless, unable to build up the strength to even twist and turn anymore.
“These are pantyhose, right?” Jen asked, already knowing the answer. “You can’t even get these off if you tried,” she teased, never once slowing her tickling technique.
‘Why does she have to talking about them?” asked Ian, who was finding that the more Jen talked and teased about the nylons being more ticklish, the more ticklish they felt - no matter how impossible that seemed. Oh, how he would do anything to not have the nylons on right now. Not that he had any notion that he would be able to survive such a tickle attack if he was barefoot - his feet were his most ticklish, after all - but there’s no way that it would tickle as much as this did. At the very least, he might be able to put up a good enough effort to get a hold of Jen’s feet to dish out some of her medicine. But it was all impossible with the nylons on.
“You said you always wear nylons, right?” asked Jen with a slight laugh, picturing Ian constantly vulnerable to a tickle attack whenever he was dressed. “Gosh, you’d never survive girls nights like this,” she half-mocked, laughing at Ian.
Ian tapped out on the couch with all the strength that he had left, tears streaming down his cheeks, his fact beet red, his laughter mixed with silent laughter. He didn’t even want to think about what it would have been like to grow up like this, the constant target of tickle attacks from people. This here was torture enough.
“My poor, sweet Ian,” laughed Jen. “Look how ticklish you are,” she teased.
Jen’s fingers danced across the entirety of Ian’s feet, their current position - prone on Jen’s lap without any means of pulling away - left them a vulnerable target for any tickling Jen would like to do. She varied her technique, making sure Ian never got used to the tickling in one spot by staying there too long. Right in the center of the arch, under the toes, along the top, at the ball, near the hell, by the ankle… Jen’s fingers danced without abandon, never once encountering a spot that wasn’t ticklish.
“My gosh,” Jen said, showing her amazement that Ian could actually be this ticklish. “You’re starting to compete for most ticklish girl friend, I’d say,” she said with a laugh.
Ian managed to get a few sounds out that sounded like more pleas, but otherwise remained helpless to Jen’s tickle attack.
“I think you’ve earned a break, dear,” Jen said, finally pausing her tickle attack on Ian’s helpless feet. Ian’s laughter continued even beyond the tickling, eventually reducing to just stray giggles as memories of the tickle attack still danced in his mind.
“You OK there, killer?” asked Jen, not releasing her grip on Ian’s shins.
“That,” Ian said, catching his breath. “Was torture.”
“Ticklish, huh?” Jen asked, stating the obvious.
“SO ticklish,” Ian admitted. “I may have to reconsider my decision to always wear them,” he said with a laugh.
“Oh, no you don’t,” joked Jen. “Any time we do this, I want you to be in nylons. So you can see what it’s like,” she commanded jokingly.
“We’re… going to do this again?” asked Ian, who hadn’t considered a second girls night in to this point.
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” she said with a wink. “Besides, you might be my only girl friend who wears nylons all the time, so it’ll keep my fingers busy,” Jen said with a chuckle, holding her hand up and making a tickling motion in the air.
“No!” Ian said with a laugh. “You have no idea how much that tickled,” he said.
“Oh, I do,” she said. “That’s why I did it,” she laughed. “I’ve been on the receiving end many times myself, so I know how ticklish nylons are.”
“Well, then you have to wear them, too,” said Ian, negotiating a way to get on level ground with Jen.
“Wait, what?” asked Jen.
“You yourself said you wished you wore them more often,” reminded Ian. “It can be our thing,” he said.
“I don’t know,” said Jen, unsure of whether she should put herself in such a vulnerable position, as well.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to wear them knowing I’d be in nylons, too?” Ian asked. “You wouldn’t be the only one,” he said.
“Yeah, that is a good point,” said Jen. “It’s a lot easier when someone else is in nylons,” she said, pausing. “OK, you’ve got a deal,” she agreed.
“Sweet,” said Ian. He hadn’t wanted to stop wearing nylons; they were his go-to, after all. But he knew he couldn’t consistently be at such a disadvantage to Jen’s tickling fingers. Maybe Jen being in nylons herself would give her pause before she tickled Ian in the future.
“For now, though,” Jen said, the devious smile reforming on her face. “You’re still a girl in nylons at a girls night in,” she said, letting her words hang in the air.
“Jen, no!” shouted Ian, falling back on the couch again in hysterical laughter the second he registered Jen’s nails on the bottom of his feet.
“Oh, I wasn’t done paying you back yet,” Jen said with a laugh.
***
And thus began this new chapter in the lives of Ian and Jen.
[Closing statement: For those who read to the end, you have no idea how much I hesitated hitting the "submit new thread" button. I guess there's no going back now, is there?]
So I know this isn't the next chapter of Katy & Amber that most people were hoping for (that is still in the works, don't worry). But this is something that I felt like I had to write for myself.
What follows is a tale of a cross-dressing male, Ian, who gets tickled by an ex-girlfriend, Jen. Though this story is entirely fictional, it is rooted in real life. As much as I hesitate to admit this, Ian is me and Jen is an ex-girlfriend from years gone by. My dressing isn't something that I've ever shared with anyone in "real life", and the weight of that seems to grow heavier and heavier with each passing year. It's not something that consumes or defines me by any means - indeed, Ian's classification is essentially spot-on to mine - but it is something that I felt like I could share under the cloak of anonymity that is the OldEnglish screen name.
