OldEnglish
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Apr 21, 2001
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Hey everyone,
Another edition, hot off the presses! I had this one written in my head for the longest time, but it took a while to actually write down now that we're gradually leaving our houses, etc.
I will admit I really liked the storylines in this entry. Obviously we're all here for the tickling, and I think this is a "thorough" tickling while still maintaining some element of "hey maybe this could happen" -- especially as we hear from Sarah and her motivations.
I also liked the dialogue between the roommates before Nikki goes on her way for the evening... Their whole analysis of what is the safer route for her...
And, of course, nothing beats a little roommate machination from Aimee... haha
I hope you guys like it. As always, feedback welcome!
Happy reading,
OldEnglish
Dear Diary - Entry #1: Snapping the Losing Streak (f/f, nylons)
Dear Diary - Entry #2: So Much for that Winning Streak... (f/f, nylons)
Dear Diary - Entry #3: Facetime Fun (f/f, ff,f, fff,f, nylons, tickle talk)
Dear Diary - Entry #4: When The Roommate Knows... (f/f, underarms, barefeet, nylons)
Dear Diary - Entry #5: That Girl At Work... (f/f, sides, nylons)
Dear Diary - Entry #6: That Class Project (f/f, all over, nylons)
Dear Diary,
I’m at a loss for words. I mean, on one hand, I can’t believe how my roommate set me up. On the other hand, I do have to admit that it was a very clever, well-thought-out plan. And it worked. So props to her for a job well done, I guess, but there’s two take-aways from this for me. One, I have to work on this whole being super-insanely-ticklish thing. It’s really becoming a nuisance. And two, of course you know, this means war…
So where to begin?
It all started with this project that I have for English class. It’s a fairly significant project and it involves working with a partner. I was paired up with this other girl, Sarah. Sarah is… intimidating. At least to me, anyways. SUPER intimidating. I don’t know exactly how to describe it. I don’t know if it’s that there is one thing about her that makes her so intimidating or if it is just the sum of all of the parts…
And don’t get me wrong… I don’t necessarily mean intimidating in a bad way. She’s not mean or anything. And to be clear, it’s likely all in my head anyways, so it’s really more me than her. But I don’t know -- she just seems to check all of the boxes of character traits that I can find intimidating in a person. First, she’s tall. I mean, she’s got to be at least 5’10”. I always find it intimidating when a girl towers over me like that. I can handle it with a guy - just not with a girl. Second, she’s super smart. I mean, at least in English class she is, anyways. She’s always the one answering the questions and bringing up intelligent topics in class conversation. Then if that’s not enough, she’s super pretty, too. I mean, a classic pretty, not a trashy pretty. She has an air of elegance about her. And then finally, if all of that wasn’t enough… She’s British. Haha And not that I have anything against the British at all, but I’ve always been intimidated by that accent. I just find it this bizarre combination of intimidating but sultry, domineering but voluptuous…
So as if all that weren’t bad enough…
Then my pain-in-the-butt roommate Aimee has to go and start tickling my feet this one time that I am on a ZOOM call with Sarah. I was trying SO hard not to crack - you know, mind over matter, right? - but it was useless. Aimee had me feet trapped, and, well… Well, my feet are just too ticklish. I’ll admit it. So of course I crack up and then it’s all out in the open -- Sarah knows I’m ticklish. As if I didn’t find her intimidating enough, now she knows my biggest weakness...
And what’s worse is that Sarah seemingly LOVED finding out that I was ticklish. I mean, yeah, you expect the “Awww, that’s cute” or whatever type response. And yeah, she had that type of reaction, too. But now it seems literally every time we talk about the project, she always asks - in that British accent of her - “So… are you still ticklish?” But it’s more like “Are you still tick’lish” with her accent - if that makes sense. And yeah, of course I’m still ticklish. I haven’t grown out of it yet; it’s not like I’d grow out of it over a span of 3 days. But with Sarah, it’s almost like… Like she enjoys knowing that I’m ticklish… If that even makes sense. It’s like she enjoys knowing someone’s weakness. Which, again, is probably me just reading WAY too much into things.
So that’s the backstory. Now to the actual night of the events…
I had made plans to go to Sarah’s apartment - because OF COURSE she has her own apartment and doesn’t live in the dorms - around 7 pm that night. We made plans to connect via ZOOM around 3:00 or 4:00 after our classes. Then, we’d each grab a bite to eat or whatever, and I’d arrive at her apartment at 7:00.
I had been a nervous wreck all day. What if I said something stupid? What if she didn’t think any of my ideas were good enough? What if she started wishing she had a smarter partner? What if I forgot everything I had prepared? What if I forgot something at my dorm? Just so many what if’s…
So I’m going through the day as usual. Nothing too exciting. Classes are finally over, so I head back to the dorm. Aimee is already there. I start going through my closet looking for something to wear.
“What are you doing, you numbskull?” Aimee asked as I was swiping left on shirt after shirt after shirt.
“Trying to find something to wear for tonight,” I said, plainly.
“You’re already wearing something,” Aimee said matter-of-factly.
“I can’t wear this to the meeting,” I said, posing for a moment to show what I was wearing. Sure, I had gone for the casual look for the first half of the day. Leggings. A long-sleeve top. A hoodie. Some UGG boots. As usual, those were removed as soon as I got into the dorm room, though. They took my socks as hostage when I removed them, though - for some reason, I find my socks always come off with my UGGs when I take them off - so I was now barefoot. But I hadn’t planned on wearing this to the meeting tonight. I need something a little more… polished.
“It’s a class project, not a date,” Aimee laughed.
I threw a look her way. Clearly it wasn’t a date. But I felt like I needed to show up looking polished and prepared, if for no other reason than to maybe relax some of that intimidation I had been feeling.
“Hardy har har,” I faux-laughed. “Oooh,” I said, noticing the time. “I need to hop on this ZOOM call with her now. Do I look OK?”
“You dork,” Aimee laughed. “You look fine.”
I logged into ZOOM and Sarah and I exchanged pleasantries, asking each other about the day and other basic stuff before confirming the time for our meeting.
“So, do you have everything prepared?” asked Sarah, that accent of hers making this feel like an important board room meeting and not just a project for English class.
“Yeah,” I said, holding up my notes. “Hopefully they’ll be helpful.”
“I’m sure they will be,” Sarah said. But did she mean it?
“So, listen,” Sarah continued. “When you get to the apartment building, just buzz three times for Apartment 7C. That way, I’ll know it’s you,” she instructed.
“OK,” I said. “Buzz 3 times.”
“Yup,” she continued. “I’ll have some snacks and stuff prepared,” she went on. “And, oh, so you know in advance.” she said. “No shoes in the house. I’m not quite a complete germaphobe, but that IS a house rule.”
“No shoes,” I repeated. “Got it.”
“So do you think we’ll have enough material so we can finish this tonight?” I asked.
“Hopefully,” she said with a sigh. “Otherwise, I’d hate to have to resort to evil methods to get you to finish the rest of it.”
“Evil methods?” I asked, both out of habit of repeating what she had said and also out of confusion.
“Well, if memory serves, all I have to do is threaten to tickle you, and you’d likely agree to do the entire project yourself, right?” she said with a laugh.
My face instantly blushed multiple shades of red. Why did she keep having to mention that? I tried to think of something to say in response, but Aimee’s laughter in the background had caught Sarah’s attention.
“Oh, is that your roommate?” Sarah asked.
“Hi!” Aimee said, popping over to be seen on the camera now.
“Have you given her a proper tickling lately?” Sarah asked.
“Nah,” Aimee said nonchalantly, as if this were a completely normal conversation.
“Hey, if we could not talk about my...AAHH!!” I jumped. I was about to ask them if we could not talk about my ticklishness, but I was caught off-guard when Aimee decided to squeeze my sides. I batted her hands away to put an end to the attack, but Aimee had succeeded in her goal.
“Oh,” Sarah said, laughing. “So it’s not just the feet where she’s ticklish?”
“Oh, she’s ticklish all over,” Aimee said, taking great joy in revealing all of my weaknesses. She brought her arms up in the air and began wiggling her my fingers in my direction, threatening another round of tickle attacks.
“Aimee, don’t!” I said, admittedly sounding a little more desperate than I would have liked.
“Oh, Nikki,” Sarah with a laugh. “I didn’t think it was possible for someone to still be that ticklish at our age,” she said. “But listen, I need to run now. Remember, buzz 3 times.”
“Did you HAVE to do that?” I asked Aimee as soon as I closed my laptop.
“Do what?” she asked innocently.
“Did you have to tickle me in front of her again?” I asked.
“Relax,” Aimee said. “You’re making too much of it.”
“I feel like she already thinks I’m inferior,” I explained. “I didn’t need her knowing I’m ticklish, too,” I said, in an admittedly sulky tone.
“You’re thinking about this too much,” Aimee said. “Everybody is ticklish,” she said, before pausing for a moment. “OK, so maybe not as ticklish as you…” she said with a laugh.
“Really?” I asked, putting my hand on my hip.
“You know what I mean!” Aimee said. “You worry too much. It’s all in your head. Everything will be fine.”
So, I believed her. What else could I do? I mean, what had been done had been done, right? I picked out an outfit for that night - a nicer pair of jeans, a white cami, and a gray cardigan - and hopped into the bathroom for a nice, hot shower to clear my head of everything. There was no un-doing the fact that Aimee had tickled me in front of Sarah, so now Sarah knew I was ticklish. But Aimee was right. Everyone is ticklish, right? Sure, I might be more ticklish than most --- unfortunately. But it’s not as if it is this novel concept. There’s always at least one super ticklish person in every group of friends, right? I guess I should consider myself fortunate that no one really knew that about me until recently. I mean, I don’t know how no one ever figured it out… Maybe I just used to hang out with people who didn’t like to tickle others? Or maybe it was because they were simply too ticklish themselves? Like, maybe they feared retaliation or something? Whatever the case, it was clear my fortunes had very much turned recently. Ever since Jamie tickled me on Christmas Eve - and I still kick myself for taking my shoes off - it seems like I’ve been a walking tickle target. I mean, Aimee acts like it’s her job to sneak in as many tickle attacks as she can. So maybe I’m just making up for lost time?
Of course, I still would have felt a lot more comfortable had the topic of being ticklish never come up with Sarah. It almost seemed like she took too much delight in finding out about my weakness. She certainly brought it up whenever she could, it felt like. I won’t lie - part of me wanted to cancel this meeting. I mean, not that I thought that Sarah was the type of person who would ever do anything like come out and tickle me or something… But I don’t know - I just couldn’t shake that feeling of intimidation whenever she said the word ‘tick’lish’ in that accent of hers. It’s like I freeze or something. And what had she said - no shoes in the apartment? My word, that is all I need right now. I honestly had been planning to wear a pair of over-the-calf boots as added protection, but now… Again, Sensible Nikki knows deep down that there is nothing to worry about. People just don’t go about tickling random people, even if they don’t have any shoes on. But Paranoid Nikki, on the other hand…
So that’s all well and good, right? You’re probably thinking --- what’s so bad about all of that? Oh, if only that were the end of this story… Unfortunately for me, we’re only just beginning...
I got out of the shower, dried off, and got dressed. I gave myself a look in the mirror. I approved. ‘You got this, girl,’ I thought to myself, and I walked back into the dorm room to finish getting ready.
And that’s when I found it…
Or rather, when I couldn’t find them.
My socks.
All of my socks were gone! Like, literally all of my socks. My entire sock drawer in my dresser was empty. Not a single pair.
“Aimee!!” I yelled, beckoning her in from the other room in our quad.
“What’s up?” she asked, innocently.
“Where are my socks???”
“Oh, those,” Aimee said, pretending to only now realize what I was calling her for. “Well, I wanted to be a really awesome roommate so while you were in the shower, I put them all in the wash for you,” she said.
“You did WHAT?” I asked, unable to believe what I was hearing.
“Yeah,” she said, explaining her actions some more. “You’re always asking me to help you with laundry, right?”
“Yeah, but,” I said, not sure what to say, really. “I didn’t want you to…” I started. “What am I going to wear tonight?”
“You didn’t already have a pair picked out?”
“Nooo!”
“Oh….”
“Yeah, oh…” I said.
“Well, I did pick you up something from the store earlier for you. You know, in case you got that job,” she said, extending a white plastic bag my way.
“Are you serious?” I asked as I looked into the bag. “Pantyhose?” I asked, pulling a pair out. “You want me to wear pantyhose?”
“Well, no,” Aimee said. “I got them for you in case you got that job you had interviewed for,” Aimee explained, though I wasn’t sure if I believed her or not. “I feel like you’re mad,” Aimee said.
“Yes!” I screamed. “I mean, no,” I clarified. “Of course not. We’re friends,” I said. “I can’t be mad at you. It’s just --- am I really going to wear nylons over her apartment tonight?”
“Why not?” Aimee asked, as if she didn’t see any issue.
“Won’t it come off as too formal?” I asked, not wanting to actually put words to the real reason I was worried.
“So what? You’ll be wearing them under jeans,” Aimee said. “It’s just a cute look.”
“Well, there’s also,” I started, almost whispering…
“Also...what?” asked Aimee.
I shook my head in disbelief that Aimee was not understanding what I was trying to say. “Also that she knows that I’m ticklish…” I said, again barely above a whisper.
“Ooooh,” said Aimee as ‘light dawned on Marblehead’. “And you think she’s going to tickle you if you have nylons on?”
