ticklebrowse26
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So Tina and I like to have game-night at our home once every few weeks. It's pleasant on a winter night. There is just something about looking at an actual scrabble board or a monopoly board that cannot be replaced by a smartphone or a video game -- call me sentimental.
Usually my firebrand of a wife gets hypercompetitive during these games, making rash impulsive decisions that somehow seem to always work. I contrast, I carefully consider my strategy all of the preceding day (saving up for Park Place is just dumb), so that by the time the games roll around I am a Reading Railroad juggernaut. Game-night is my crack.
Now on game-night we invite five or six people over and order out and drink wine. We don't binge, but people get happy. And ridiculous arguments break out.
For example, just in December Tina claimed that pj was an acceptable(!) scrabble word. It was not and I made my position clear but the wine overwhelmed the crowd and she scored double letter points. She celebrated scrabble victory by dancing the macarena, which truly irritated me but delighted the guests. She robbed me of victory and rubbed it in my face.
Anyways, this month came around and plans were no different. At least mostly.
See, back in early December, Tina had been tickled by her coworkers during a company retreat. And nicknamed "Ticklish" (Read my posts for the complete story). I don't say this casually -- she really did get the crap tickled out of her feet, sides and pits. She even had bruises in the shapes of handprints, which she proudly demonstrated to me when she returned home.
"See how I suffered, mister crazypants?!" she said while gyrating about, showing me her tickle marks, freshly back from the retreat.
"I did that for you!" And she smiled and the evening transitioned to the sleeping quarters. Strangely, she wouldn't let me restrain her or tickle her during intimacy. Maybe she was tickled out, I reasoned.
And whenever I brought up her group torture after that, my 5'3 petite lady with size seven feet always reminded me, immediately, that I had loved it and that I had no grounds to complain about the incident because I got off on it. These reminders were always shortly followed by her soles and toes caressing my face while she extolled those very same attributes. It was hard to argue with logic.
Anyways game-night rolled around and Tina said that she had invited her coworkers over:
"Super!" I murmured. I was eating a delicious banana muffin at the time, which usually left me devoid of cognitive thought.
"Great." She flashed a knowing smile. Despite my temporary impairment, I snapped into attention. A knowing smile either meant I had forgotten to wear pants or she was thinking about something sexy.
"Hey, do you mean the same guys you went to the corporate retreat with?" I asked, knowing the answer.
"Well yes. Some of them. Ron and Derek." She smiled again.
"Ah." Time was slowing down again for me.
"Yep," she nodded. "Those guys."
"The same guys that you rode with you in the backseat of Gary's car."
"Oh you remember that!" She was being sarcastic. But I couldn't let on that I knew what she was referring to, though she obviously knew. It was a silly game but I felt compelled to play it.
"Yes, darling honeybuckets. I have a vague recollection of that." I said, somewhat stoically (I think). I took a long look at her. She was sitting in a kitchen chair, dressed in long black pants with a blouse and sandals. No socks, with bright red painted toes, pedicured just that same week. Her brown curly hair around her shoulders. Her pale white skin adorned with two pretty blue eyes. She was edibly cute.
"That doesn't bother you, sweetie pie," she said while curling her hair with her left index finger. She dangled her strappy sandal with her right shoe. Her flawless size seven sole was visible.
The little tart was good.
"Nope," I croaked.
"Good, because these guys are the same ones that tickled me, and you know I get carried away with game-night, sometimes." She left the rest unsaid. Her grin remained.
I nodded and walked to the kitchen, allowing for blood to return to my brain. This wouldn't be so bad, I figured. I knew and liked Derek and I was acquaintances with Ron. How crazy could the night become?
The next few hours proceeded as per the usual: friendly faces coming in through the door; chinese food was delivered ninety minutes after we called for it (General Tso's chicken requires perfection); a lively game of trivial pursuit taking place; Tina broke out her tiara.
It wasn't awkward to see Derek. He said something funny about two of Jesus' candidates being knocked out (Bachmann, Cain) and we hit it off pretty quickly. And he brought his friend Marc, from whom not one word was heard the entire evening.
Divorced, ridiculously tall Derek in his late thirties complimented my wife for looking "resplendent" after a day of hard work, which she took with a wink to me. Equally tall Marc nodded in agreement with him. Putting his arm around me, Derek added "Tina is a hoot at work." (Derek if you're here you should hi.) My slightly inebriated wife raised her eyebrows to me and her wine goblet to him.
Ron was a little less garrulous but still pleasant. He complimented me on our decor (open spaces, modern but not tacky). He brought his girlfriend Michelle who was much more talkative, though all she talked about was horses. Yes indeed... horses. How to raise them, feed them... I'll stop.