I recognize that this might not be everyone's cup of tea, but I hope the designation of this being a f/cd-m story in the title was enough to keep those people away. I suppose if there is strong outrage towards this, I can always delete the story. On the other hand, if people like the story, I've left open the possibility for more.
But personally, I felt it needed to be written and shared. It's a part of my life. It's my wish. It's who I am.
So without further ado, I present to you...
A Little Ditty About Ian and Jen (f/cd-m, nylons)
Ian paused and looked at himself in the mirror. It was still difficult for him to believe that the person staring back at him in that mirror was actually himself. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever imagine that a day like this would come. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, Ian thought back to the sequence of events that had led him to this point in his life…
***
It had started out like any other mundane Saturday would start for Ian. Sleeping in a little later than usual… Breakfast, morning coffee, and then out and about to run some errands… Eventually, at his stomach’s urging, his travels brought him to his favorite sandwich shop, a small mom-and-pop place that made the best Italian sub Ian could find. Ian hoped he wasn’t too late; afterall, it was nearing two o’clock in the afternoon, close to closing time for the establishment, and the parking lot seemed empty save for one other car. Fortunately, fate was on Ian’s side this day, as he pushed the glass door open and walked into the shop, greeted immediately by the fragrance of all of the day’s previous lunches.
“Phew,” said Ian, walking through the door as if he had just broken the ribbon after a marathon run. “I thought I would be too late.”
“You just made it, dear,” said the owner’s wife from her usual perch behind the cash register.
“The lunch rush is over, I guess, huh?” asked Ian, making polite conversation as he neared the counter.
“Slow day today,” said the woman. As she was wont to do, she began rehashing the goings-on of the day, both from a business and a personal view point. Seeing every customer as an extension of her social network, the woman tended to be quite chatty, a trait that quite honestly had peeved a few customers and driven them elsewhere, not wanting to spend their precious few moments of their lunch break from work standing in the growing line. The regulars didn’t mind, though, and especially not on the weekends; indeed, the banter between the owner and his wife reminded most of the back-and-forth between Frank and Estelle Costanza. “You’re the first customer in a while,” she said, wrapping up her soliloquy. “Just you and this poor woman whose car won’t start.”
Ian gave a quick look around the place but saw the owner coming out from behind the food prep area, but no woman. IIan exchanged pleasantries with the owner, who recognized Ian as a casual regular; placed his order, a large Italian sub with lettuce, pickles, olives, and green peppers; and sat down in a booth as he waited for his lunch.
“Ian?” a female voice called out, pulling Ian from his momentary daydream. The voice was coming from behind Ian, likely from around the corner, as that is where the bathroom was located. Ian turned to see who had recognized him.
“Jen?” asked Ian, with just as much disbelief in his tone as Jen had in hers.
“Oh my gosh,” yelled Jen, running up to Ian to give him a hug. “It’s been forever!”
Indeed, it had. Ian and Jen had dated in college, which, at this point in their lives, was appearing further and further away in the rear-view mirror of their lives. There was nothing out of the ordinary about their relationship; it had been as normal as most could be, the pair dating exclusively for a few months before eventually drifting apart. There hadn’t been a giant argument or an infidelity scandal or anything of the like; instead, the two had merely drifted apart, the principle rationale being that the two had different majors which had led them to different social circles.
With his sandwich sitting on the counter, Ian and Jen began chatting; having not seen each other for about ten years - not even in the realm of social media, there was an awful lot to catch up on.
“It’s a shame we don’t have more time,” said Ian, looking at the clock on the wall and the impatient stare from the owner’s wife. “Looks like they’re trying to close up here.”
“Yeah,” said Jen, looking at her watch. “I should really let them close. My car is dead out in their parking lot and they’ve been nice enough to let me stay here out of the rain, but it’ll be at least another three hours before I can get a tow truck.”
“Three hours?” said Ian, incredulously. “That’s ridiculous,” he said. “Why don’t we take our sandwiches to go and we can wait at my place until the tow truck comes?”
“You don’t mind?” asked Jen.
“We both said we had a lot more to catch up on, didn’t we?” asked Ian, picking up his sandwich from the counter and paying the woman. Convinced, Jen agreed, and the two left the sandwich shop with sandwiches in tow and started towards Ian’s car.
The conversation flowed easily between the two as they drove from the sandwich shop and made their way into Ian’s apartment. They discussed anything and everything, from asking about each other’s career and family situation to discussing how the two of them ended up in the same sandwich shop after all these years to remembering the good ol’ days back at school to raving about the incredible sandwiches that had been prepared for them.
“I should really use the restroom,” said Jen after swallowing the last bite of her sandwich.
“Down the hall and to the right,” said Ian, sinking into the couch cushion with the dual sense of satisfaction of both a quality sandwich and the good times of reminiscing with an old friend. Life sure did have a funny way sometimes, he thought to himself. Though their time had surely passed - despite the fact that neither of the two were currently involved with someone, it was nice to see Jen again, even if just for old time’s sake.
“Hey,” called Jen from down the hall. “I thought you said you didn’t have a girlfriend,” she said, her voice becoming louder as she neared the living room area.
“I….don’t?” said Ian confused, not knowing what in his apartment might suggest that Ian was attached to anyone.
“Then whose shoes are these?” Jen asked, holding a pair of black flats from the tips of two of her fingers.