Well, when you put it that way… “Well, no,” I stammered. “But yeah,” I said, not sure what I wanted to actually say. “Don’t you think she’s more likely to tickle me if I am wearing nylons?” I asked, somewhat taken aback by the ridiculousness of my own question. It was one that I honestly never thought I would say out loud., and certainly not about a classmate.
“I’m not sure,” said Aimee. “Isn’t it 50/50?”
“Well, and if she does tickle me…” I continued, hoping Aimee would pick up on what I was talking about now. No such luck. “If she does tickle me, you know how much more ticklish I am in nylons,” I reminded her, again speaking in only a whisper in case the room was mic’d or something.
“Ooooh yeah,” Aimee said, again in a way so exaggerated that I felt like this was her plan all along. “Hmm, well let’s see what people think,” she said, but before I could stop her, she was calling out. “Lyss! Britt!” Aimee called, beckoning in our other two quad members.
“What’s up?” Alyssa asked as she came in.
“Oh, look at you, girl,” Brittany said as she walked in. “Hot date tonight?”
“No!!” I said with a laugh of frustration. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”
“So Nikki here has a bit of a dilemma,” Aimee explained.
“Do tell,” Alyssa said.
“She’s got to go over to her classmate’s apartment tonight, and she’s wondering how to finish off her wardrobe,” Aimee explained. “Nylons or no nylons.”
“Nylons,” Alyssa said.
“No nylons,” Brittany said soon after, quickly contradicting her roommate.
“Well, what difference does it make?” Alyssa asked, correctly sensing there was more to the story.
“Well,” Aimee said, as if she were waiting for someone to ask. “Miss Nikki here is worried that her project partner might end up trying to tickle her feet…”
“Why would she wonder that?” Alyssa asked, the reason clearly not what she had been thinking.
“Yeah, WHY?” I repeated, glancing to Aimee.
“Wellllllll,” Aimee said, elongating that “l” as much as she could. “I suppose I may have let the cat out of the bag about how ticklish Nikki is…” she said with faux-sympathy. Alyssa laughed.
“Don’t wear nylons,” Brittany said again, this time with more urgency.
“No, she should wear nylons,” Alyssa said.
“She’s totally going to get tickled if she has nylons on,” Brittany said, presenting her case.
“She won’t,” Alyssa retorted. “Besides, even if she does, it’ll be funny.”
“How can you think she won’t?” Brittany asked.
“I don’t know,” Alyssa said. “You could put a run in someone’s nylons from tickling them.”
“That’s not going to stop anyone,” Brittany said, quickly dismissing Alyssa’s point. “Why don’t you wear socks instead?”
“Because all of my socks are currently indisposed of…” I said, again, giving Aimee a telling side-eye. “She put them all in the wash.”
“Oh my word,” Alyssa laughed, catching on to Aimee’s plan. “That’s hilarious.”
“You can borrow some of mine,” Brittany said, clearly the only one feeling any sort of compassion for my plight.
“The hell she can,” Alyssa said back. “Nikki’s a big girl. She’s got to make her own decision with what she has,” she said, giving a quick wink to Aimee.
“It’s no big deal,” Brittany said. “She can just bor…”
“If you give her a pair of your socks, I’m going to make sure YOU get tickled tonight,” Alyssa said, wiggling her fingers in the air in Brittany’s direction.
“I…” Brittany began, stopping before she said anything as she processed Alyssa’s threat. “Sorry, Nikki,” she said, a look of sorrow on her face. “You’re on your own here.”
“Well, that’s two for nylons and one for no nylons,” Aimee said, holding her fingers out in front of her to show her count. “Sounds like we have a decision, no?” she said with a smile, handing a new pair of suntan pantyhose to me.
So that’s how it was that I came to find myself knocking on Sarah’s door from the hallway wearing a pair of jeans, a white camisole, and a gray cardigan underneath my jacket with a pair of black ankle boots on with a pair of suntan nylons underneath. I could feel my toes instinctively curling from within my boots, no doubt knowing that they were about to become exposed in such a vulnerable state.
“Hey!” Sarah said with a smile answering the door. “Come on in.”
“Thanks,” I said, nervously walking in the door and unzipping my jacket.
“Oh, I’ll take your jacket,” Sarah said politely, gathering my jacket and my hat into her arms. “Just plop your shoes on the mat over there and I’ll be right back.”
‘Ugh,’ I thought to myself. I guess part of me had hoped that she would change her mind about the whole no-shoes-in-the-house policy. Or maybe that I had misheard it. No such luck, though. ‘Maybe she won’t even notice,’ I said in my head as I unzipped my boots and walked them over to the tray by the door.
“Are you wearing nylons?” Sarah asked, startling me as I hadn’t even heard her come back in the room. So much for that.
“Ahm, yeah,” I said, awkwardly, trying to come up with something to say that would end the conversation about my wearing nylons as quickly as possible. “Just a little laundry miscalculation, so this was all I had.”
“Oh,” she said, as if processing my response in her mind. “I like it. It’s cute.”
“You do?” I asked, far more eagerly than I had designed to. So desperate was I for any reason to not be intimidated that I jumped like the freshman girl after the high school football captain looked her way. “I mean,” I regrouped, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, it’s not bad.” There. Play it cool.
Sarah laughed, though I’m not sure if it was directed at what I had said or how awkward I had been. “Why don’t you have a seat on the sofa over there?” she motioned. “I’ll be right back in.”
I nodded my head and made my way to the sofa. There. Hopefully that was the extent of the nylon conversation for the night. Hopefully that was the extent of the focus on my feet for the night. Hopefully that was the extent of…
Something had stopped me in my tracks. I looked down to the floor. Just carpeting. But I could have sworn something had… Nah. I took another step. There it was again. Had I missed something? Stepped on something? Another step. The same feeling. And then I realized what must have been happening. My eyes bulged out of their sockets as the realization hit me.
Just walking on the carpet in the living room in nylons was tickling my feet.
‘I am so screwed,’ I said to myself as I plopped down on the couch and curled my feet under me in the classic defensive position. Why, of all nights, did it seem that I was EXTRA ticklish tonight? I mean, sure, it wasn’t a laugh-out-loud tickle or anything like that. But there was no denying it tickled. I’m pretty sure I even felt an involuntary smile curl on my lips before I realized the magnitude of what was happening. Just from walking on the carpet. Not that there had been any doubt before, but now there was no denying it; I needed to keep my feet away from Sarah in case she even had the slightest inkling of trying to sneak in a tickle.
“You know,” Sarah said, returning to the room and taking her position on the chair next to the sofa. “I’m kind of surprised to see you in nylons.”
“Really?” I asked, looking down to make sure my feet were out of her sight. “Why’s that?”
“I don’t know,” Sarah said. “Seems most American women - especially our age - don’t really wear them anymore. I know some of my friends don’t even own a pair.”
“Oh, I own a pair,” I said, thinking back to the shopping bag of pantyhose that Aimee had gifted me earlier. “Several, in fact,” I said, half talking to Sarah and half thinking out loud to myself.
“Several?” Sarah asked, of course, not sure what I was referencing.
“Oh,” I said, realizing my error. “I just mean I don’t mind wearing them,” I said to save face. “You know, super strict parents growing up… A mom who always wanted you to dress up for every function. So wearing nylons just sort of became second-nature, I guess.”
“That’s fantastic,” Sarah with a smile. “Maybe you’ll inspire a new trend on campus.”
“I doubt it,” I laughed. Just because I didn’t mind wearing them didn’t mean that I had any intention of wearing them around campus. Maybe - JUST maybe - if people didn’t know that I was so ticklish, but with that information out and now apparently spreading like wildfire, I would have to be out of my mind to be seen in nylons.
Of course, I say that as I am sitting here in Sarah’s living room with only nylons covering my feet and sitting approximately five feet away from a woman whose greatest joy lately, it seems, has been finding out that I am ticklish… I made sure to tuck my feet underneath myself just a little extra tightly..
After that, the night went surprisingly smooth. Much as I had expected, the intimidation I had felt from Sarah was unfounded. Sure, she still seemed much more put together than I. Sure, she still had that classic elegance about her. And sure, that accent still drove me wild. But underneath it all was just a girl much like myself.
It was then that my phone started vibrating. A text message. From Aimee.
“How’s your date going?” she wrote.
“Shut up,” I wrote back.
“Has she tickled you yet?” Aimee asked.
I quickly hid my phone, in case Sarah had happened to glance over to the screen and been able to see what it said.
“Do you have to take a call?” Sarah asked, looking up as I put the phone away.
“No, no,” I said. “Just the roommate asking where something was,” I lied.
It was then that I looked down and noticed Sarah’sfeet. They seemed of average length, perhaps a little on the slender side. A thin pair of white no-show socks covered them, the stretchy material clinging to the curves of her arches. She was wearing a pair of black leggings and a red long sleeve top.
I’m not sure I’d be able to adequately describe it, but I’m not afraid to admit I was wishing Sarah were barefoot at that moment. Her apparent interest in my being ticklish had left me wondering now: could Sarah be ticklish, as well? I mean, of course it was likely that Sarah was ticklish to some degree. Though if there ever were a person I could see being strong enough to will herself no longer ticklish, Sarah was that person. I could just as easily envision Sarah laughing her head off as a friend tickled away at her as I could envision Sarah standing there a smug look on her face as her friend tickled away with no effect.
But it was Sarah’s choice of socks this evening that was triggering my curiosity. I mean, I own multiple pair of no-show socks and wear them frequently - that is, of course, when my roommate doesn’t decide to randomly throw them in the washing machine on me. No-show socks are an absolute must for when you want to wear a pair of shoes and have that no-sock look while also wearing a sock. So it wasn’t the type of socks that Sarah was wearing that was piquing my interest, but rather the fact that she still had them on. No-show socks generally came off as soon as my shoes would come off, either accidentally like earlier this afternoon or by design. As if they had finished serving their purpose when it came time to take the shoes off.
And yet Sarah’s no-show socks had remained on her feet… But why, I wondered. Of course, the natural reason would be that she might feel uncomfortable being barefoot in front of company. Sure, Sarah and I knew each other in class, but we weren’t exactly on “hang-out” terms by any stretch. So maybe she just felt self-conscious about walking around without socks on?
Or maybe it was something else… Something much more advantageous to me. Could it be that Sarah might be subject to the same plight as I: having insanely ticklish feet? Could these socks be Sarah’s “line of defense” at preventing her own weakness from being exposed. I realize the chance might be slim, but there is a chance, and I was painting out the entire picture in my mind at that moment.
Sarah had clearly gone and had her nails done that afternoon. There was no mistaking the look of a clean French manicure on her fingernails. Her quite-long fingernails, actually… But regardless, I’m sure she must have opted for a pedicure as well because who wouldn’t, right? And I could picture the scene unfolding… Sarah’s feeling confident that she’ll be able to handle herself - maybe reading a magazine or on her phone. They lift her ankle and a smile reflexively forms on her face, the mere touch producing the slightest tickly touch. She sees them pick up the pumice stone, and she knows what is coming. Any confidence she had a moment ago is drained as she eyes her nemesis. The magazine or the phone is now put down as Sarah grips tightly onto the arms of the chair, bracing for what she knows is about to happen. Maybe the nail technician notices this and asks her if she’s OK… Not wanting to broadcast her weakness, Sarah lies and says she is. But as soon as that pumice stone starts to work its magic, Sarah is turned into a laughing, giggling mess - the polished, sophisticated scholar more resembling a school girl as she fights against the tickles. Maybe the nail technician has a huge smile on her face as she’s watching Sarah laugh, taking pride in seeing another college student who was too proud to admit her ticklishness quickly succumb to the torture. Maybe the nail technician takes her time, makes sure every touch produces just slightly more tickles than before. And maybe she asks Sarah if she’s ticklish - as if there were at doubt at that moment - and that makes Sarah think of me. And the great irony of how she had taken such joy in how ticklish I was and pointing out how ticklish my feet were.. And yet she was just as vulnerable to someone sneaking in a tickle on her feet as I was. Maybe she resolved at that moment that there was no way she’d be barefoot around me that night.
Maybe…
A long shot, yes.
But maybe…
“Are you all right over there?” Sarah asked, drawing me from my fantasy land.
“What?” I asked. “Oh yeah, I’m OK. Was just thinking.” I mean, it wasn’t a lie, right?
“You look like you’re in deep thought about something,” Sarah remarked.
“Just thinking about something,” I said, clearly not wanting to mention what it was that I was thinking about.
“You also look like you must be terribly uncomfortable,” Sarah mentioned. “You’ve been sitting all tightly wound in a ball all evening.”
It was true. I twirled my neck and twisted my back hoping to find the elusive sensation of a crack, but found none. I had been tightly wound in a ball all night. And for good reason. Protection. My feet had been tucked tightly underneath my body all night. My arms had been as close to my sides as possible, as if my elbows were screwed into my ribs, providing as much protection to my sides and underarms as I could. She was right. It hadn’t been comfortable at all.
“You need to include more stretching in your life,” Sarah said instructively. “Have you ever heard of the Davis Flight technique?”
“Davis… Flight?” I asked, bewildered.
“Oh, gosh,” said Sarah, seemingly amazed that I hadn’t heard of it yet. Should I have heard of it? Was this another area where Sarah was more polished than I? “Here, stand up,” she instructed. “I’ll walk you through it and by the time it’s over, you’ll feel like a million bucks.”
“Ahm sure,” I said, standing up for the first time in seemingly an hour. I admit I had no idea what the Davis Flight technique of stretching was or where Sarah had heard of it, but if it was something that Sarah knew, I figured it should be something that I know, as well.
“So stand here in front of the couch,” Sarah said, gently placing her hands on my shoulders and guiding me in place. “So it’s very important that you take a number of deep breaths before you begin,” Sarah explained.
