PSA: Don't miss your opportunities like I did. You'll regret it forever, like I do.

randomperson103 · Oct 7, 2022

Back 2005 in the old MSN days when I was a teenager I was talking to my girlfriend on there and this conversation happened which I remember way too clearly:

Her What are your turn ons?

Me"sense of humor, [other generic bs]..hbu?"

Her"my turn ons are you (wow that was very bold of me haha) and getting tickled"

My fucking jaw dropped. I thought she had seen my browser history or something (even though she'd never been on my computer) and was playing a joke. I just changed the subject. I didn't know what to say or how to even say "wow guess what I'm into!?" because I was so floored and was so scared she'd reject me for it (even though it's her fetish too).

Next few times we hung out she was grilling me about if I was ticklish and would try to start tickle fights, and I never indulged it because once again I was just like "Nope. This is way too good to be true."

I never tickled her. We broke up not too long after. I think about this so often lol because it was such a missed opportunity. Oh, what could have been.

She's married now and I'm sure her husband gets to indulge her tickling fetish whenever he wants, so yeah, he's a lucky dude..

But anyway, since I'm already here, and on the off chace she sees this...Hey Amanda L _ _ _ from London, Ontario with a tickling fetish, if you're ever single again and want live out all your tickling fantasies, hmu lol**

Libertine · Oct 8, 2022

This sort of thing happens all the time, old man. You're not alone; everyone has similar regrets. Here's one of mine, copy/pasted from one of my posts:

Missed opportunity: A Non-tickling Tale

In the very early 1980s when I was living in London, I made the acquaintance of a Mauritian-born Frenchwoman in her late 20s, a few years older than I, who used to drink at my local, The Gloucester Arms. She was beautiful- lovely eyes and smile, a head of very long, thick brown hair with a slight wave, about 5'2", slim figure, porcelain skin and the requisite cute accent. She was also very gregarious and hung out with a crowd of people, always in the same corner of the pub. Now and again I was invited to join them, though I was quite shy in those days. Still, I could manage the occasional amusing remark, and of course was most gratified when she'd laugh.

Once when my flatmates were all away for the weekend, I seized this rare opportunity and invited her ‘round to my place; to my surprise she accepted. I cooked a mushroom omelette for us, accompanied by a salad and a few glasses of Gewürztraminer. (Young men, listen to an old goat- always learn to cook one or two dishes very well, one vegetarian, one otherwise, and practise ‘til you get it right and can produce either at a moment’s notice. It’s less expensive than going to a restaurant, and your guest might even offer to be dessert...) Lunch ended, we chatted a fair bit, I moved to kiss her, she dodged in a sinuous and well- practiced fashion, insisted on helping me with the washing-up, left soon thereafter and that was that.

But she remained friendly, and a few months later during a summer heat wave when I happened to be ‘taking the air’ in Regents Park, which was across the street from both her block of flats and mine, I noticed her sunbathing wearing a most diverting and skimpily un-English bikini for those days. And as I silently appreciated the view, she happened to sit up, stretch(!), notice me, and beckon me over.

One doesn’t ignore a summons in that situation, so I honoured the request, finding her slightly, pleasantly tipsy and in a friendly, conversational mood. I sat, we talked, and she offered me a sip of her wine. The sun had gilded her skin, making her even more attractive. The only cosmetic she wore was very red lipstick, which matched the nail varnish on her fingers and toes. Her feet were tiny like the rest of her, well formed with high arches. ‘Do you think my feet are too small?’, she asked. ‘Some people think I look like a toy, or a doll. I don’t like that. Or when they call me ‘Frenchie’.

I gallantly pointed out that her feet were perfect, that I’d never called her ‘Frenchie’, and that I’d never considered her to be a doll except in the complementary sense. She laughed. ‘Perfect feet’, I repeated, and gently touched one of her soles with a leaf. She giggled and pulled her foot away. ‘Torture Chinoise’, she purred in French, then inclined her head and very seriously said, ‘The Chinese used to do that, you know. On the feet.’

‘Really?’, I asked in a purposely naïve tone of voice, lying through my teeth, and hoping she hadn’t noticed my sudden shortness of breath. ‘I didn’t know that.’

‘Yes, it’s true’, she said solemnly. The she smiled, and said ‘I like being tickled. On the feet and all over’.

I knew she lived alone. I knew I could further this discussion. I was positive with post-adolescent certainty that I could suggest we cool off from the hot sun over a cold drink back at hers. I was working out the best way, the two of us now in her flat, to tell her that sex need not be on the agenda but that satisfying every single one of her tickling fantasies would be a joy and a privilege… all of this raced frantically through my equally fevered mind and groin in about a second.

And the shyness arose like a puritanical, censorious Grim Reaper and I said absolutely nothing. The moment passed and never reoccurred, though I saw and chatted to her many times before moving from that area.

She’d be in her late 60s now.

robmic · Oct 8, 2022

Boy, did you ever miss a perfect opportunity!

Sensualswitch10 · Oct 8, 2022

Probably dumped you because you didn't tickle her. You have my sympathy. :dropatear

ImNotDave · Oct 9, 2022

My missed opportunity story:

I'd made friends with a girl online via some music forums back in the olden days (2005). We chatted every day and had webcam video calls on Skype but we didn't actually meet face-to-face until she invited me to her 19th birthday party (she lived about 40 miles away and I didn't drive at the time).
She said I could spend the night at her house as there would be 10 other people all doing the same, sleeping on various sofas and spare beds etc.

The following morning I went into her front room and she was sitting alone watching TV with her legs straight out across the sofa. I asked her to lift her legs up so I could sit there but she jokingly said no, so I just sat on her legs instead.
She was barefoot and her feet were trapped under my weight so I dragged my fingers down her sole and she instantly let out a huge laugh.
I started tickling both feet and she really started going into proper hysterical laughter.

Probably tickled her for 5-10 seconds then stopped, and when she caught her breath she said:
"You don't have to stop. I love being tickled"
My heart skipped and I probably went bright red at the time. I started to tickle her feet again but it only lasted a few seconds as a couple of the other guests walked into the room to see what all the noise and laughter was about.
Feeling very shy I jumped up and stopped tickling her - and that was the end of it.

We continued to speak online for a good while afterwards but I only ever met up with her another two times, and both times we were outdoors with a group of people so I never got to tickle her again.