Ian had no explanation. His physical body could form no words, but he was cursing himself amidst his inner thoughts. How could he be so careless? How could he have not double-checked? All of these years successfully hiding this from everyone… All gone because of one careless mistake.
Ian was a cross-dresser. Or at least that’s the term that he found most closely matched how he would describe himself. And even still, he wasn’t sure that the term cross-dresser was right, either. There was no underlying reason for his dressing other than the fact that he had come to prefer women’s clothing. He preferred their look, their texture. He felt they fit him better. It wasn’t anything sexual for him by any means. He just… enjoyed it.
And to be sure, his dressing wardrobe would not be considered flashy in the least. Ian was certainly not going for the Vegas showgirl look by any means. Rather, he went for a more comfortable, more casual look, one that wouldn’t be all that different than what a “real” woman might wear. Some skinny jeans. Leggings. Ian considered it a cardinal sin that it was not socially acceptable for men to wear leggings. A few camisoles and some cute tops to match. And, of course, the shoes..
And up until now, this had been a secret that he had kept hidden from everyone in the world, opting to dress only behind closed doors and with the shades fully drawn. Though he had long hoped to be able to spend even one night hanging out with someone while dressed - just to make it feel even a little normal - it a secret that he believed he would take to his grave.
And yet, here was Jen, an ex-girlfriend of years gone by, standing in the living room just a few feet from him, his pair of black flats - the ones he loved with the cute gold buckle detail on the top - hanging from her fingers, her head tilted to the side a little as she awaited an explanation. Just a few moments ago, I had been having a wonderful day - everything seemed to be going his way. He had been able to sleep in. He had completed a lot of errands. And he had even run into an old friend from the past. But now, this was quickly turning into Ian’s worst nightmare…
Ian struggled to come up with an explanation to offer Jen, some reason why he might have a pair of women’s shoes in his bedroom. But his brain had cramped because of his nerves, the anxiety of being confronted about this. Nothing was coming.
“They’re….. mine,” Ian whispered, feeling at the same time both a giant weight being lifted off his shoulders for finally admitting it but also a giant blow to the guy for actually uttering those words.
“Yours?” Jen asked, completely not expecting that response. “You… wear these?”
Ian sat back down on the couch, his shoulders slumped as he began explaining the situation to Jen. Everything. From when it started when he was a young kid to the awkward days through middle and high school to how it manifested itself today. What it meant to him. How it made him feel. What he enjoyed about it. What he wore. Everything. It was like the tap had been unsealed and everything was just pouring out.
He half-expected - rather, wholly-expected - Jen to stand up and walk out, to be disgusted by everything he was saying to her. But she remained sitting on the couch, listening to whatever Ian had to say, never once seeming repulsed. Eventually, Ian had run out of things to say, had spilled his guts entirely to his friend.
“So that’s it?” Jen asked.
“That’s it?” Ian repeated, blown away by Jen’s response. There was no mocking. No insulting. No jeering. ‘That’s it?’ is what she had asked.
“I mean,” Jen began explaining herself, “that’s not all that bad. So you like women’s clothing? Who can blame you?” Jen said with a laugh.
“You’re not…” Ian began.
“Not what?” Jen asked, cutting Ian off. “Repulsed? Grossed out?” she asked, saying the words Ian himself was about to use. “Why would I be? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Wow,” said Ian. “I guess I’m speechless,” he said, legitimately unaware of how to respond.
“So when do you want to do it?” Jen asked.
“Do what?” asked Ian, unsure of what Jen meant.
“You said you always dreamed of being able to hang out with someone while dressed,” explained Jen. “When do you want to do it?”
***
And, thus, here they were, a few weekends later, Ian in his bedroom examining himself in the mirror while Jen sat in the living room waiting for him to come out. Butterflies filled Ian’s stomach. He had stood in front of this very mirror countless times in the past, looking at himself, but he had never done so with someone else in the next room. Ian set himself in multiple poses in front of the mirror, checking himself from every angle. But Ian wasn’t looking for confirmation about the outfit; he was looking for confirmation of himself.
Indeed, the outfit Ian had chosen for this day was one of his favorites. Conservative in nature despite this interest of his, Ian’s clothing style shared the same qualities. After careful consideration, Ian had chosen to wear a pair of skinny jeans with the faux rip detail on the thighs. He had paired that with a simple white camisole that he wore under a deep burgundy cardigan sweater that remained opened. He had worn press-on fingernails that showed a french manicure to give himself a more feminine look. The fake fingernails combined with the long sleeves of the cardigan sweater and the full length of the skinny jeans ensured that any skin showing from the neck down could appear to be an actual woman’s skin. Ian had completed the outfit with the very black flats that Jen had found to start this entire turn of events. A pair of suntan pantyhose completed his outfit. Ian knew that the pantyhose were the only part of the outfit that a “real” woman likely wouldn’t be wearing on any given day - indeed, he had seen countless women wearing the jeans/camisole/cardigan outfit over time - but he thought they added a layer of “cuteness” to his outfit - no matter how little of them actually showed. Plus, Ian felt that it was more comfortable wearing dressier shoes of any kind with hosiery of some kind; the idea of barefeet in any dressier shoe that was closed-toe was not a look that Ian felt was comfortable.
“Are you coming out or what?” called out Jen jokingly.