I watched as Sarah inhaled and exhaled slowly and followed suit.
“OK,” she went on. “So now that you are feeling a little less tense, you want to relax your neck a bit. You want to twirl it back like this,” she motioned, “and keep it so that you are looking up at the ceiling. Almost like a bird, right?” she said.
“Oh yeah,” I said, pretending to understand what it was she was trying to explain to me. I didn’t dare make it look like I wasn’t sure where she was going with this.
“Now you close your eyes,” she continued. “And you envision yourself as a bird flying through the air, carefree,” she instructed.
It was working. I admit it. Whatever it was that Sarah was setting up was working. I could feel my entire body easing up.
“So now,” Sarah continued, “we really envision ourselves as the bird,” she said in a soothing tone. “We raise our arms out to the side - as far out as they can go - and we pretend we’re a bird soaring through the air.”
So before I state the obvious, I will say that there was something incredibly relaxing about this. The combination of everything… The deep exhales… Letting my head bop down… Closing my eyes… Heck, even Sarah’s voice… I was in a deep state of bliss.
But now the problem… And I know you’re thinking, ‘Nikki, really? You didn’t see this coming?’ Well, nope. I didn’t! Haha
This, of course, has left me standing with my arms stretched out away from my body, with my sides and underarms completely vulnerable. Worse, since I was wearing a camisole under my cardigan, the bare skin of my underarms was completely exposed.
And Sarah wasted no time in taking advantage of that.
I was still in my suspended state of bliss when I felt it - both of her hands darting into the hollows of my under arms, five fingers on each hand dancing a tune on my sensitive skin. Instantly, my eyes bugged out of their sockets, my arms clamped down against my side, and I doubled over in laughter, completely caught off-guard by this tickle attack. Of course, clamping my arms down by my sides only served to trap Sarah’s hands under my arms. Rock, meet hard place. I was doomed.
“My, my,” Sarah laughed as her body followed my movements and her hands continued to wiggle. “Did you think I had forgotten you were ticklish?”
“No,” I tried to say against the laughter that was spilling out of my mouth. But it was no use. It was a well-thought-out, well-orchestrated tickle attack against one of my more ticklish spots. One that was completely exposed. One where there was only bare skin. I was toast.
My body semi-collapsed from the laughter, my head landing on Sarah’s body near her shoulders. I laughed and laughed as she continued wiggling her fingers against the hollow of my underarms, not relenting for even a moment.
“Looks like someone is quite the ticklish little one, huh?” Sarah teased, angling her head so she had a better view of my face - a face that was contorted with laughter. “I could have some fun with this,” she said.
“Please!” I begged, again not really thinking the words were audible against my incessant laughter. I had no desire to find out what kind of fun she had in mind. All I was focused on at the time was finding a way to get her fingers out from under my arms before those fingernails - oh my gosh those fingernails! - could inflict any more tickle torture.
“I honestly can’t believe you fell for that,” Sarah said with a laugh, clearly enjoying herself. “I knew you were ticklish but I didn’t realize it was THIS bad,” she said, analyzing my response.
It had only been about 30 seconds but I was losing my mind. My legs were growing weak from laughing and my body started to crumble. I tried to position myself to fall onto the couch, hoping to both break my fall on something soft and also that maybe the pull of my falling would free Sarah’s hands. No such luck. Sarah held strong and tumbled onto the couch- on top of me. Her legs straddled my legs, holding my lower half in check, while her tickling fingers left my upper half helpless.
“Ooo, now I’ve got you,” she said with an evil smile as she realized how trapped I was. “You only made things worse for yourself now!”
I could hardly even see her perched on top of me through my clenched eyes - and the tears of laughter that were swelling up didn’t help matters much either - but what I was able to see really struck at me. Of course, I wouldn’t be able to think of this until later on when I was reflecting on what had happened. But seeing Sarah perched above me, completely in control of the situation… She seemed in her element. I hesitate to use the word, but she seemed like she was made for such a domineering position. And it just… I guess it was just kind of hot, in a way?
But anyways, back to my story…
“Where else are you ticklish, Nikki?” she asked - not sure if she was expecting a response there or not, but I was clearly in no position to give one. Not that I even would have if I could have. “Let’s seeee,” she said with a tune in her voice.
With that, she pulled her fingers out from under my arms, finally giving me a brief respite.
“Sarah…” I gasped, trying to catch my breath. “So ticklish… Please stop,” I begged.
“Stop?” she repeated. “Oh honey,” she said with sympathy. “I’m just getting started.”
Sarah raised her hands above my body in the classic tickle-pose. I instinctively brought my own hands up in a defensive position. That must have been exactly what she had wanted. She clasped onto each of my hands with her own so we were now, in essence, holding hands, and she began to try to raise my arms above my head. Now, I had everything going against me here. For one, she was on top and had the leverage advantage. For another, she was taller and clearly stronger than I, so she had that advantage, as well. And finally, after having been laughing uncontrollably for so long, my energy was tapped. So it wasn’t long before she was able to pull both of my arms above my head. Then, she used her right hand to guide my left hand over to her left hand so she was holding both of my arms above my head with just her left hand.
Which, unfortunately, meant that her right hand was now free.
Which, double unfortunately, had also left me with my sides and underarms completely exposed again.
“Your tummy?” she asked, before skittering her nails across my stomach. My laughter confirmed her suspicion.
“Sides?” she asked with a raised eyebrow before poking me along my sides. Again, instant laughter.
“What about the neck?” she asked as she traced one fingernail along my neckline, causing my head to instantly shrink like a bottle of soda that’s fallen to the ground. “Aww, your neck, too?” she asked as she saw my reaction. “That’s adorable.”
Was she really going to explore my entire body? It’s not like she was going to find a spot that isn’t ticklish!
“We know your underarms are ticklish,” she said, tracing a fingernail along the hollow of my right armpit. She leaned down so her chin rested on my chest and looked me in the eye. “You’re just ticklish everywhere, aren’t you, Miss Nikki?”
“I am!” I shouted out, thinking that might be enough to hold off any further tickle exploration. “So ticklish! Please just stop!”
“You know what’s absolutely maddening?” she asked, completely ignoring me pleas for mercy. “When someone does this…”
I barely got the “n” of “NO” out when I felt it. She had snaked her right hand under the bottom of my camisole and was dancing the tips of her fingertips across the bare skin of my side.
“Ahahahahahahahahahaha” I laughed uncontrollably, squirming my body as far as it would go from side to side to try to escape the probing digits. It was no use. The tight fit of the camisole only served to trap her fingers right on my sides. There was no escape.
“It’s the worst, isn’t it?” asked Sarah - again, I’m not sure if she was expecting a response from me. “You just can’t escape it no matter what you, can you?”
My sides are definitely a top tickle spot on my body, no question. Even the act of someone putting their arm around me and resting their hand on my side for a picture is nerve-wracking - sitting there hoping that they keep their hand perfectly still and don’t land on any bare skin. This was torture. Trapped. My arms above my head. My sides completely exposed. And her fingers slithering their way under my camisole.
“Hmmm,” Sarah said, pulling her hand out from inside my shirt. “I don’t think I’ve found a spot that isn’t ticklish yet, have I?” she asked. “Where else?”
“Nowhere else,” I begged as I caught my breath, though I was still laughing from the previous tickling as I said it so I’m sure my words meant nothing to Sarah.
“What about your thighs?” Sarah asked as she began squeezing my thighs with her free hand. I would have jumped a foot in the air if I could have, and the laughter began pouring out of my mouth immediately. “Yeah, the thighs are an often overlooked spot,” Sarah said, as if lecturing me on her experience.
I was admittedly a little surprised to find out just how ticklish my thighs were. I mean, again, I long assumed that I was ticklish from head to toe, but no one had really ever specifically targeted my thighs for an extended tickle torture; it was usually either just a quick squeeze or someone just running their hand across my thigh or something. Sarah seemed surprised to see how ticklish my thighs were, as well.
“Oooh, did I find another spot?” she asked. “I’m literally tickling you through your jeans and it’s this ticklish?” she asked, taking my uncontrollable laughter as confirmation. “I bet a lot of people don’t realize how ticklish someone’s thighs can be,” she went on. “You can imagine what it would be like if the jeans weren’t there?”
All I could do was shake my head incessantly, not sure if she had plans of removing my jeans or not but knowing I was powerless in my current state to stop her if she did.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to strip you,” she said, as if sensing my concern. “However, I did notice…” she began, slowing up on the tickling a little as she revealed her discovery. “Your jeans have this super cute rip detail right on your thighs,” she said with an evil smile.
I knew immediately where she was going with that. “Sarah, no! Don’t!” I begged. I didn’t know what else to do or say.
“I wonder if I could wiggle my finger right past that rip there,” she said out loud.
“Sarah, NO!!”
“Too late,” she said with a smile, her finger breaching the barrier of my jeans through a rather unfortunately placed rip detail.
Oh.
My.
God.
I can’t even begin to describe how much it tickled. I must have let out an ear-piercing scream; I’m shocked her neighbors didn’t call the police. It tickled like mad. Crazy mad. I started bucking as much as I could to try to push her finger out from its cave inside my jeans.
Sarah, meanwhile, was laughing almost as much as I was. “Oh my word,” she laughed. Look at you!” she exclaimed, doing her best to tickle me, stay on top of me, and taunt me all at once. Fortunately for her - and unfortunately for me - her finger was snuggly kept in its place by my jeans; it was going nowhere.
“Oh my gosh, Nikki,” she exclaimed. “Are you wearing full pantyhose?” she asked, clearly shocked to have felt the nylon material all the way up my leg. All I could do was nod my head yes. At least, I think I was nodding my head yes. Honestly, I was laughing so much, I don’t even know.
“Ahahahahahahahahahahaha,” I laughed, desperately trying to form words, to build up strength -- anything that might stop the tickling. “OH MY GOD OH MY GOD ahahahahahahahahahahahaha”
“No wonder you’re going insane,” Sarah said. “OK, probably enough of that now,” she said, pulling her finger free from my jeans. “We don’t want you to pass out on us, do we?”
“Sarah,” I gasped, finally able to catch some air after the tickling onslaught ended. “Sarah, please. No more,” I said, only able to string a few words together at the same time. “I’ll do anything,” I begged, weakly. “Please.”
Sarah propped her chin on my chest again and looked into my eyes. “Aww but sweetie,” she said, feigning sympathy for me. “I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.”
My eyes bulged out of their sockets as I realized what she meant. Sarah realized it, as well, because she started laughing, too.
“Oh gosh, Nikki,” she laughed. “You’re too funny. Your reaction. I almost feel bad for what I am about to do,” she said, looking towards the foot of the couch as she repositioned herself. Then, after looking back at me, repeated, “Almost.”
Sarah adjusted herself a bit. Still holding my arms above my head with only her left arm - gosh, why was she so strong? - and still stradling my waist with her knees, she now used her left leg to hold my legs in place, further restricting my movement.
And it was then that I felt it. It was light at first. But there was no mistaking it. Sarah was dragging the big toe of her right foot along the bottom of my left foot. A stream of giggles erupted as soon as my brain registered the touch.
Sarah laughed, pleased with the reaction she forced. It’s funny. She was doing nothing short of tormenting me at that moment. Seriously. If I were in a horror movie or something and they had to guess what my worst nightmare scene would be, this would be it. But still, there was something about her that… I don’t know. I don’t want to say it made the experience nice or good or anything like that. But I remember seeing the way her nose crunched up a little bit when she would smile at me. It just… It was cute, is all.
“Can’t handle a little footsie, huh?” she asked, teasing me. She lay her head on her left arm so that her head rested next to mine, facing me, never once losing contact with the bottom of my foot. I tried to twist and turn and move, but it was no use. She had me good.
But.. Was she barefoot? I didn’t feel any sock touching my foot. It was definitely her big toe and nothing more. Had she lost her sock in the struggle? Maybe it was when I was squirming? Or when I was bucking up and down? It made sense. Those no-show socks never stayed on. And her foot would have been wedged against the couch, between my legs and the back couch cushion. I could easily see her sock accidentally falling off as we tussled on the couch.
I tried arching my head up, wanting to see. Wanting to know if she was indeed barefoot. Wanting to know what that foot looked like. Was there anything to my earlier ponderings? Could her feet be ticklish? Did they LOOK ticklish?
“It’s the nylons, huh?” she asked, drawing me from my internal debate. “Aren’t they the worst when it comes to tickling?” she asked. “Well,” she clarified. “Best for me. Worst for you,” she said, tapping my nose with her finger. That smile again!
The non stop stream of giggles continued to pour out of my mouth and, honestly, she wasn’t really even tickling me at this point. I mean, yeah, it tickled. A ton. Obviously. But, really, what she was doing would more be classified as playing footsie, just like she said. But it was still too much.
“I can see why your roommate is always tickling you,” she said, continuing to run her foot across mine. “It’s just so - aaah,” she paused, something clearly causing her delay. “So easy,” she finished, quickly.
Whoa, whoa, whoa...
Did what I think just happen really happen? I know I am completely, 100% HOPING this is what happened, but I’m wondering if there is some legit truth to it. Had Sarah just accidentally - tickled herself? There was a definite pause in her voice for a moment. Something had caught her off-guard. That’s for sure. Had she lost track of what she was doing as she was talking to me? Had she made it so the bottom of her foot had accidentally grazed against my toe for a moment? My foot had been squirming all over the place as she was tickling it. Had my foot brushed against the bottom of her foot? I wanted to look, to get a better view, but I was too overwhelmed with the tickling taking place on my own foot.