Anyways Trivial Pursuit quickly consumed everyone's attentions. With each person forming a different team, the game continued well into the night.
The wine flowed freely. Again, no one was outright drunk, but no one could safely leave and drive without sobering up for a few hours.
If Tina had been animated before, she was the life of the party. Singing, dancing whenever she got an answer right. And she had this annoying (to me, at least) habit of acting out answers while other people tried to guess them. Mind you, this was as absurd as it sounds.
Friendly Derek and equine Michelle thought it was hilarious. But you could tell that Ron and silent Marc were becoming flustered. Especially when Tina acted out Sports and Leisure questions and they got them wrong.
The final straw was when she lay face down on the floor and pretended to be a carp in allusion to some answer. I have to admit it was pretty funny. Her hair was a disheveled mess, her mouth opened and closed as if she were starving for air and she had lost her sandals and tiara while convulsing on the floor. Her bare feet faced Derek, her soles facing up.
This went on for fifteen seconds before I stood up and excused myself to the bathroom.
I closed the bathroom door and then I heard an unmistakeable sound: my wife's desperate pleading. LOUD laughing.
I finished up and crept back, sneaking a peek around the corner into the carpeted living room. What I saw nearly made me fall over.
Derek was straddling my wife's legs, trapping her ankles and effectively immobilizing her struggling feet. His fingers were raking her frantically wiggling soles. Ron, Michelle and silent Marc were egging Derek on.
Tina's eyes were tightly shut, her face was red and her entire body was convulsing. But not convulsing successfully. More like weakly moving any part of her body that was free. Her hands were in fists, slamming into the floor. Her laughter was loud, with that rare desperate quality I had rarely heard on her before.
I walked into the living room. The action stopped and Derek dismounted while a smile. But Tina kept giggling after the tickling stopped. She didn't speak for a few minutes. A huge grin adorned her face.
Looking back it was maybe a total of thirty seconds of tickling. But the image of Derek going to town on my wife's soles while she went absolutely apeshit is indelible in my brain. I just can't forget it.
The rest of the evening was a little more muted. The game finished. Michelle won. Everyone went home after lounging around and sobering up.
That night, before going to bed, we had some private time. During sex, Tina (wearing her tiara again) taunted me by telling me how Derek had tortured her pedicured feet and how she had instigated it on purpose and enjoyed it. I told her to shut up. But she continued, telling me that I couldn't handle another man tickling her petite little body and perfect soles. And yet she knew and reminded me that this was my fantasy. Her only regret, she said, was that "the tickling was too short".
Usually my firebrand of a wife gets hypercompetitive during these games, making rash impulsive decisions that somehow seem to always work. I contrast, I carefully consider my strategy all of the preceding day (saving up for Park Place is just dumb), so that by the time the games roll around I am a Reading Railroad juggernaut. Game-night is my crack.
Now on game-night we invite five or six people over and order out and drink wine. We don't binge, but people get happy. And ridiculous arguments break out.
For example, just in December Tina claimed that pj was an acceptable(!) scrabble word. It was not and I made my position clear but the wine overwhelmed the crowd and she scored double letter points. She celebrated scrabble victory by dancing the macarena, which truly irritated me but delighted the guests. She robbed me of victory and rubbed it in my face.
Anyways, this month came around and plans were no different. At least mostly.
See, back in early December, Tina had been tickled by her coworkers during a company retreat. And nicknamed "Ticklish" (Read my posts for the complete story). I don't say this casually -- she really did get the crap tickled out of her feet, sides and pits. She even had bruises in the shapes of handprints, which she proudly demonstrated to me when she returned home.
"See how I suffered, mister crazypants?!" she said while gyrating about, showing me her tickle marks, freshly back from the retreat.
"I did that for you!" And she smiled and the evening transitioned to the sleeping quarters. Strangely, she wouldn't let me restrain her or tickle her during intimacy. Maybe she was tickled out, I reasoned.
And whenever I brought up her group torture after that, my 5'3 petite lady with size seven feet always reminded me, immediately, that I had loved it and that I had no grounds to complain about the incident because I got off on it. These reminders were always shortly followed by her soles and toes caressing my face while she extolled those very same attributes. It was hard to argue with logic.
Anyways game-night rolled around and Tina said that she had invited her coworkers over:
"Super!" I murmured. I was eating a delicious banana muffin at the time, which usually left me devoid of cognitive thought.
"Great." She flashed a knowing smile. Despite my temporary impairment, I snapped into attention. A knowing smile either meant I had forgotten to wear pants or she was thinking about something sexy.
"Hey, do you mean the same guys you went to the corporate retreat with?" I asked, knowing the answer.
"Well yes. Some of them. Ron and Derek." She smiled again.
"Ah." Time was slowing down again for me.