Taking a deep breath, Ian turned away from the mirror, opened the door, and began the slow walk into the living room for Jen to see.
“Wow,” said Jen, getting up from the couch for a closer look. “You actually look… nice,” she said.
“Gee, thanks,” said Ian sarcastically.
Jen laughed. “No, I mean it,” she said, now aware of how her earlier tone could be interpreted. “So honest analysis,” she said, bringing her arm to her chin and giving Ian a thrice-over. “I mean, obviously above your neck is clearly a guy, but that’s nothing a little makeup and a wig wouldn’t solve,” she said, “but neck down, not even joking, you easily could pass as a woman.”
“Yeah right,” said Ian, not ever considering it a possibility that he might be passable.
“No,” Jen said with a laugh again. “I mean it. Neck down, you could totally pass as a woman. It’s actually a really good look on you,” said Jen, herself not fully expecting Ian to look as natural as he did in women’s clothing. She wasn’t exactly sure what to expect, of course, since this was all unchartered territory for her, as well, but she certainly didn’t expect him to look… good. “To be honest, I’m actually kind of… jealous,” she said, sharing a laugh with Ian after she said it. “You look better than I do today.”
“Oh, stop,” said Ian, giving Jen a playful nudge on her shoulder. Yes, Ian did seem a tad more formal than Jen did, but chiefly because Ian had gone to great lengths to try to make himself look as un-grotesque - in his mind - as he possibly could. Not that Jen looked like a slouch or anything by any means. She wore her outfit - a pair of gray leggings with a pink long sleeve top under a gray hoodie that she had discarded at the door - quite well.
The two then sat down and went about their time uneventfully, as if nothing was different from the last time that they had chatted on this couch. The pair talked, flipped through the television and through Netflix - finding nothing of merit in either avenue - and contemplated ordering a pizza, all with no mention of Ian’s outfit. It felt… natural.
“What?” asked Ian, sensing that Jen was staring in his direction. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he said with a laugh.
“Wha.. Oh, sorry,” said Jen, not realizing how much she was actually staring at Ian, having been lost in her thoughts. “I just… I just can’t get over how good you actually look in that outfit,” Jen admitted.
Ian blushed a bit, realizing Jen was being serious.
Indeed she was serious. The two had been both sitting on the sofa, each on opposite ends, and Ian had crossed his left leg over his right, catching Jen’s eye. In this position and from her vantage point, Jen could see the entirety of Ian’s leg, his skinny jeans clinging tight to his legs. Ian had always had strong legs, she recalled, but she never realized how well those strong legs would translate in women’s clothing. Not helping matters was that Ian had taken to popping his flat on and off his hanging left foot ever so slightly, as if being done entirely by the slipperiness of the nylon material of his pantyhose. When he felt his heel lightly pop out of the flat, Ian aided in the process, flexing his foot just so, leaving his flat dangling off the tip of his toes. Jen was impressed.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to jump you or anything,” Jen said with a laugh, qualifying her statement. “I say this merely as girl friend to fellow girl friend. But damn - those jeans make your legs look amazing,” she said truthfully.
“Do you mind if I try on your shoes?” asked Jen, already removing her own UGG boots and slipping off her socks before Ian could even respond.
“Sure,” said Ian, slipping out of his flats for the first time that day. “I mean, they’re a bit big for you, I’m sure,” he said, pointing out the obvious.
“Well, yeah,” Jen said laughing. “They’re cute, though,” she said, slipping her now barefeet into the flats. “And comfy,” she said, taking a couple of steps away from the couch. “You’ve got good taste,” she said, slipping out of the flats by the kitchen island and walking back to the couch to reclaim her spot.
“Thanks,” said Ian, not sure what else to say to show his gratitude.
“The nylons are a super cute touch, too,” said Jen, pointing down to the floor at Ian’s feet. Ian instinctively brought his feet up on the couch, sitting now in a manner so that his feet were tucked off to his side, facing the center of the couch.
“Really?” asked Ian, looking down at his feet now. “You think so? To be honest, they’re the part of the outfit that always gives me most pause,” he admitted.
“Why?” asked Jen.
“I don’t know, really,” said Ian, half-truthfully. “I don’t really know how to describe it. I mean, on the one hand, I love wearing them. They’re super comfy. And I almost feel like I can’t wear a dress shoe without nylons, ya know? On the other hand, I feel like it’s the only part of the outfit that isn’t normal for a real woman,” he said. “Plus, I don’t know… I mean, I like wearing them and how they feel and all, but I feel like if I ever actually admitted that to someone, then they’d think it was something sexual for me,” he said.
“I see what you mean,” said Jen. “And if you told me you ONLY wore pantyhose, then yeah,” she said with a laugh, “then we probably wouldn’t be doing this right now,” she admitted with another laugh. “But no,” she said, seriously now, “the nylons under the jeans - I think anyways - is a super cute look on you. Girl friend to girl friend,” she said with a final laugh.
“Aww, thank,” said Ian, flattered by Jen’s critique. “Girl friend to girl friend,” he said, repeating the term Jen had used a couple of times already that day.
“But we do have to do something about those crooked toe seams,” said Jen, gently grabbing Ian’s ankles and stretching his leg so that his feet now rested on Jen’s lap.
“Yeah, I still need to find a way to get them to stay st--ooo,” blurted out Ian as Jen began adjusting the seams, flinching as soon as she touched his foot.