“So listen, sweetie,” Sarah said, clearly composed again. “I am going to apologize in advance for what I am about to do, OK?” she said.
Wait, what?
With little effort, Sarah turned me over so I was now laying on my stomach on the couch. Had I really lost that much energy from laughing so much that she could do that with so little effort? Regardless, I was now face down on the couch and soon felt Sarah again straddling me, this time sitting on my bum facing down to my feet. I felt her hook my legs and pull them up so they were bent at the knee, essentially now at eye level with her.
I knew what was coming.
“Sarah, please!” I shrieked. “Not my feet! Please!” I begged hysterically.
“Aww, it’s so cute when you beg,” Sarah said, turning to pat me on the head. “This is the jackpot area, isn’t it?” she asked. “Your most ticklish spot?” she asked, sensing her term needed clarification.
“Yes!” I shouted, completely bypassing the step where I’m supposed to try to play it cool and pretend that it isn’t. “Please, Sarah, no! I give! Please not my feet!”
I honestly didn’t know if I would be able to handle it. I had already been tickled to the point of exhaustion. Sarah had thoroughly explored the ticklish spots on my body, leaving no spot untouched, in a way that was part friendly banter, part evil machination, and part flirtatious fun. Now she was targeting my feet. My feet in nylons. I was a dead duck.
“Aww, but why should your roommate have all the fun?” Sarah asked with a pouty face, quickly drawing a line up the bottom of my exposed foot. I’m not even sure where I got the energy, but I bucked so hard, I nearly threw her off of me. She laughed.
“Oh my word,” Sarah said with a smile. “This might even be more ticklish for you than I was expecting. We may have to hold you down a little more for this, huh?” she suggested.
“Sarah, please!” I begged, trying to show some assertiveness. “I’ll do anything. Please. For the love of God, just not my feet.” So much for that assertiveness.
‘I can’t come this far and not give your feet a little attention, right?” Sarah asked. “After all, wasn’t it your feet that first alerted me that you were ticklish at all?”
Sarah re-positioned herself a bit more, now no longer sitting on my bum but rather almost laying on me, so that her mid-section was now straddling my bum area and her legs were holding down my upper body. I tried to wiggle out of it, but this new position of hers had me wedged in tight.
“Now let’s just give another little test here, hmm?” she said, lightly dragging another finger along the bottom of my foot. I jumped with the same amount of force as I had before but her re-positioning had met its goal of holding me in place.
“No more tests!” I begged. “No more tests! Please!!”
“I want to see first hand just how ticklish these feet are, silly,” Sarah teased. “I think you need to be held down just a little more,” she said, repositioning herself another time.
This time, though, her legs slid along the side of my mid-section, her right leg landing in the cavity under my left arm. Her toes made contact with the exposed skin of the hollow of my underarm, sending me into yet another fit of hysterical laughter.
“Sar-ah ah ah! No get out!!” I begged, twisting and squirming as I tried to block her toes from tickling my underarms.
“I’m not even -” Sarah began, clearly confused by my paroxysm of laughter behind her. “Why Nikki,” she said with a laugh as she realized what was happening. “Are you being tickled by my toes?” she asked, wiggling her toes even more aggressively now.
The tickling was maddening. I think it was the fact that it wasn’t supposed to tickle that made it tickle all the more. And since she had me pinned, there was little I could do to escape this new torment.
Still, I had to do something, right? Or at least try.. So understand, of course, that at the time, my sole motivation here was to try to put an end to this tickling. It wasn’t until later on when I was analyzing everything in my head that I realized the potential of what had happened.
Desperate for a break, I did the only thing I could think of. First, I leaned my weight on my left side - as much as I could a) without hurting her and b) with what limited mobility I had. I was able to squeeze my right arm under my body a bit and I clumsily grabbed onto Sarah’s foot with my right hand.
Now, the way I grabbed onto her foot is important here. Because my body was holding her foot down, my hand could only grab onto her toes. And because I had just had my nails done that morning, I made sure not to dig my nails into the flesh under her toes. So what resulted must have been the tips of my fingernails lightly resting against the ball of Sarah’s foot and the pads of my fingers touching underneath Sarah’s toes.
Sarah immediately yelled out “NO!”, the confidence she had shown a moment ago flushed away. She started pulling her leg free, but I somehow managed to hold on. With her foot now out of my armpit, I was able to use my left hand to clumsily grab onto Sarah’s foot as well. My left hand took hold of the middle of Sarah’s foot, my four fingers clutching on top and my thumb resting on the bottom, right on her arch.
She yelped out “LET GO!” in that adorable British accent of hers and started trying to pull her foot away. I held on as long as I could. It wasn’t pretty or coordinated or anything. Her leg danced as much as it could to free itself from my clutches. I do remember catching a glimpse of Sarah herself and seeing a rather strained look on her face as she fought to regain control of her leg.
Finally, through the combination of the fact that she was clearly much stronger than I and that I was already so exhausted from having laughed for so long, Sarah freed her foot from my clutches. She instantly re-positioned herself so she was now at the foot of the couch, her feet no longer in any proximity to me.
“A feisty one, huh?” she asked, blowing the hair out of her face with a puff of breath. “It’s the scissor hold for you, then,” she said, placing my ankles in between her legs and clamping down.
Now again, at the time, my sole focus was freeing myself, so I wasn’t really paying too much attention. And I wish I had thought to capitalize on it at the time... So while I’ll admit that there is the slight possibility that she was simply trying to regain control of the situation… And while I’ll also admit that there is certainly some wish-casting going on from me in this… My gut tells me that I was inadvertently tickling her foot when I had it. It had to be, right? But anyways, I do digress…
So there I was, trapped again, this time with no means of escape, and once again at the mercy of Sarah.
“Shall we?” she asked, and no sooner had her words finished than I felt fingers from both hands attacking the bottom of each of my feet.
Well, I lost it. Instantly. Let’s face facts - I stood no chance. My feet. The nylons. Her nails. Being helpless. I started cackling with laughter and couldn’t stop. I cursed my body. How could I be so ticklish? Was my body, in a way, betraying me? I cursed the nylons. Why in the world did they have to make everything tickle so much more? Had they been designed with this intent? I cursed Aimee. If she had just left my stuff alone, maybe I’m wearing socks right now and none of this even enters Sarah’s mind. I cursed the whole situation. In my head. Because all I could do was laugh, laugh, laugh..
“My, my, Nikki,” Sarah absent-mindedly as her fingers danced across my vulnerable soles. “So, so ticklish,” she said.
“You know, I’m really sorry about this,” Sarah continued, seemingly genuine in her apology. “I’d like to stop, but I just… I just can’t,” she said, proving her point by continuing to dance her fingers along the bottom of my foot as she apologized.
“I don’t know how to explain it, really,” she said, a remorseful tone in her voice now as she self-reflected. “I’ve just always been captivated by ticklish people,” she said. “It’s just… Well, take you, for example,” she said.
It was clear she already had.
“You’re this smart, intelligent young woman,” she said. “People like you. You seem to have your life together. You seem to have control of everything.”
Me? Was she talking about me right now?
“And yet look at this,” she continued, her dastardly fingers still never losing contact with my feet. “The slightest little touch and you instantly become unglued. Something as simple as being tickled has you completely helpless.”
Something as simple as being tickled? I’m pretty sure 99% of the population would be losing their mind if they were enduring what I was enduring at this moment. She was right, though. I was helpless. She had my ankles trapped tightly; there was no escaping. Heck, I couldn’t even put one foot over the other to give at least one foot protection. Sarah had my absolute biggest weakness in life - my ticklish feet - at her mercy and at their weakest - in nylons.
My eyes were essentially glued shut from laughing so much, but in my mind, I could almost picture the path her fingers took along the bottom of my feet. The circles that she would draw on my heels. The lines that she would draw back and forth across my arch. The dancing of her fingers that she would do on the balls of my feet. I could see every touch in my mind. I could sense the ticklish sensation being sent to my brain.
“I tried, you know,” Sarah continued. “I tried to not tickle you tonight. I honestly tried. But then I saw you wore nylons tonight… That broke me. I’m only human, right?”
Aimee!!! If I could have formed a coherent thought at the time, I’m sure it would have been a negative one towards Aimee. I KNEW nylons were a bad idea. They seemed to be magnets for tickle attacks, as if inviting people to tickle your feet.
“I just kept asking myself, ‘Why would she wear nylons tonight?’ over and over again. I was totally expecting wool socks or something. And barefeet, yeah, I mean, depending on the kind of shoes you wore over, I could almost see barefeet, too. But nylons? Did you honestly think I wouldn’t try to tickle you once I saw you in nylons?”
I vowed in my mind in that moment to throw away every pair of nylons I ever owned. I knew it wasn’t something I would follow through on, but they brought nothing but trouble.
“You OK back there, sport?” Sarah asked, pulling herself away from her monologue.
Amidst everything else that was happening, I had fallen so deep into silent laughter from Sarah’s constant tickling that she thought I was on the verge of passing out. And I probably was. My muscles ached. My eyes had tears pouring from them. My makeup was messed up. I was broken.
“Need a minute?” Sarah asked, no longer tickling me for the first time in what seemed like hours.
“Please,” I begged, the breath slowly returning to my body. “Please, no more. I’ll d-- I’ll do anything.”
“Anything?” Sarah asked.
Crap. What did I just get myself into? What else did she have in store for me?
Sarah pounced off of the couch and I slowly sat up, free to move for the first time. “Wh---what do you want?” I asked, nervous and looking for my purse in case I needed my cell phone.
“Simple,” Sarah said, looking down while fidgeting with her fingers awkwardly and looking, for the first time, unsure of herself. “Be my friend.”
“Your… friend?” I asked, honestly completely off-guard by her request. I won’t lie. I was half-expecting her to ask to tie me up or something. Who knows what could have been going through her mind!
“Yeah,” she said, nervously pacing behind the couch now. Sarah was clearly putting herself out there. And I could appreciate that. “I just,” she continued, stammering as she tried to find the right words. “It hasn’t been easy making friends here,” she went on. “I mean, yeah, I’ve talked to people and stuff, but I haven’t actually made a friend yet. You know, someone to text. Someone to grab a coffee with. Someone to just go drive around with when you have nowhere to go in particular.”
I admit it. My heart was breaking for her. Five minutes earlier, I wasn’t sure if she’d ever stop tickling me and I hoped more than anything for someone to come in and pull me out of this apartment. I had rued the moment I walked in. But now, after hearing this, I…
“This is all stupid, isn’t it?” she asked, trying to inconspicuously wipe a small tear out of the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry I said anything. I’m sure you have pl…”
“I’ll do it,” I found myself saying.
“What?”
“I’ll do it. I’ll be your friend.”
“Even after I just spent all that time tickling you?” Sarah asked with a laugh.
“Even after that,” I said, laughing, as well.
We sat and talked for a bit, which was mostly Sarah apologizing over and over again both for tickling me out of my mind and for asking me to be her friend. It was a different side of Sarah. It wasn’t that she didn’t seem as confident as before, but rather, she just seemed… more vulnerable? Like she was sharing a side of herself that she hadn’t shared with anyone at school yet? I mean, it wasn’t necessarily WHAT she was saying, but almost more HOW she was saying it.
And, of course, one thing that I absolutely picked up on… When Sarah sat back down on the couch, she sat in a position that left both her feet hidden from view. It was sort of cross-legged, but exaggeratedly so, almost as if making a conscious effort to not show her feet. Now, it might have been a coincidence, of course. But she hadn’t been sitting like that at any point during the evening yet. So it seemed a little TOO coincidental that she took to sitting like that now that her feet were bared. And, of course, thinking back on it now, especially so since it’s possible she had shown her hand at being ticklish earlier. It did seem like she was putting an awful lot of effort into ensuring her feet could not be seen...
“I think we just need to come up with a new story about how we became friends,” Sarah laughed. “One that doesn’t make me sound like I was begging you to be friends,” she said.
“We’ll just say that you were always making me laugh,” I joked.
“Yeah, well,” she laughed. “It wouldn’t be lying, would it?”
“So now that we’re friends,” I said. “That means you don’t actually have to tickle me anymore, right?”
She laughed again. “Ahm, if anything doesn’t it mean I have to tickle you MORE now?” she laughed, wiggling her fingers in the air in front of her.
“Haven’t I been through enough today?”
“Yeah, I’m just joking,” Sarah said. “Besides, we really do need to work on this project, don’t we?”
“Oh gosh, the project,” I said, having completely forgotten about it. “Yeah, let’s get to work.”
We gathered up our materials and went back to work on the project, almost as if nothing had happened. Were we really able to transition so smoothly?
Still, though, I did notice one thing.. As we were gathering up our supplies, Sarah made a conscious effort to search for her socks that she had lost on the couch amidst the struggle of the earlier tickling. Once she found them, she slid them back on her feet - a little too quickly. I mean, again, they are no-show socks. For me, once they’re off, they’re off. I can’t remember ever putting them back on if I’m staying in the house. And yet she did.. I admit I was bummed. For some reason, I wanted to see more of her bare feet. Which… sounds really weird to say… But I wanted to analyze them.. See if they looked ticklish…
I didn’t draw any attention to it, though. After all, I still had only nylons on my feet and was in no condition to be entering any tickle wars again.
But still, now that I think about it as I sit here at my desk writing this, I can’t help but notice a small smile appearing on my face. What sort of ticklish secrets are you hiding, Miss Sarah? And more importantly, how soon until I can discover them? And oh my gosh, Aimee, will you pay for this… haha
Your girl, Nikki
dddd
Another edition, hot off the presses! I had this one written in my head for the longest time, but it took a while to actually write down now that we're gradually leaving our houses, etc.