"Yep," she nodded. "Those guys."
"The same guys that you rode with you in the backseat of Gary's car."
"Oh you remember that!" She was being sarcastic. But I couldn't let on that I knew what she was referring to, though she obviously knew. It was a silly game but I felt compelled to play it.
"Yes, darling honeybuckets. I have a vague recollection of that." I said, somewhat stoically (I think). I took a long look at her. She was sitting in a kitchen chair, dressed in long black pants with a blouse and sandals. No socks, with bright red painted toes, pedicured just that same week. Her brown curly hair around her shoulders. Her pale white skin adorned with two pretty blue eyes. She was edibly cute.
"That doesn't bother you, sweetie pie," she said while curling her hair with her left index finger. She dangled her strappy sandal with her right shoe. Her flawless size seven sole was visible.
The little tart was good.
"Nope," I croaked.
"Good, because these guys are the same ones that tickled me, and you know I get carried away with game-night, sometimes." She left the rest unsaid. Her grin remained.
I nodded and walked to the kitchen, allowing for blood to return to my brain. This wouldn't be so bad, I figured. I knew and liked Derek and I was acquaintances with Ron. How crazy could the night become?
The next few hours proceeded as per the usual: friendly faces coming in through the door; chinese food was delivered ninety minutes after we called for it (General Tso's chicken requires perfection); a lively game of trivial pursuit taking place; Tina broke out her tiara.
It wasn't awkward to see Derek. He said something funny about two of Jesus' candidates being knocked out (Bachmann, Cain) and we hit it off pretty quickly. And he brought his friend Marc, from whom not one word was heard the entire evening.
Divorced, ridiculously tall Derek in his late thirties complimented my wife for looking "resplendent" after a day of hard work, which she took with a wink to me. Equally tall Marc nodded in agreement with him. Putting his arm around me, Derek added "Tina is a hoot at work." (Derek if you're here you should hi.) My slightly inebriated wife raised her eyebrows to me and her wine goblet to him.
Ron was a little less garrulous but still pleasant. He complimented me on our decor (open spaces, modern but not tacky). He brought his girlfriend Michelle who was much more talkative, though all she talked about was horses. Yes indeed... horses. How to raise them, feed them... I'll stop.
Anyways Trivial Pursuit quickly consumed everyone's attentions. With each person forming a different team, the game continued well into the night.
The wine flowed freely. Again, no one was outright drunk, but no one could safely leave and drive without sobering up for a few hours.
If Tina had been animated before, she was the life of the party. Singing, dancing whenever she got an answer right. And she had this annoying (to me, at least) habit of acting out answers while other people tried to guess them. Mind you, this was as absurd as it sounds.
Friendly Derek and equine Michelle thought it was hilarious. But you could tell that Ron and silent Marc were becoming flustered. Especially when Tina acted out Sports and Leisure questions and they got them wrong.
The final straw was when she lay face down on the floor and pretended to be a carp in allusion to some answer. I have to admit it was pretty funny. Her hair was a disheveled mess, her mouth opened and closed as if she were starving for air and she had lost her sandals and tiara while convulsing on the floor. Her bare feet faced Derek, her soles facing up.
This went on for fifteen seconds before I stood up and excused myself to the bathroom.
I closed the bathroom door and then I heard an unmistakeable sound: my wife's desperate pleading. LOUD laughing.
I finished up and crept back, sneaking a peek around the corner into the carpeted living room. What I saw nearly made me fall over.
Derek was straddling my wife's legs, trapping her ankles and effectively immobilizing her struggling feet. His fingers were raking her frantically wiggling soles. Ron, Michelle and silent Marc were egging Derek on.
Tina's eyes were tightly shut, her face was red and her entire body was convulsing. But not convulsing successfully. More like weakly moving any part of her body that was free. Her hands were in fists, slamming into the floor. Her laughter was loud, with that rare desperate quality I had rarely heard on her before.
I walked into the living room. The action stopped and Derek dismounted while a smile. But Tina kept giggling after the tickling stopped. She didn't speak for a few minutes. A huge grin adorned her face.
Looking back it was maybe a total of thirty seconds of tickling. But the image of Derek going to town on my wife's soles while she went absolutely apeshit is indelible in my brain. I just can't forget it.
The rest of the evening was a little more muted. The game finished. Michelle won. Everyone went home after lounging around and sobering up.
That night, before going to bed, we had some private time. During sex, Tina (wearing her tiara again) taunted me by telling me how Derek had tortured her pedicured feet and how she had instigated it on purpose and enjoyed it. I told her to shut up. But she continued, telling me that I couldn't handle another man tickling her petite little body and perfect soles. And yet she knew and reminded me that this was my fantasy. Her only regret, she said, was that "the tickling was too short".
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