“You OK there?” Jen asked with a laugh, quickly straightening the seams on Ian’s nylons.
“Yeah, no, sorry,” said Ian. “Just startled was all,” he lied. Jen touching Ian’s toes to straighten the seams had tickled Ian. And it had tickled him way more than he ever thought it would have. Yes, Ian was ticklish - wasn’t everyone? And sure, maybe Ian might have been a little more ticklish on his feet than most - especially compared to other guys. But he had never classified himself so ticklish that someone simply touching his feet would elicit such a ticklish response. Ian replayed the scene over again in his mind. He had both flinched and gasped when Jen had touched his foot, to say nothing of the smile that had reflexively formed on his face as a result. Ian had had girlfriends in the past react in a similar way, but they were girls, and they were super ticklish, for the most part. ‘Why had that tickled so much?’ Ian wondered as he looked down at his feet, which were still resting on Jen’s lap. ‘And had Jen noticed?’
Jen had indeed noticed, though admittedly not instantly. Truth be told, Jen’s initial response was one of worry, concerned that she might have put a run in Ian’s stockings with her nail. Many a pair of her own pantyhose had met their fate at the hands of Jen’s nails over the years, and she had initially been worried that she might have ruined a pair of Ian’s. But that hadn’t been the case; Ian’s nylons showed no sign of any run or ladder. It wasn’t until she had finished straightening his seams and she looked at her feet that it dawned on her. ‘Startled, my ass,’ she thought to herself with a smile. Could that have been a ticklish reaction out of Ian? She scanned through the memories of their time together from years past, trying to recollect any data that could help prove her assumption. She remembered Ian being ticklish, but not exceedingly so. Sure, she remembered times when she’d sneak a tickle on his foot if he happened to be barefoot around her and those many times where she’d mess with his sides and underarms when he had his arm around her on the couch. But nothing stood out as an “omg he’s so ticklish!” type of moment. And that was what Jen would have called what just happened a moment ago. Ian had reacted so strongly that it.. It had to have tickled.. Right?
This new analysis placed Jen in quite the internal pickle. On the one hand, the discovery of a ticklish friend surely needed to be met with a tickle attack of some kind. It was one of nature’s laws. But while Jen was pretty sure that she had elicited a ticklish reaction of Ian, she wasn’t 100% sure of it. Ordinarily, her 90% conviction that Ian was ticklish would have been enough to sway Jen to further tickle action, especially in such an inviting situation - Ian’s feet right on her lap. And truth be told, five minutes ago, Jen would likely already be tickling Ian’s feet without worry. But the very act that precipitated Jen’s potential discovery of Ian’s ticklishness - trying on Ian’s shoes - had left Jen without any shoes or socks on herself. And while she only slightly doubted her idea of Ian’s ticklishness, there was no doubting the level of her own ticklishness. Indeed, it had long been her weakness, from when she was a young child through middle and high school into college and even to this very day. And like so many others, her feet were her most ticklish spot, a condition that many a friend, boyfriend, or family member had discovered throughout the years. Ian was one such boyfriend. Benefiting from the betrayal of Jen’s roommate at the time - who had so nicely shared Jen’s ticklishness with Ian one day unbeknownst to Jen - Ian had targeted Jen’s feet frequently during their time together. But did Ian remember that? It had been a number of years, after all.
But therein lied the dilemma. It would be easy enough to start tickling Ian’s feet. They could not be any more vulnerable to a tickle attack as they rested on Jen’s lap. But in the offchance that Ian wasn’t ticklish - or wasn’t ticklish as Jen had thought him to be based on his reaction - would she be starting a tickle war that she could not win?
Ian wasn’t considering Jen’s ticklishness at all at the moment. He was too consumed with trying to figure out how such an innocent touch had tickled as much as it had. And then there was the severity of his current situation - his feet sitting on Jen’s lap. What if something else brushed up against his foot and elicited another ticklish reaction? Or worse - what if Jen had realized that if tickled Ian and was plotting something against him at this current moment?
Ian was internally debating his next move. He knew the safest move for him would be to get his feet off of Jen’s lap as quickly as he could. If he somehow was as ticklish as he thought he was, it would be foolish to leave his feet as close to Jen as they were. But he was also aware of how that might be perceived… Removing your feet from the area so soon after showing possible ticklishness would surely only confirm in Jen’s mind that it had tickled Ian. As much as he hated to admit it, the longer Ian kept his feet on Jen’s lap, the less likely Jen would think he was ticklish --- or that was Ian’s strategy, anyways. Yes, he would have to will himself the courage to leave himself in such a potentially vulnerable position, but he felt it was the only way to “prove” that it hadn’t tickled.
Ian’s strategy was meeting mixed results. Yes, Jen had some internal doubt as to why Ian wouldn’t be moving his feet off her lap if he was as ticklish as he was, so in that regard, Ian’s strategy was solid. But Jen was a tickler, always the one in the group of friends to start the tickle war or to sneak in as many tickles as she could. And the sight of Ian’s feet in nylons sitting in such a vulnerable manner on her lap was becoming too tempting to resist.
“Do you, uh, want another drink?” Ian asked, hoping that this might be the inconspicuous opportunity for him to get up and get his feet out of harm’s way. Or even better, get his shoes back on.