I will admit I really liked the storylines in this entry. Obviously we're all here for the tickling, and I think this is a "thorough" tickling while still maintaining some element of "hey maybe this could happen" -- especially as we hear from Sarah and her motivations.
I also liked the dialogue between the roommates before Nikki goes on her way for the evening... Their whole analysis of what is the safer route for her...
And, of course, nothing beats a little roommate machination from Aimee... haha
I hope you guys like it. As always, feedback welcome!
Happy reading,
OldEnglish
Dear Diary - Entry #1: Snapping the Losing Streak (f/f, nylons)
Dear Diary - Entry #2: So Much for that Winning Streak... (f/f, nylons)
Dear Diary - Entry #3: Facetime Fun (f/f, ff,f, fff,f, nylons, tickle talk)
Dear Diary - Entry #4: When The Roommate Knows... (f/f, underarms, barefeet, nylons)
Dear Diary - Entry #5: That Girl At Work... (f/f, sides, nylons)
Dear Diary - Entry #6: That Class Project (f/f, all over, nylons)
Dear Diary,
I’m at a loss for words. I mean, on one hand, I can’t believe how my roommate set me up. On the other hand, I do have to admit that it was a very clever, well-thought-out plan. And it worked. So props to her for a job well done, I guess, but there’s two take-aways from this for me. One, I have to work on this whole being super-insanely-ticklish thing. It’s really becoming a nuisance. And two, of course you know, this means war…
So where to begin?
It all started with this project that I have for English class. It’s a fairly significant project and it involves working with a partner. I was paired up with this other girl, Sarah. Sarah is… intimidating. At least to me, anyways. SUPER intimidating. I don’t know exactly how to describe it. I don’t know if it’s that there is one thing about her that makes her so intimidating or if it is just the sum of all of the parts…
And don’t get me wrong… I don’t necessarily mean intimidating in a bad way. She’s not mean or anything. And to be clear, it’s likely all in my head anyways, so it’s really more me than her. But I don’t know -- she just seems to check all of the boxes of character traits that I can find intimidating in a person. First, she’s tall. I mean, she’s got to be at least 5’10”. I always find it intimidating when a girl towers over me like that. I can handle it with a guy - just not with a girl. Second, she’s super smart. I mean, at least in English class she is, anyways. She’s always the one answering the questions and bringing up intelligent topics in class conversation. Then if that’s not enough, she’s super pretty, too. I mean, a classic pretty, not a trashy pretty. She has an air of elegance about her. And then finally, if all of that wasn’t enough… She’s British. Haha And not that I have anything against the British at all, but I’ve always been intimidated by that accent. I just find it this bizarre combination of intimidating but sultry, domineering but voluptuous…
So as if all that weren’t bad enough…
Then my pain-in-the-butt roommate Aimee has to go and start tickling my feet this one time that I am on a ZOOM call with Sarah. I was trying SO hard not to crack - you know, mind over matter, right? - but it was useless. Aimee had me feet trapped, and, well… Well, my feet are just too ticklish. I’ll admit it. So of course I crack up and then it’s all out in the open -- Sarah knows I’m ticklish. As if I didn’t find her intimidating enough, now she knows my biggest weakness...
And what’s worse is that Sarah seemingly LOVED finding out that I was ticklish. I mean, yeah, you expect the “Awww, that’s cute” or whatever type response. And yeah, she had that type of reaction, too. But now it seems literally every time we talk about the project, she always asks - in that British accent of her - “So… are you still ticklish?” But it’s more like “Are you still tick’lish” with her accent - if that makes sense. And yeah, of course I’m still ticklish. I haven’t grown out of it yet; it’s not like I’d grow out of it over a span of 3 days. But with Sarah, it’s almost like… Like she enjoys knowing that I’m ticklish… If that even makes sense. It’s like she enjoys knowing someone’s weakness. Which, again, is probably me just reading WAY too much into things.
So that’s the backstory. Now to the actual night of the events…
I had made plans to go to Sarah’s apartment - because OF COURSE she has her own apartment and doesn’t live in the dorms - around 7 pm that night. We made plans to connect via ZOOM around 3:00 or 4:00 after our classes. Then, we’d each grab a bite to eat or whatever, and I’d arrive at her apartment at 7:00.
I had been a nervous wreck all day. What if I said something stupid? What if she didn’t think any of my ideas were good enough? What if she started wishing she had a smarter partner? What if I forgot everything I had prepared? What if I forgot something at my dorm? Just so many what if’s…
So I’m going through the day as usual. Nothing too exciting. Classes are finally over, so I head back to the dorm. Aimee is already there. I start going through my closet looking for something to wear.
“What are you doing, you numbskull?” Aimee asked as I was swiping left on shirt after shirt after shirt.
“Trying to find something to wear for tonight,” I said, plainly.
“You’re already wearing something,” Aimee said matter-of-factly.
“I can’t wear this to the meeting,” I said, posing for a moment to show what I was wearing. Sure, I had gone for the casual look for the first half of the day. Leggings. A long-sleeve top. A hoodie. Some UGG boots. As usual, those were removed as soon as I got into the dorm room, though. They took my socks as hostage when I removed them, though - for some reason, I find my socks always come off with my UGGs when I take them off - so I was now barefoot. But I hadn’t planned on wearing this to the meeting tonight. I need something a little more… polished.
“It’s a class project, not a date,” Aimee laughed.
I threw a look her way. Clearly it wasn’t a date. But I felt like I needed to show up looking polished and prepared, if for no other reason than to maybe relax some of that intimidation I had been feeling.
“Hardy har har,” I faux-laughed. “Oooh,” I said, noticing the time. “I need to hop on this ZOOM call with her now. Do I look OK?”
“You dork,” Aimee laughed. “You look fine.”
I logged into ZOOM and Sarah and I exchanged pleasantries, asking each other about the day and other basic stuff before confirming the time for our meeting.
“So, do you have everything prepared?” asked Sarah, that accent of hers making this feel like an important board room meeting and not just a project for English class.
“Yeah,” I said, holding up my notes. “Hopefully they’ll be helpful.”
“I’m sure they will be,” Sarah said. But did she mean it?
“So, listen,” Sarah continued. “When you get to the apartment building, just buzz three times for Apartment 7C. That way, I’ll know it’s you,” she instructed.
“OK,” I said. “Buzz 3 times.”
“Yup,” she continued. “I’ll have some snacks and stuff prepared,” she went on. “And, oh, so you know in advance.” she said. “No shoes in the house. I’m not quite a complete germaphobe, but that IS a house rule.”
“No shoes,” I repeated. “Got it.”
“So do you think we’ll have enough material so we can finish this tonight?” I asked.
“Hopefully,” she said with a sigh. “Otherwise, I’d hate to have to resort to evil methods to get you to finish the rest of it.”
“Evil methods?” I asked, both out of habit of repeating what she had said and also out of confusion.
“Well, if memory serves, all I have to do is threaten to tickle you, and you’d likely agree to do the entire project yourself, right?” she said with a laugh.
My face instantly blushed multiple shades of red. Why did she keep having to mention that? I tried to think of something to say in response, but Aimee’s laughter in the background had caught Sarah’s attention.
“Oh, is that your roommate?” Sarah asked.
“Hi!” Aimee said, popping over to be seen on the camera now.
“Have you given her a proper tickling lately?” Sarah asked.
“Nah,” Aimee said nonchalantly, as if this were a completely normal conversation.
“Hey, if we could not talk about my...AAHH!!” I jumped. I was about to ask them if we could not talk about my ticklishness, but I was caught off-guard when Aimee decided to squeeze my sides. I batted her hands away to put an end to the attack, but Aimee had succeeded in her goal.
“Oh,” Sarah said, laughing. “So it’s not just the feet where she’s ticklish?”
“Oh, she’s ticklish all over,” Aimee said, taking great joy in revealing all of my weaknesses. She brought her arms up in the air and began wiggling her my fingers in my direction, threatening another round of tickle attacks.
“Aimee, don’t!” I said, admittedly sounding a little more desperate than I would have liked.
“Oh, Nikki,” Sarah with a laugh. “I didn’t think it was possible for someone to still be that ticklish at our age,” she said. “But listen, I need to run now. Remember, buzz 3 times.”
“Did you HAVE to do that?” I asked Aimee as soon as I closed my laptop.
“Do what?” she asked innocently.
“Did you have to tickle me in front of her again?” I asked.
“Relax,” Aimee said. “You’re making too much of it.”
“I feel like she already thinks I’m inferior,” I explained. “I didn’t need her knowing I’m ticklish, too,” I said, in an admittedly sulky tone.
“You’re thinking about this too much,” Aimee said. “Everybody is ticklish,” she said, before pausing for a moment. “OK, so maybe not as ticklish as you…” she said with a laugh.
“Really?” I asked, putting my hand on my hip.
“You know what I mean!” Aimee said. “You worry too much. It’s all in your head. Everything will be fine.”
So, I believed her. What else could I do? I mean, what had been done had been done, right? I picked out an outfit for that night - a nicer pair of jeans, a white cami, and a gray cardigan - and hopped into the bathroom for a nice, hot shower to clear my head of everything. There was no un-doing the fact that Aimee had tickled me in front of Sarah, so now Sarah knew I was ticklish. But Aimee was right. Everyone is ticklish, right? Sure, I might be more ticklish than most --- unfortunately. But it’s not as if it is this novel concept. There’s always at least one super ticklish person in every group of friends, right? I guess I should consider myself fortunate that no one really knew that about me until recently. I mean, I don’t know how no one ever figured it out… Maybe I just used to hang out with people who didn’t like to tickle others? Or maybe it was because they were simply too ticklish themselves? Like, maybe they feared retaliation or something? Whatever the case, it was clear my fortunes had very much turned recently. Ever since Jamie tickled me on Christmas Eve - and I still kick myself for taking my shoes off - it seems like I’ve been a walking tickle target. I mean, Aimee acts like it’s her job to sneak in as many tickle attacks as she can. So maybe I’m just making up for lost time?
Of course, I still would have felt a lot more comfortable had the topic of being ticklish never come up with Sarah. It almost seemed like she took too much delight in finding out about my weakness. She certainly brought it up whenever she could, it felt like. I won’t lie - part of me wanted to cancel this meeting. I mean, not that I thought that Sarah was the type of person who would ever do anything like come out and tickle me or something… But I don’t know - I just couldn’t shake that feeling of intimidation whenever she said the word ‘tick’lish’ in that accent of hers. It’s like I freeze or something. And what had she said - no shoes in the apartment? My word, that is all I need right now. I honestly had been planning to wear a pair of over-the-calf boots as added protection, but now… Again, Sensible Nikki knows deep down that there is nothing to worry about. People just don’t go about tickling random people, even if they don’t have any shoes on. But Paranoid Nikki, on the other hand…
So that’s all well and good, right? You’re probably thinking --- what’s so bad about all of that? Oh, if only that were the end of this story… Unfortunately for me, we’re only just beginning...
I got out of the shower, dried off, and got dressed. I gave myself a look in the mirror. I approved. ‘You got this, girl,’ I thought to myself, and I walked back into the dorm room to finish getting ready.
And that’s when I found it…
Or rather, when I couldn’t find them.
My socks.
All of my socks were gone! Like, literally all of my socks. My entire sock drawer in my dresser was empty. Not a single pair.
“Aimee!!” I yelled, beckoning her in from the other room in our quad.
“What’s up?” she asked, innocently.
“Where are my socks???”
“Oh, those,” Aimee said, pretending to only now realize what I was calling her for. “Well, I wanted to be a really awesome roommate so while you were in the shower, I put them all in the wash for you,” she said.
“You did WHAT?” I asked, unable to believe what I was hearing.
“Yeah,” she said, explaining her actions some more. “You’re always asking me to help you with laundry, right?”
“Yeah, but,” I said, not sure what to say, really. “I didn’t want you to…” I started. “What am I going to wear tonight?”
“You didn’t already have a pair picked out?”
“Nooo!”
“Oh….”
“Yeah, oh…” I said.
“Well, I did pick you up something from the store earlier for you. You know, in case you got that job,” she said, extending a white plastic bag my way.
“Are you serious?” I asked as I looked into the bag. “Pantyhose?” I asked, pulling a pair out. “You want me to wear pantyhose?”
“Well, no,” Aimee said. “I got them for you in case you got that job you had interviewed for,” Aimee explained, though I wasn’t sure if I believed her or not. “I feel like you’re mad,” Aimee said.
“Yes!” I screamed. “I mean, no,” I clarified. “Of course not. We’re friends,” I said. “I can’t be mad at you. It’s just --- am I really going to wear nylons over her apartment tonight?”
“Why not?” Aimee asked, as if she didn’t see any issue.
“Won’t it come off as too formal?” I asked, not wanting to actually put words to the real reason I was worried.
“So what? You’ll be wearing them under jeans,” Aimee said. “It’s just a cute look.”
“Well, there’s also,” I started, almost whispering…
“Also...what?” asked Aimee.
I shook my head in disbelief that Aimee was not understanding what I was trying to say. “Also that she knows that I’m ticklish…” I said, again barely above a whisper.
“Ooooh,” said Aimee as ‘light dawned on Marblehead’. “And you think she’s going to tickle you if you have nylons on?”
Well, when you put it that way… “Well, no,” I stammered. “But yeah,” I said, not sure what I wanted to actually say. “Don’t you think she’s more likely to tickle me if I am wearing nylons?” I asked, somewhat taken aback by the ridiculousness of my own question. It was one that I honestly never thought I would say out loud., and certainly not about a classmate.
“I’m not sure,” said Aimee. “Isn’t it 50/50?”
“Well, and if she does tickle me…” I continued, hoping Aimee would pick up on what I was talking about now. No such luck. “If she does tickle me, you know how much more ticklish I am in nylons,” I reminded her, again speaking in only a whisper in case the room was mic’d or something.
“Ooooh yeah,” Aimee said, again in a way so exaggerated that I felt like this was her plan all along. “Hmm, well let’s see what people think,” she said, but before I could stop her, she was calling out. “Lyss! Britt!” Aimee called, beckoning in our other two quad members.
“What’s up?” Alyssa asked as she came in.
“Oh, look at you, girl,” Brittany said as she walked in. “Hot date tonight?”
“No!!” I said with a laugh of frustration. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”
“So Nikki here has a bit of a dilemma,” Aimee explained.
“Do tell,” Alyssa said.
“She’s got to go over to her classmate’s apartment tonight, and she’s wondering how to finish off her wardrobe,” Aimee explained. “Nylons or no nylons.”
“Nylons,” Alyssa said.
“No nylons,” Brittany said soon after, quickly contradicting her roommate.
“Well, what difference does it make?” Alyssa asked, correctly sensing there was more to the story.
“Well,” Aimee said, as if she were waiting for someone to ask. “Miss Nikki here is worried that her project partner might end up trying to tickle her feet…”
“Why would she wonder that?” Alyssa asked, the reason clearly not what she had been thinking.
“Yeah, WHY?” I repeated, glancing to Aimee.
“Wellllllll,” Aimee said, elongating that “l” as much as she could. “I suppose I may have let the cat out of the bag about how ticklish Nikki is…” she said with faux-sympathy. Alyssa laughed.
“Don’t wear nylons,” Brittany said again, this time with more urgency.
“No, she should wear nylons,” Alyssa said.
“She’s totally going to get tickled if she has nylons on,” Brittany said, presenting her case.
“She won’t,” Alyssa retorted. “Besides, even if she does, it’ll be funny.”
“How can you think she won’t?” Brittany asked.
“I don’t know,” Alyssa said. “You could put a run in someone’s nylons from tickling them.”
“That’s not going to stop anyone,” Brittany said, quickly dismissing Alyssa’s point. “Why don’t you wear socks instead?”
“Because all of my socks are currently indisposed of…” I said, again, giving Aimee a telling side-eye. “She put them all in the wash.”
“Oh my word,” Alyssa laughed, catching on to Aimee’s plan. “That’s hilarious.”
“You can borrow some of mine,” Brittany said, clearly the only one feeling any sort of compassion for my plight.
“The hell she can,” Alyssa said back. “Nikki’s a big girl. She’s got to make her own decision with what she has,” she said, giving a quick wink to Aimee.
“It’s no big deal,” Brittany said. “She can just bor…”
“If you give her a pair of your socks, I’m going to make sure YOU get tickled tonight,” Alyssa said, wiggling her fingers in the air in Brittany’s direction.
“I…” Brittany began, stopping before she said anything as she processed Alyssa’s threat. “Sorry, Nikki,” she said, a look of sorrow on her face. “You’re on your own here.”
“Well, that’s two for nylons and one for no nylons,” Aimee said, holding her fingers out in front of her to show her count. “Sounds like we have a decision, no?” she said with a smile, handing a new pair of suntan pantyhose to me.
So that’s how it was that I came to find myself knocking on Sarah’s door from the hallway wearing a pair of jeans, a white camisole, and a gray cardigan underneath my jacket with a pair of black ankle boots on with a pair of suntan nylons underneath. I could feel my toes instinctively curling from within my boots, no doubt knowing that they were about to become exposed in such a vulnerable state.
“Hey!” Sarah said with a smile answering the door. “Come on in.”
“Thanks,” I said, nervously walking in the door and unzipping my jacket.
“Oh, I’ll take your jacket,” Sarah said politely, gathering my jacket and my hat into her arms. “Just plop your shoes on the mat over there and I’ll be right back.”
‘Ugh,’ I thought to myself. I guess part of me had hoped that she would change her mind about the whole no-shoes-in-the-house policy. Or maybe that I had misheard it. No such luck, though. ‘Maybe she won’t even notice,’ I said in my head as I unzipped my boots and walked them over to the tray by the door.
“Are you wearing nylons?” Sarah asked, startling me as I hadn’t even heard her come back in the room. So much for that.
“Ahm, yeah,” I said, awkwardly, trying to come up with something to say that would end the conversation about my wearing nylons as quickly as possible. “Just a little laundry miscalculation, so this was all I had.”
“Oh,” she said, as if processing my response in her mind. “I like it. It’s cute.”
“You do?” I asked, far more eagerly than I had designed to. So desperate was I for any reason to not be intimidated that I jumped like the freshman girl after the high school football captain looked her way. “I mean,” I regrouped, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, it’s not bad.” There. Play it cool.
Sarah laughed, though I’m not sure if it was directed at what I had said or how awkward I had been. “Why don’t you have a seat on the sofa over there?” she motioned. “I’ll be right back in.”
I nodded my head and made my way to the sofa. There. Hopefully that was the extent of the nylon conversation for the night. Hopefully that was the extent of the focus on my feet for the night. Hopefully that was the extent of…
Something had stopped me in my tracks. I looked down to the floor. Just carpeting. But I could have sworn something had… Nah. I took another step. There it was again. Had I missed something? Stepped on something? Another step. The same feeling. And then I realized what must have been happening. My eyes bulged out of their sockets as the realization hit me.
Just walking on the carpet in the living room in nylons was tickling my feet.
‘I am so screwed,’ I said to myself as I plopped down on the couch and curled my feet under me in the classic defensive position. Why, of all nights, did it seem that I was EXTRA ticklish tonight? I mean, sure, it wasn’t a laugh-out-loud tickle or anything like that. But there was no denying it tickled. I’m pretty sure I even felt an involuntary smile curl on my lips before I realized the magnitude of what was happening. Just from walking on the carpet. Not that there had been any doubt before, but now there was no denying it; I needed to keep my feet away from Sarah in case she even had the slightest inkling of trying to sneak in a tickle.
“You know,” Sarah said, returning to the room and taking her position on the chair next to the sofa. “I’m kind of surprised to see you in nylons.”
“Really?” I asked, looking down to make sure my feet were out of her sight. “Why’s that?”
“I don’t know,” Sarah said. “Seems most American women - especially our age - don’t really wear them anymore. I know some of my friends don’t even own a pair.”
“Oh, I own a pair,” I said, thinking back to the shopping bag of pantyhose that Aimee had gifted me earlier. “Several, in fact,” I said, half talking to Sarah and half thinking out loud to myself.
“Several?” Sarah asked, of course, not sure what I was referencing.
“Oh,” I said, realizing my error. “I just mean I don’t mind wearing them,” I said to save face. “You know, super strict parents growing up… A mom who always wanted you to dress up for every function. So wearing nylons just sort of became second-nature, I guess.”
“That’s fantastic,” Sarah with a smile. “Maybe you’ll inspire a new trend on campus.”
“I doubt it,” I laughed. Just because I didn’t mind wearing them didn’t mean that I had any intention of wearing them around campus. Maybe - JUST maybe - if people didn’t know that I was so ticklish, but with that information out and now apparently spreading like wildfire, I would have to be out of my mind to be seen in nylons.
Of course, I say that as I am sitting here in Sarah’s living room with only nylons covering my feet and sitting approximately five feet away from a woman whose greatest joy lately, it seems, has been finding out that I am ticklish… I made sure to tuck my feet underneath myself just a little extra tightly..
After that, the night went surprisingly smooth. Much as I had expected, the intimidation I had felt from Sarah was unfounded. Sure, she still seemed much more put together than I. Sure, she still had that classic elegance about her. And sure, that accent still drove me wild. But underneath it all was just a girl much like myself.
It was then that my phone started vibrating. A text message. From Aimee.
“How’s your date going?” she wrote.
“Shut up,” I wrote back.
“Has she tickled you yet?” Aimee asked.
I quickly hid my phone, in case Sarah had happened to glance over to the screen and been able to see what it said.
“Do you have to take a call?” Sarah asked, looking up as I put the phone away.
“No, no,” I said. “Just the roommate asking where something was,” I lied.
It was then that I looked down and noticed Sarah’sfeet. They seemed of average length, perhaps a little on the slender side. A thin pair of white no-show socks covered them, the stretchy material clinging to the curves of her arches. She was wearing a pair of black leggings and a red long sleeve top.
I’m not sure I’d be able to adequately describe it, but I’m not afraid to admit I was wishing Sarah were barefoot at that moment. Her apparent interest in my being ticklish had left me wondering now: could Sarah be ticklish, as well? I mean, of course it was likely that Sarah was ticklish to some degree. Though if there ever were a person I could see being strong enough to will herself no longer ticklish, Sarah was that person. I could just as easily envision Sarah laughing her head off as a friend tickled away at her as I could envision Sarah standing there a smug look on her face as her friend tickled away with no effect.
But it was Sarah’s choice of socks this evening that was triggering my curiosity. I mean, I own multiple pair of no-show socks and wear them frequently - that is, of course, when my roommate doesn’t decide to randomly throw them in the washing machine on me. No-show socks are an absolute must for when you want to wear a pair of shoes and have that no-sock look while also wearing a sock. So it wasn’t the type of socks that Sarah was wearing that was piquing my interest, but rather the fact that she still had them on. No-show socks generally came off as soon as my shoes would come off, either accidentally like earlier this afternoon or by design. As if they had finished serving their purpose when it came time to take the shoes off.
And yet Sarah’s no-show socks had remained on her feet… But why, I wondered. Of course, the natural reason would be that she might feel uncomfortable being barefoot in front of company. Sure, Sarah and I knew each other in class, but we weren’t exactly on “hang-out” terms by any stretch. So maybe she just felt self-conscious about walking around without socks on?
Or maybe it was something else… Something much more advantageous to me. Could it be that Sarah might be subject to the same plight as I: having insanely ticklish feet? Could these socks be Sarah’s “line of defense” at preventing her own weakness from being exposed. I realize the chance might be slim, but there is a chance, and I was painting out the entire picture in my mind at that moment.
Sarah had clearly gone and had her nails done that afternoon. There was no mistaking the look of a clean French manicure on her fingernails. Her quite-long fingernails, actually… But regardless, I’m sure she must have opted for a pedicure as well because who wouldn’t, right? And I could picture the scene unfolding… Sarah’s feeling confident that she’ll be able to handle herself - maybe reading a magazine or on her phone. They lift her ankle and a smile reflexively forms on her face, the mere touch producing the slightest tickly touch. She sees them pick up the pumice stone, and she knows what is coming. Any confidence she had a moment ago is drained as she eyes her nemesis. The magazine or the phone is now put down as Sarah grips tightly onto the arms of the chair, bracing for what she knows is about to happen. Maybe the nail technician notices this and asks her if she’s OK… Not wanting to broadcast her weakness, Sarah lies and says she is. But as soon as that pumice stone starts to work its magic, Sarah is turned into a laughing, giggling mess - the polished, sophisticated scholar more resembling a school girl as she fights against the tickles. Maybe the nail technician has a huge smile on her face as she’s watching Sarah laugh, taking pride in seeing another college student who was too proud to admit her ticklishness quickly succumb to the torture. Maybe the nail technician takes her time, makes sure every touch produces just slightly more tickles than before. And maybe she asks Sarah if she’s ticklish - as if there were at doubt at that moment - and that makes Sarah think of me. And the great irony of how she had taken such joy in how ticklish I was and pointing out how ticklish my feet were.. And yet she was just as vulnerable to someone sneaking in a tickle on her feet as I was. Maybe she resolved at that moment that there was no way she’d be barefoot around me that night.
Maybe…
A long shot, yes.
But maybe…
“Are you all right over there?” Sarah asked, drawing me from my fantasy land.
“What?” I asked. “Oh yeah, I’m OK. Was just thinking.” I mean, it wasn’t a lie, right?
“You look like you’re in deep thought about something,” Sarah remarked.
“Just thinking about something,” I said, clearly not wanting to mention what it was that I was thinking about.
“You also look like you must be terribly uncomfortable,” Sarah mentioned. “You’ve been sitting all tightly wound in a ball all evening.”
It was true. I twirled my neck and twisted my back hoping to find the elusive sensation of a crack, but found none. I had been tightly wound in a ball all night. And for good reason. Protection. My feet had been tucked tightly underneath my body all night. My arms had been as close to my sides as possible, as if my elbows were screwed into my ribs, providing as much protection to my sides and underarms as I could. She was right. It hadn’t been comfortable at all.
“You need to include more stretching in your life,” Sarah said instructively. “Have you ever heard of the Davis Flight technique?”
“Davis… Flight?” I asked, bewildered.
“Oh, gosh,” said Sarah, seemingly amazed that I hadn’t heard of it yet. Should I have heard of it? Was this another area where Sarah was more polished than I? “Here, stand up,” she instructed. “I’ll walk you through it and by the time it’s over, you’ll feel like a million bucks.”
“Ahm sure,” I said, standing up for the first time in seemingly an hour. I admit I had no idea what the Davis Flight technique of stretching was or where Sarah had heard of it, but if it was something that Sarah knew, I figured it should be something that I know, as well.
“So stand here in front of the couch,” Sarah said, gently placing her hands on my shoulders and guiding me in place. “So it’s very important that you take a number of deep breaths before you begin,” Sarah explained.