“Nah, I’m good,” said Jen, thwarting Ian’s plan instantly. She dropped her left arm down so that it was resting across Ian’s shins, not with enough weight to forcibly hold Ian down by any means but certainly enough that any movement of Ian’s legs would now be registered by Jen.
“Cool,” said Ian, discouraged that his plan had not worked.
“So just curious,” asked Jen, not wanting to give Ian an opening to try to get up again. “Do you always wear nylons?”
“Oh,” said Ian, not thinking that Jen would indirectly go back to the subject of his feet so soon. “Yeah, I, uh,” he said awkwardly. “I guess I do.”
“It’s cute,” said Jen. “It’s your thing,” she said with a smile.
“Yeah, I guess so,” said Ian, who at the same time was both happy to be talking about his dressing habits in such a positive light and also wanting to steer the conversation towards anything but his feet at the moment.
A lightbulb went off in Jen’s head. She knew she needed more data and she had just come up with a way to try to get it. She grabbed one of the small throw pillows from the couch and placed it on her lap, making sure to do so in such a way to guarantee that the edge of the throw pillow lightly brushed up against the bottom of Ian’s foot.
Again, Ian flinched, this time a little more so than before.
‘Damn it,’ thought Ian to himself after realizing what had happened. How was this happening? How was literally everything tickling his feet so much? He looked down to Jen to see if she showed any signs of noticing.
Jen was a stone, though, not wanting to give any indication of her victory. There was no denying that Ian had flinched - and there was no denying that Ian had flinched quite a bit. Could he be even more ticklish than she originally thought? From what she could see, his feet sure looked ticklish. Yes, he was wearing nylons, but they were light enough in color and sheer enough that she could make out many features of his actual foot, and there didn’t seem to be a dry spot on them. But he always had nice feet for a guy, remembered Jen, thinking back to how Ian had once admitted that he moisturized on a regular basis. She had never told him back then, but she had always attributed to how ticklish his feet were in college to how often he moisturized. The thought of what all of those additional years of moisturizing might have been doing almost caused Jen to smile, though she bit her lip to maintain her stoic appearance.
Ian, too, also tried to maintain his poker face, though his internal feeling was more of one of panic than joy. There was no way Jen had missed how much he had just flinched, that much was certain. But where Ian was not sure was if Jen had realized why he had flinched. A person could flinch for any number of reasons, right? A muscle spasm? A twitch? Surely, if Jen had thought it tickled, she, too, would have reacted, right? A laugh? A smile? A comment? But nothing. She sat there as if she hadn’t noticed it at all. This threw a dangerous curveball into Ian’s strategy. There was no doubt in Ian’s mind that he was far more ticklish than he had thought, the feeling of a throw pillow against his foot so ticklish that he dreaded what might happen if Jen’s nails made contact with his foot. But his strategy of keeping his feet on Jen’s lap and pretending that nothing was happening seemed to be working to some degree. But as the instances of ticklish touches increased, Ian knew that this strategy could be dangerous. He knew he needed to get his feet off of Jen’s lap, but couldn’t think of a way to do so inconspicuously.
Ian’s situation went from bad to worse as Jen leaned her body to the left in a half-reclining position. This resulted in her upper body now resting most of its weight on Ian’s shins, pinning them down on Jen’s lap. Worse, Jen’s position now meant Ian’s feet were out of his view. The only way he had managed to not audibly gasp when the throw pillow touched his foot was because he saw it happen, was able to anticipate it. With Jen now blocking his view, he had no way of knowing what, if any, peril his feet were in.
Jen smiled a sly smile out of Ian’s view. Sitting before her were a pair of helpless feet, and it was now time to see just how ticklish they actually were. With her strategic move to lean down, she knew the weight of her upper body was making it almost impossible for Ian to pull his legs free, and she could effectively do whatever she pleased.
Jen went back to the pillow, knowing it had elicited a reaction before, and gently pulled it closer to her, to make it look as natural as possible, again making sure, though, that the edge of the pillow brushed against Ian’s foot as it went by.
“Ah!” Ian gasped lightly, flinching his leg as he felt the pillow brush by.
“You OK up there?” Jen asked without turning around, unable to hide the smile on her face.
“Yeah, just, uh… just getting comfortable,” Ian managed to lie, knowing his well of excuses was going dry.
Jen could not contain her smile. It was evident that these were some seriously ticklish feet that lay before her, no matter what Ian may say. This wasn’t her first rodeo. She had tickled many a friend growing up and knew the signs of a ticklish person. She was quite adept at picking out signals that might prove that a person claiming to not be ticklish was fibbing.
“You want some help?” Jen asked. “I could give you a foot massage if you wanted. I know walking in dress shoes can make your feet ache.”
“No!” Ian said a bit more forcefully than he would have liked. “I mean,” he said, adjusting the tone of his voice. “You don’t have to do that,” he said.
“Nonsense,” said Jen, who began rubbing Ian’s feet as they lay before her. “It’s nothing.”
But to Ian, it was most definitely something. Jen’s soft hands lightly rubbing his feet was more than he thought he could handle. The accidental touches tickled enough as it was. Now, Jen’s hands delicately caressed the entirety of his foot, and he could do nothing to contain the involuntary flinching that occured with each touch. When her hands made way to the center of his foot and focused on his arches, he nearly lost it, grabbing a pillow and putting it over his face to try to block out the sensation.