I watched as Sarah inhaled and exhaled slowly and followed suit.
“OK,” she went on. “So now that you are feeling a little less tense, you want to relax your neck a bit. You want to twirl it back like this,” she motioned, “and keep it so that you are looking up at the ceiling. Almost like a bird, right?” she said.
“Oh yeah,” I said, pretending to understand what it was she was trying to explain to me. I didn’t dare make it look like I wasn’t sure where she was going with this.
“Now you close your eyes,” she continued. “And you envision yourself as a bird flying through the air, carefree,” she instructed.
It was working. I admit it. Whatever it was that Sarah was setting up was working. I could feel my entire body easing up.
“So now,” Sarah continued, “we really envision ourselves as the bird,” she said in a soothing tone. “We raise our arms out to the side - as far out as they can go - and we pretend we’re a bird soaring through the air.”
So before I state the obvious, I will say that there was something incredibly relaxing about this. The combination of everything… The deep exhales… Letting my head bop down… Closing my eyes… Heck, even Sarah’s voice… I was in a deep state of bliss.
But now the problem… And I know you’re thinking, ‘Nikki, really? You didn’t see this coming?’ Well, nope. I didn’t! Haha
This, of course, has left me standing with my arms stretched out away from my body, with my sides and underarms completely vulnerable. Worse, since I was wearing a camisole under my cardigan, the bare skin of my underarms was completely exposed.
And Sarah wasted no time in taking advantage of that.
I was still in my suspended state of bliss when I felt it - both of her hands darting into the hollows of my under arms, five fingers on each hand dancing a tune on my sensitive skin. Instantly, my eyes bugged out of their sockets, my arms clamped down against my side, and I doubled over in laughter, completely caught off-guard by this tickle attack. Of course, clamping my arms down by my sides only served to trap Sarah’s hands under my arms. Rock, meet hard place. I was doomed.
“My, my,” Sarah laughed as her body followed my movements and her hands continued to wiggle. “Did you think I had forgotten you were ticklish?”
“No,” I tried to say against the laughter that was spilling out of my mouth. But it was no use. It was a well-thought-out, well-orchestrated tickle attack against one of my more ticklish spots. One that was completely exposed. One where there was only bare skin. I was toast.
My body semi-collapsed from the laughter, my head landing on Sarah’s body near her shoulders. I laughed and laughed as she continued wiggling her fingers against the hollow of my underarms, not relenting for even a moment.
“Looks like someone is quite the ticklish little one, huh?” Sarah teased, angling her head so she had a better view of my face - a face that was contorted with laughter. “I could have some fun with this,” she said.
“Please!” I begged, again not really thinking the words were audible against my incessant laughter. I had no desire to find out what kind of fun she had in mind. All I was focused on at the time was finding a way to get her fingers out from under my arms before those fingernails - oh my gosh those fingernails! - could inflict any more tickle torture.
“I honestly can’t believe you fell for that,” Sarah said with a laugh, clearly enjoying herself. “I knew you were ticklish but I didn’t realize it was THIS bad,” she said, analyzing my response.
It had only been about 30 seconds but I was losing my mind. My legs were growing weak from laughing and my body started to crumble. I tried to position myself to fall onto the couch, hoping to both break my fall on something soft and also that maybe the pull of my falling would free Sarah’s hands. No such luck. Sarah held strong and tumbled onto the couch- on top of me. Her legs straddled my legs, holding my lower half in check, while her tickling fingers left my upper half helpless.
“Ooo, now I’ve got you,” she said with an evil smile as she realized how trapped I was. “You only made things worse for yourself now!”
I could hardly even see her perched on top of me through my clenched eyes - and the tears of laughter that were swelling up didn’t help matters much either - but what I was able to see really struck at me. Of course, I wouldn’t be able to think of this until later on when I was reflecting on what had happened. But seeing Sarah perched above me, completely in control of the situation… She seemed in her element. I hesitate to use the word, but she seemed like she was made for such a domineering position. And it just… I guess it was just kind of hot, in a way?
But anyways, back to my story…
“Where else are you ticklish, Nikki?” she asked - not sure if she was expecting a response there or not, but I was clearly in no position to give one. Not that I even would have if I could have. “Let’s seeee,” she said with a tune in her voice.
With that, she pulled her fingers out from under my arms, finally giving me a brief respite.
“Sarah…” I gasped, trying to catch my breath. “So ticklish… Please stop,” I begged.
“Stop?” she repeated. “Oh honey,” she said with sympathy. “I’m just getting started.”
Sarah raised her hands above my body in the classic tickle-pose. I instinctively brought my own hands up in a defensive position. That must have been exactly what she had wanted. She clasped onto each of my hands with her own so we were now, in essence, holding hands, and she began to try to raise my arms above my head. Now, I had everything going against me here. For one, she was on top and had the leverage advantage. For another, she was taller and clearly stronger than I, so she had that advantage, as well. And finally, after having been laughing uncontrollably for so long, my energy was tapped. So it wasn’t long before she was able to pull both of my arms above my head. Then, she used her right hand to guide my left hand over to her left hand so she was holding both of my arms above my head with just her left hand.
Which, unfortunately, meant that her right hand was now free.
Which, double unfortunately, had also left me with my sides and underarms completely exposed again.
“Your tummy?” she asked, before skittering her nails across my stomach. My laughter confirmed her suspicion.
“Sides?” she asked with a raised eyebrow before poking me along my sides. Again, instant laughter.
“What about the neck?” she asked as she traced one fingernail along my neckline, causing my head to instantly shrink like a bottle of soda that’s fallen to the ground. “Aww, your neck, too?” she asked as she saw my reaction. “That’s adorable.”
Was she really going to explore my entire body? It’s not like she was going to find a spot that isn’t ticklish!
“We know your underarms are ticklish,” she said, tracing a fingernail along the hollow of my right armpit. She leaned down so her chin rested on my chest and looked me in the eye. “You’re just ticklish everywhere, aren’t you, Miss Nikki?”
“I am!” I shouted out, thinking that might be enough to hold off any further tickle exploration. “So ticklish! Please just stop!”
“You know what’s absolutely maddening?” she asked, completely ignoring me pleas for mercy. “When someone does this…”
I barely got the “n” of “NO” out when I felt it. She had snaked her right hand under the bottom of my camisole and was dancing the tips of her fingertips across the bare skin of my side.
“Ahahahahahahahahahaha” I laughed uncontrollably, squirming my body as far as it would go from side to side to try to escape the probing digits. It was no use. The tight fit of the camisole only served to trap her fingers right on my sides. There was no escape.
“It’s the worst, isn’t it?” asked Sarah - again, I’m not sure if she was expecting a response from me. “You just can’t escape it no matter what you, can you?”
My sides are definitely a top tickle spot on my body, no question. Even the act of someone putting their arm around me and resting their hand on my side for a picture is nerve-wracking - sitting there hoping that they keep their hand perfectly still and don’t land on any bare skin. This was torture. Trapped. My arms above my head. My sides completely exposed. And her fingers slithering their way under my camisole.
“Hmmm,” Sarah said, pulling her hand out from inside my shirt. “I don’t think I’ve found a spot that isn’t ticklish yet, have I?” she asked. “Where else?”
“Nowhere else,” I begged as I caught my breath, though I was still laughing from the previous tickling as I said it so I’m sure my words meant nothing to Sarah.
“What about your thighs?” Sarah asked as she began squeezing my thighs with her free hand. I would have jumped a foot in the air if I could have, and the laughter began pouring out of my mouth immediately. “Yeah, the thighs are an often overlooked spot,” Sarah said, as if lecturing me on her experience.
I was admittedly a little surprised to find out just how ticklish my thighs were. I mean, again, I long assumed that I was ticklish from head to toe, but no one had really ever specifically targeted my thighs for an extended tickle torture; it was usually either just a quick squeeze or someone just running their hand across my thigh or something. Sarah seemed surprised to see how ticklish my thighs were, as well.
“Oooh, did I find another spot?” she asked. “I’m literally tickling you through your jeans and it’s this ticklish?” she asked, taking my uncontrollable laughter as confirmation. “I bet a lot of people don’t realize how ticklish someone’s thighs can be,” she went on. “You can imagine what it would be like if the jeans weren’t there?”
All I could do was shake my head incessantly, not sure if she had plans of removing my jeans or not but knowing I was powerless in my current state to stop her if she did.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to strip you,” she said, as if sensing my concern. “However, I did notice…” she began, slowing up on the tickling a little as she revealed her discovery. “Your jeans have this super cute rip detail right on your thighs,” she said with an evil smile.
I knew immediately where she was going with that. “Sarah, no! Don’t!” I begged. I didn’t know what else to do or say.
“I wonder if I could wiggle my finger right past that rip there,” she said out loud.
“Sarah, NO!!”
“Too late,” she said with a smile, her finger breaching the barrier of my jeans through a rather unfortunately placed rip detail.
Oh.
My.
God.
I can’t even begin to describe how much it tickled. I must have let out an ear-piercing scream; I’m shocked her neighbors didn’t call the police. It tickled like mad. Crazy mad. I started bucking as much as I could to try to push her finger out from its cave inside my jeans.
Sarah, meanwhile, was laughing almost as much as I was. “Oh my word,” she laughed. Look at you!” she exclaimed, doing her best to tickle me, stay on top of me, and taunt me all at once. Fortunately for her - and unfortunately for me - her finger was snuggly kept in its place by my jeans; it was going nowhere.
“Oh my gosh, Nikki,” she exclaimed. “Are you wearing full pantyhose?” she asked, clearly shocked to have felt the nylon material all the way up my leg. All I could do was nod my head yes. At least, I think I was nodding my head yes. Honestly, I was laughing so much, I don’t even know.
“Ahahahahahahahahahahaha,” I laughed, desperately trying to form words, to build up strength -- anything that might stop the tickling. “OH MY GOD OH MY GOD ahahahahahahahahahahahaha”
“No wonder you’re going insane,” Sarah said. “OK, probably enough of that now,” she said, pulling her finger free from my jeans. “We don’t want you to pass out on us, do we?”
“Sarah,” I gasped, finally able to catch some air after the tickling onslaught ended. “Sarah, please. No more,” I said, only able to string a few words together at the same time. “I’ll do anything,” I begged, weakly. “Please.”
Sarah propped her chin on my chest again and looked into my eyes. “Aww but sweetie,” she said, feigning sympathy for me. “I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.”
My eyes bulged out of their sockets as I realized what she meant. Sarah realized it, as well, because she started laughing, too.
“Oh gosh, Nikki,” she laughed. “You’re too funny. Your reaction. I almost feel bad for what I am about to do,” she said, looking towards the foot of the couch as she repositioned herself. Then, after looking back at me, repeated, “Almost.”
Sarah adjusted herself a bit. Still holding my arms above my head with only her left arm - gosh, why was she so strong? - and still stradling my waist with her knees, she now used her left leg to hold my legs in place, further restricting my movement.
And it was then that I felt it. It was light at first. But there was no mistaking it. Sarah was dragging the big toe of her right foot along the bottom of my left foot. A stream of giggles erupted as soon as my brain registered the touch.
Sarah laughed, pleased with the reaction she forced. It’s funny. She was doing nothing short of tormenting me at that moment. Seriously. If I were in a horror movie or something and they had to guess what my worst nightmare scene would be, this would be it. But still, there was something about her that… I don’t know. I don’t want to say it made the experience nice or good or anything like that. But I remember seeing the way her nose crunched up a little bit when she would smile at me. It just… It was cute, is all.
“Can’t handle a little footsie, huh?” she asked, teasing me. She lay her head on her left arm so that her head rested next to mine, facing me, never once losing contact with the bottom of my foot. I tried to twist and turn and move, but it was no use. She had me good.
But.. Was she barefoot? I didn’t feel any sock touching my foot. It was definitely her big toe and nothing more. Had she lost her sock in the struggle? Maybe it was when I was squirming? Or when I was bucking up and down? It made sense. Those no-show socks never stayed on. And her foot would have been wedged against the couch, between my legs and the back couch cushion. I could easily see her sock accidentally falling off as we tussled on the couch.
I tried arching my head up, wanting to see. Wanting to know if she was indeed barefoot. Wanting to know what that foot looked like. Was there anything to my earlier ponderings? Could her feet be ticklish? Did they LOOK ticklish?
“It’s the nylons, huh?” she asked, drawing me from my internal debate. “Aren’t they the worst when it comes to tickling?” she asked. “Well,” she clarified. “Best for me. Worst for you,” she said, tapping my nose with her finger. That smile again!
The non stop stream of giggles continued to pour out of my mouth and, honestly, she wasn’t really even tickling me at this point. I mean, yeah, it tickled. A ton. Obviously. But, really, what she was doing would more be classified as playing footsie, just like she said. But it was still too much.
“I can see why your roommate is always tickling you,” she said, continuing to run her foot across mine. “It’s just so - aaah,” she paused, something clearly causing her delay. “So easy,” she finished, quickly.
Whoa, whoa, whoa...
Did what I think just happen really happen? I know I am completely, 100% HOPING this is what happened, but I’m wondering if there is some legit truth to it. Had Sarah just accidentally - tickled herself? There was a definite pause in her voice for a moment. Something had caught her off-guard. That’s for sure. Had she lost track of what she was doing as she was talking to me? Had she made it so the bottom of her foot had accidentally grazed against my toe for a moment? My foot had been squirming all over the place as she was tickling it. Had my foot brushed against the bottom of her foot? I wanted to look, to get a better view, but I was too overwhelmed with the tickling taking place on my own foot.
“So listen, sweetie,” Sarah said, clearly composed again. “I am going to apologize in advance for what I am about to do, OK?” she said.
Wait, what?
With little effort, Sarah turned me over so I was now laying on my stomach on the couch. Had I really lost that much energy from laughing so much that she could do that with so little effort? Regardless, I was now face down on the couch and soon felt Sarah again straddling me, this time sitting on my bum facing down to my feet. I felt her hook my legs and pull them up so they were bent at the knee, essentially now at eye level with her.
I knew what was coming.
“Sarah, please!” I shrieked. “Not my feet! Please!” I begged hysterically.
“Aww, it’s so cute when you beg,” Sarah said, turning to pat me on the head. “This is the jackpot area, isn’t it?” she asked. “Your most ticklish spot?” she asked, sensing her term needed clarification.
“Yes!” I shouted, completely bypassing the step where I’m supposed to try to play it cool and pretend that it isn’t. “Please, Sarah, no! I give! Please not my feet!”
I honestly didn’t know if I would be able to handle it. I had already been tickled to the point of exhaustion. Sarah had thoroughly explored the ticklish spots on my body, leaving no spot untouched, in a way that was part friendly banter, part evil machination, and part flirtatious fun. Now she was targeting my feet. My feet in nylons. I was a dead duck.
“Aww, but why should your roommate have all the fun?” Sarah asked with a pouty face, quickly drawing a line up the bottom of my exposed foot. I’m not even sure where I got the energy, but I bucked so hard, I nearly threw her off of me. She laughed.
“Oh my word,” Sarah said with a smile. “This might even be more ticklish for you than I was expecting. We may have to hold you down a little more for this, huh?” she suggested.
“Sarah, please!” I begged, trying to show some assertiveness. “I’ll do anything. Please. For the love of God, just not my feet.” So much for that assertiveness.
‘I can’t come this far and not give your feet a little attention, right?” Sarah asked. “After all, wasn’t it your feet that first alerted me that you were ticklish at all?”
Sarah re-positioned herself a bit more, now no longer sitting on my bum but rather almost laying on me, so that her mid-section was now straddling my bum area and her legs were holding down my upper body. I tried to wiggle out of it, but this new position of hers had me wedged in tight.
“Now let’s just give another little test here, hmm?” she said, lightly dragging another finger along the bottom of my foot. I jumped with the same amount of force as I had before but her re-positioning had met its goal of holding me in place.
“No more tests!” I begged. “No more tests! Please!!”
“I want to see first hand just how ticklish these feet are, silly,” Sarah teased. “I think you need to be held down just a little more,” she said, repositioning herself another time.
This time, though, her legs slid along the side of my mid-section, her right leg landing in the cavity under my left arm. Her toes made contact with the exposed skin of the hollow of my underarm, sending me into yet another fit of hysterical laughter.
“Sar-ah ah ah! No get out!!” I begged, twisting and squirming as I tried to block her toes from tickling my underarms.
“I’m not even -” Sarah began, clearly confused by my paroxysm of laughter behind her. “Why Nikki,” she said with a laugh as she realized what was happening. “Are you being tickled by my toes?” she asked, wiggling her toes even more aggressively now.
The tickling was maddening. I think it was the fact that it wasn’t supposed to tickle that made it tickle all the more. And since she had me pinned, there was little I could do to escape this new torment.
Still, I had to do something, right? Or at least try.. So understand, of course, that at the time, my sole motivation here was to try to put an end to this tickling. It wasn’t until later on when I was analyzing everything in my head that I realized the potential of what had happened.
Desperate for a break, I did the only thing I could think of. First, I leaned my weight on my left side - as much as I could a) without hurting her and b) with what limited mobility I had. I was able to squeeze my right arm under my body a bit and I clumsily grabbed onto Sarah’s foot with my right hand.
Now, the way I grabbed onto her foot is important here. Because my body was holding her foot down, my hand could only grab onto her toes. And because I had just had my nails done that morning, I made sure not to dig my nails into the flesh under her toes. So what resulted must have been the tips of my fingernails lightly resting against the ball of Sarah’s foot and the pads of my fingers touching underneath Sarah’s toes.
Sarah immediately yelled out “NO!”, the confidence she had shown a moment ago flushed away. She started pulling her leg free, but I somehow managed to hold on. With her foot now out of my armpit, I was able to use my left hand to clumsily grab onto Sarah’s foot as well. My left hand took hold of the middle of Sarah’s foot, my four fingers clutching on top and my thumb resting on the bottom, right on her arch.
She yelped out “LET GO!” in that adorable British accent of hers and started trying to pull her foot away. I held on as long as I could. It wasn’t pretty or coordinated or anything. Her leg danced as much as it could to free itself from my clutches. I do remember catching a glimpse of Sarah herself and seeing a rather strained look on her face as she fought to regain control of her leg.
Finally, through the combination of the fact that she was clearly much stronger than I and that I was already so exhausted from having laughed for so long, Sarah freed her foot from my clutches. She instantly re-positioned herself so she was now at the foot of the couch, her feet no longer in any proximity to me.
“A feisty one, huh?” she asked, blowing the hair out of her face with a puff of breath. “It’s the scissor hold for you, then,” she said, placing my ankles in between her legs and clamping down.
Now again, at the time, my sole focus was freeing myself, so I wasn’t really paying too much attention. And I wish I had thought to capitalize on it at the time... So while I’ll admit that there is the slight possibility that she was simply trying to regain control of the situation… And while I’ll also admit that there is certainly some wish-casting going on from me in this… My gut tells me that I was inadvertently tickling her foot when I had it. It had to be, right? But anyways, I do digress…
So there I was, trapped again, this time with no means of escape, and once again at the mercy of Sarah.
“Shall we?” she asked, and no sooner had her words finished than I felt fingers from both hands attacking the bottom of each of my feet.
Well, I lost it. Instantly. Let’s face facts - I stood no chance. My feet. The nylons. Her nails. Being helpless. I started cackling with laughter and couldn’t stop. I cursed my body. How could I be so ticklish? Was my body, in a way, betraying me? I cursed the nylons. Why in the world did they have to make everything tickle so much more? Had they been designed with this intent? I cursed Aimee. If she had just left my stuff alone, maybe I’m wearing socks right now and none of this even enters Sarah’s mind. I cursed the whole situation. In my head. Because all I could do was laugh, laugh, laugh..
“My, my, Nikki,” Sarah absent-mindedly as her fingers danced across my vulnerable soles. “So, so ticklish,” she said.
“You know, I’m really sorry about this,” Sarah continued, seemingly genuine in her apology. “I’d like to stop, but I just… I just can’t,” she said, proving her point by continuing to dance her fingers along the bottom of my foot as she apologized.
“I don’t know how to explain it, really,” she said, a remorseful tone in her voice now as she self-reflected. “I’ve just always been captivated by ticklish people,” she said. “It’s just… Well, take you, for example,” she said.
It was clear she already had.
“You’re this smart, intelligent young woman,” she said. “People like you. You seem to have your life together. You seem to have control of everything.”
Me? Was she talking about me right now?
“And yet look at this,” she continued, her dastardly fingers still never losing contact with my feet. “The slightest little touch and you instantly become unglued. Something as simple as being tickled has you completely helpless.”
Something as simple as being tickled? I’m pretty sure 99% of the population would be losing their mind if they were enduring what I was enduring at this moment. She was right, though. I was helpless. She had my ankles trapped tightly; there was no escaping. Heck, I couldn’t even put one foot over the other to give at least one foot protection. Sarah had my absolute biggest weakness in life - my ticklish feet - at her mercy and at their weakest - in nylons.
My eyes were essentially glued shut from laughing so much, but in my mind, I could almost picture the path her fingers took along the bottom of my feet. The circles that she would draw on my heels. The lines that she would draw back and forth across my arch. The dancing of her fingers that she would do on the balls of my feet. I could see every touch in my mind. I could sense the ticklish sensation being sent to my brain.
“I tried, you know,” Sarah continued. “I tried to not tickle you tonight. I honestly tried. But then I saw you wore nylons tonight… That broke me. I’m only human, right?”
Aimee!!! If I could have formed a coherent thought at the time, I’m sure it would have been a negative one towards Aimee. I KNEW nylons were a bad idea. They seemed to be magnets for tickle attacks, as if inviting people to tickle your feet.
“I just kept asking myself, ‘Why would she wear nylons tonight?’ over and over again. I was totally expecting wool socks or something. And barefeet, yeah, I mean, depending on the kind of shoes you wore over, I could almost see barefeet, too. But nylons? Did you honestly think I wouldn’t try to tickle you once I saw you in nylons?”
I vowed in my mind in that moment to throw away every pair of nylons I ever owned. I knew it wasn’t something I would follow through on, but they brought nothing but trouble.
“You OK back there, sport?” Sarah asked, pulling herself away from her monologue.
Amidst everything else that was happening, I had fallen so deep into silent laughter from Sarah’s constant tickling that she thought I was on the verge of passing out. And I probably was. My muscles ached. My eyes had tears pouring from them. My makeup was messed up. I was broken.
“Need a minute?” Sarah asked, no longer tickling me for the first time in what seemed like hours.
“Please,” I begged, the breath slowly returning to my body. “Please, no more. I’ll d-- I’ll do anything.”
“Anything?” Sarah asked.
Crap. What did I just get myself into? What else did she have in store for me?
Sarah pounced off of the couch and I slowly sat up, free to move for the first time. “Wh---what do you want?” I asked, nervous and looking for my purse in case I needed my cell phone.
“Simple,” Sarah said, looking down while fidgeting with her fingers awkwardly and looking, for the first time, unsure of herself. “Be my friend.”
“Your… friend?” I asked, honestly completely off-guard by her request. I won’t lie. I was half-expecting her to ask to tie me up or something. Who knows what could have been going through her mind!
“Yeah,” she said, nervously pacing behind the couch now. Sarah was clearly putting herself out there. And I could appreciate that. “I just,” she continued, stammering as she tried to find the right words. “It hasn’t been easy making friends here,” she went on. “I mean, yeah, I’ve talked to people and stuff, but I haven’t actually made a friend yet. You know, someone to text. Someone to grab a coffee with. Someone to just go drive around with when you have nowhere to go in particular.”
I admit it. My heart was breaking for her. Five minutes earlier, I wasn’t sure if she’d ever stop tickling me and I hoped more than anything for someone to come in and pull me out of this apartment. I had rued the moment I walked in. But now, after hearing this, I…
“This is all stupid, isn’t it?” she asked, trying to inconspicuously wipe a small tear out of the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry I said anything. I’m sure you have pl…”
“I’ll do it,” I found myself saying.
“What?”
“I’ll do it. I’ll be your friend.”
“Even after I just spent all that time tickling you?” Sarah asked with a laugh.
“Even after that,” I said, laughing, as well.
We sat and talked for a bit, which was mostly Sarah apologizing over and over again both for tickling me out of my mind and for asking me to be her friend. It was a different side of Sarah. It wasn’t that she didn’t seem as confident as before, but rather, she just seemed… more vulnerable? Like she was sharing a side of herself that she hadn’t shared with anyone at school yet? I mean, it wasn’t necessarily WHAT she was saying, but almost more HOW she was saying it.
And, of course, one thing that I absolutely picked up on… When Sarah sat back down on the couch, she sat in a position that left both her feet hidden from view. It was sort of cross-legged, but exaggeratedly so, almost as if making a conscious effort to not show her feet. Now, it might have been a coincidence, of course. But she hadn’t been sitting like that at any point during the evening yet. So it seemed a little TOO coincidental that she took to sitting like that now that her feet were bared. And, of course, thinking back on it now, especially so since it’s possible she had shown her hand at being ticklish earlier. It did seem like she was putting an awful lot of effort into ensuring her feet could not be seen...
“I think we just need to come up with a new story about how we became friends,” Sarah laughed. “One that doesn’t make me sound like I was begging you to be friends,” she said.
“We’ll just say that you were always making me laugh,” I joked.
“Yeah, well,” she laughed. “It wouldn’t be lying, would it?”
“So now that we’re friends,” I said. “That means you don’t actually have to tickle me anymore, right?”
She laughed again. “Ahm, if anything doesn’t it mean I have to tickle you MORE now?” she laughed, wiggling her fingers in the air in front of her.
“Haven’t I been through enough today?”
“Yeah, I’m just joking,” Sarah said. “Besides, we really do need to work on this project, don’t we?”
“Oh gosh, the project,” I said, having completely forgotten about it. “Yeah, let’s get to work.”
We gathered up our materials and went back to work on the project, almost as if nothing had happened. Were we really able to transition so smoothly?
Still, though, I did notice one thing.. As we were gathering up our supplies, Sarah made a conscious effort to search for her socks that she had lost on the couch amidst the struggle of the earlier tickling. Once she found them, she slid them back on her feet - a little too quickly. I mean, again, they are no-show socks. For me, once they’re off, they’re off. I can’t remember ever putting them back on if I’m staying in the house. And yet she did.. I admit I was bummed. For some reason, I wanted to see more of her bare feet. Which… sounds really weird to say… But I wanted to analyze them.. See if they looked ticklish…
I didn’t draw any attention to it, though. After all, I still had only nylons on my feet and was in no condition to be entering any tickle wars again.
But still, now that I think about it as I sit here at my desk writing this, I can’t help but notice a small smile appearing on my face. What sort of ticklish secrets are you hiding, Miss Sarah? And more importantly, how soon until I can discover them? And oh my gosh, Aimee, will you pay for this… haha
Your girl, Nikki
dddd