Each touch brought more validation to Jen’s theory, and each flinch caused her to wonder if she had actually underestimated how ticklish Ian’s feet were. It was evidently clear that he couldn’t handle the slightest touch on his feet without flinching. Granted, not many of Jen’s friends could handle a foot massage with a straight face, but this much flinching put Ian in rare territory, classified with a group of friends Jen described as hopelessly ticklish. She knew the signs of this group quite well - she classified herself within that group - and there was no doubt that Ian’s reactions proved he belonged within that group.
Jen turned her head slightly and saw Ian with a pillow over his face, clearly in ticklish agony as he tried in vain to hide any indication of what he was going through. It was time to put an end to the game and let the cat out of the bag.
“Why Ian,” Jen said with a smile. “Are your feet ticklish?” she asked, stopping her foot massage so Ian could answer.
“No,” Ian lied, still clinging to some hope that his lie may work. “I was just yawning.”
“Really?” said Jen, almost enjoying more that Ian was trying to lie his way through this. “Then I guess you won’t mind if I do…. this?” she asked, dragging the tip of one of her fingers down the bottom of Ian’s foot, the first true, actual tickle she had given Ian.
“No, don’t!” Ian gasped, laughing and jumping at Jen’s touch. There was no use trying to hide it at this point; it was without a doubt the most ticklish sensation he had ever felt. “OK, OK. My feet are ticklish,” he admitted. “They’ve just never been… this ticklish,” he said, still not sure what was causing this.
“Well, duh, girl,” Jen said. “You’re wearing nylons,” she said plainly.
“Huh?” Ian asked.
“Oh, that’s right,” Jen said, realizing Ian might not know what she meant. “You’re new to this whole girl thing. A guy wouldn’t really know about this, I guess,” she said, almost explaining it to herself.
“Know about what?” Ian asked.
“Nylons are instruments of torture for the ticklish,” Jen said.
“Really?” Ian asked, taking in this new information.
“Definitely,” said Jen without hesitation. “Aren’t they?” she asked, dancing her fingernails quickly along the bottom of Ian’s still trapped feet.
“No, st-ah-ahp!” Ian gasped, unprepared for the tickle attack.
“Doesn’t tickle more?” asked Jen, wanting to hear Ian admit it.
“Yeah,” he said. “I had no idea how ticklish.”
“Why do you think women don’t wear them that often?” Jen asked.
“Because they make you more ticklish?” Ian asked. “I always thought you guys just thought they were uncomfortable.”
“I mean, yeah, some do,” said Jen. “But it’s usually for self-preservation. No one wants to get caught in a tickle war with nylons on,” she said with a laugh.
“I always found them comfortable myself,” said Ian.
“So do I,” agreed Jen. “Not to mention the support they provide,” she said with a laugh, pointing to her hips. “I’d wear them way more often if I could get by without always getting tickled when I had them on,” she said.
“Yeah, I guess I have tickled my fair share of girls in nylons in the past,” said Ian. “So why not just wear them when you know it’s going to be a girls night or something?”
“Are you kidding?” asked Jen, as if Ian had just asked the dumbest question ever. “Girls are even worse offenders than guys!”
“Really?” asked Ian, not expecting to hear that.
“Oh gosh, yeah,” said Jen. “Well, think about it,” she explained. “Any girls who has ever worn nylons likely knows how nylons make you more ticklish, right? And there’s a good chance that a girl already knows if one of her friends is ticklish.”
“Yeah, I see your point,” agreed Ian.
“Yeah,” continued Jen. “And most of the time when you’re wearing nylons, you’re wearing them with some type of heel or some shoe that will come off literally the second you walk through the door, right?”
“That’s true,” Ian agreed again, seeing the logic in Jen’s statement. “I guess that does leave you pretty wide open.”
“Yeah,” said Jen. “Any girl who wears nylons to a girls night out is just asking for trouble.”
“I guess so,” said Ian.
“And you, my dear,” Jen said, a devious smile forming on her lips. “Are a girl wearing nylons to a girls night in,” she said, raising her eyebrows to represent the evil intentions floating through her mind.
Ian’s eyes widened. He pulled at his legs to try to free them from Jen’s lap, but she had too much leverage. “Jennnnn,” he said, trying to reason with her. “This.. This isn’t fair,” he said. “I didn’t know.”
“Oh, it’s more than fair,” said Jen smiling. “I think I have a lot of retribution coming my way,” Jen said.
“Ret- Retribution?” asked Ian, still pulling to no avail.
“Remember all those times you used to tickle me when we were dating?” Jen asked, her left eyebrow raised.
“Jen, no,” Ian pleaded. “I’m sorry. It was all in good fun,” he reasoned, anything to try to convince Jen to not follow through with what she was clearly planning.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Jen reassured. “This will all be in good fun, too,” she said smiling.
“Jen, please,” begged Ian, stopping his efforts to pull his legs away. “I’m not going to be able to… It’s going to be.. I didn’t kno-oh-oh-ho-ha-ha-ha,” Ian said, the coherent words coming to a stop the second Jen’s fingernails made contact with the bottom of his foot.
Ian was instantly in hysterics. Nothing could have prepared him for just exactly how much an actual tickle attack on the bottom of his feet would tickle. He twisted and turned and thrashed on the couch, trying in vain to find a weak grip, to get his feet out of Jen’s grasp, all to no avail.
“Oh, look at youuu,” Jen sang as she danced her fingers along the bottom of Ian’s trapped feet. “Looks like someone’s ticklish, huh?” Jen teased. “These nylons are torture, aren’t they?” Jen asked with a laugh.
Ian couldn’t respond with anything but frenzied laughter, but yes, yes they were torture. ‘How did women wear these on a regular basis?’ he wondered to himself. No wonder they hardly ever wore them. The thin nylon material multiplied each ticklish sensation Jen’s fingers were leaving on the bottom of his foot, and there was no escape from it. Wherever Jen tickled, she tickled nylons, and Ian was helpless, unable to build up the strength to even twist and turn anymore.
“These are pantyhose, right?” Jen asked, already knowing the answer. “You can’t even get these off if you tried,” she teased, never once slowing her tickling technique.
‘Why does she have to talking about them?” asked Ian, who was finding that the more Jen talked and teased about the nylons being more ticklish, the more ticklish they felt - no matter how impossible that seemed. Oh, how he would do anything to not have the nylons on right now. Not that he had any notion that he would be able to survive such a tickle attack if he was barefoot - his feet were his most ticklish, after all - but there’s no way that it would tickle as much as this did. At the very least, he might be able to put up a good enough effort to get a hold of Jen’s feet to dish out some of her medicine. But it was all impossible with the nylons on.
“You said you always wear nylons, right?” asked Jen with a slight laugh, picturing Ian constantly vulnerable to a tickle attack whenever he was dressed. “Gosh, you’d never survive girls nights like this,” she half-mocked, laughing at Ian.
Ian tapped out on the couch with all the strength that he had left, tears streaming down his cheeks, his fact beet red, his laughter mixed with silent laughter. He didn’t even want to think about what it would have been like to grow up like this, the constant target of tickle attacks from people. This here was torture enough.
“My poor, sweet Ian,” laughed Jen. “Look how ticklish you are,” she teased.
Jen’s fingers danced across the entirety of Ian’s feet, their current position - prone on Jen’s lap without any means of pulling away - left them a vulnerable target for any tickling Jen would like to do. She varied her technique, making sure Ian never got used to the tickling in one spot by staying there too long. Right in the center of the arch, under the toes, along the top, at the ball, near the hell, by the ankle… Jen’s fingers danced without abandon, never once encountering a spot that wasn’t ticklish.
“My gosh,” Jen said, showing her amazement that Ian could actually be this ticklish. “You’re starting to compete for most ticklish girl friend, I’d say,” she said with a laugh.
Ian managed to get a few sounds out that sounded like more pleas, but otherwise remained helpless to Jen’s tickle attack.
“I think you’ve earned a break, dear,” Jen said, finally pausing her tickle attack on Ian’s helpless feet. Ian’s laughter continued even beyond the tickling, eventually reducing to just stray giggles as memories of the tickle attack still danced in his mind.
“You OK there, killer?” asked Jen, not releasing her grip on Ian’s shins.
“That,” Ian said, catching his breath. “Was torture.”
“Ticklish, huh?” Jen asked, stating the obvious.
“SO ticklish,” Ian admitted. “I may have to reconsider my decision to always wear them,” he said with a laugh.
“Oh, no you don’t,” joked Jen. “Any time we do this, I want you to be in nylons. So you can see what it’s like,” she commanded jokingly.
“We’re… going to do this again?” asked Ian, who hadn’t considered a second girls night in to this point.
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” she said with a wink. “Besides, you might be my only girl friend who wears nylons all the time, so it’ll keep my fingers busy,” Jen said with a chuckle, holding her hand up and making a tickling motion in the air.
“No!” Ian said with a laugh. “You have no idea how much that tickled,” he said.
“Oh, I do,” she said. “That’s why I did it,” she laughed. “I’ve been on the receiving end many times myself, so I know how ticklish nylons are.”
“Well, then you have to wear them, too,” said Ian, negotiating a way to get on level ground with Jen.
“Wait, what?” asked Jen.
“You yourself said you wished you wore them more often,” reminded Ian. “It can be our thing,” he said.
“I don’t know,” said Jen, unsure of whether she should put herself in such a vulnerable position, as well.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to wear them knowing I’d be in nylons, too?” Ian asked. “You wouldn’t be the only one,” he said.
“Yeah, that is a good point,” said Jen. “It’s a lot easier when someone else is in nylons,” she said, pausing. “OK, you’ve got a deal,” she agreed.
“Sweet,” said Ian. He hadn’t wanted to stop wearing nylons; they were his go-to, after all. But he knew he couldn’t consistently be at such a disadvantage to Jen’s tickling fingers. Maybe Jen being in nylons herself would give her pause before she tickled Ian in the future.
“For now, though,” Jen said, the devious smile reforming on her face. “You’re still a girl in nylons at a girls night in,” she said, letting her words hang in the air.
“Jen, no!” shouted Ian, falling back on the couch again in hysterical laughter the second he registered Jen’s nails on the bottom of his feet.
“Oh, I wasn’t done paying you back yet,” Jen said with a laugh.
***
And thus began this new chapter in the lives of Ian and Jen.
[Closing statement: For those who read to the end, you have no idea how much I hesitated hitting the "submit new thread" button. I guess there's no going back now, is there?]
