Here, found it:
Over fifteen years ago, a gorgeous twenty year old brunette named Gail Hollister crashed a party ... with catastrophic results. Ms Hollister was roughly handled by the hostess of the party; an account of the events were reported by a witness in Penthouse Variations magazine in a letter entitled "Tic Tac Toe Tickle". All of these years later, a successful effort has been made to reach Ms. Hollister and obtain a first hand account of the events of that fateful evening - the real story of the Tic Tac Toe Tickle. The following is a word for word transcription of Ms. Hollister's account.
It all started at this exclusive party I attended in Beverly Hills; actually, I should mention that I wasn't technically invited to the party but I still didn't deserve what happened to me. I'd heard about the party from my agent ... several top producers and casting directors were supposed to attend so if I could just get myself in .. there would be some excellent opportunities for self promotion.
I learned that the party was going to be a poolside barbecue and managed to disguise myself as part of the catering staff. Once I was in, I slipped off to a bathroom and out of that uniform; I'd brought with me a stunning pink thong bikini, a pair of white capri pants that I slipped over the bikini bottom and my sexiest clear platform sandals - I looked really HOT, if I do say so myself! My toenails were done in a very classy French pedicure and I slipped a silver toe ring on the second and third toe of each foot to add a little sparkle.
I slipped out of the bathroom and started to mingle. Right away I was the center of attention; to be quite frank, most of the the other women there were too old to even dream of competing with my looks. Anyway, I was deeply involved in a very meaningful conversation with a very important producer when I was rudely interrupted - by his wife!
" ... well, I've seen just about everything you've ever done and I am just so impressed! I mean, I'm not a film expert or anything but I think your films are some of the most meaningful work coming out of Hollywood today. You see, I'm an actress myself so I understand these things. What have I been in? Well, errrr ... I doubt you've seen any of my films they tend to be very small artsy type things, you know what I mean. But I very much want to get into features and I'd be ever so grateful to anyone who could help me out ... if you get my meaning ..."
I noticed an older blonde woman staring at me.
"Excuse me, do I know you? It is just incredibly rude of you to stand and stare like that, even if I am an actress. If you want an autograph or soemthing, kindly wait until I am finished my conversation and when you ask, be a little more discreet and respectful! What's that? You don't want my 'fucking autograph' as you put it? You are incredibly crude. Well, what do you want then?"
"What's that? This gentleman is your husband? Well, that's oh so interesting but if you'll kindly excuse us we are having an important conversation about my career and you are annoying me!".
Well, at that point, this other woman gets really insulting. She tells me that she's the hostess, accuses me of "crashing" the party and calls me a "low class gold-digger". Well, I certainly wasn't going to let her talk that way about me ... especially when the old hag was about fifteen years older than me and a good deal shorter!
"Listen, 'Honey', this may be your house but you will still speak to me with respect or I will kick your ass, understand. Don't think I'll go easy on you because of your age either, you dried out old mummy. Face it, 'Granny', I am twice the woman you are ... physically, mentally, in every way! But ... if you're dead set on having your ass kicked in front of all your neighbors and friends, well, I'm game! And as for your handsome husband ... well, this won't take but a minute, Sweetie, then we can continue our conversation."
Well, it was a one sided fight alright ... but not exactly like I'd planned. You see, unknown to me, this seemingly weak older woman was a black belt in Brazilian judo! She manuvered me into hold after hold, constantly working on my joints and pressure points. Just when I thought she was going to actually do some severe damage, she'd release the hold and go to work on another part of my body ... but she'd let me think I was breaking out of the hold, you see, she was actually toying with me psychologically. Gradually, I became weaker and weaker and soon she was handling me like I was a child, placing me in hold after hold as her friends cheered and applauded. Before I knew it, she had me so exhausted and weak that I could barely stand. I'd lost my top during the fight so all of the other guests were enjoying a free gawk at my bare breasts. I slumped to the floor and she placed her foot on my stomach and raised her hands in victory, doing some kind of Tarzan yell to add to my humiliation ... and she wasn't nearly done with me yet ... as I would soon learn! The older woman, who's name I learned was Marie, called to one of her friend's for "the cuffs". A set of leather cuffs were produced and my wrists were secured behind my back and my ankles cuffed together; soon, I was in bondage, utterly helpless, utterly at the mercy of another woman ... a woman who hated me.
Marie then reminded everyone that I'd claimed I was twice the woman she was. Since she was clearly physically superior to me, she announced that we were now going to have a little battle of wits ... by playing Tic Tac Toe!
"Owwwwwwww ... oh what are you doing? Y-You're cuffing my wrists? Oh, this is so embarassing. Please, I've ... I've had enough ... really I have .. and I ... w-what's that ... now you're going to prove you're more intelligent than me? Look, y-you're stronger ... smarter ... I admit it ... I ... huh ... what's that? We're going to match wits in a game of ... Tic Tac Toe? Well, y-you'll have to untie me, right? Huh ... what's that ... you'll do all my writing for me? I just have to tell you my moves? Oh dear, w-wouldn't it be easier to just let me go?"
"Huh ... what's that? Y-Y-You have a pen but no paper? W-Well ... I guess we can't play Tic Tac Toe then, right? What's that? You'll just have to find another surface to draw on? A smooth white surface?"
"Oh ... oh dear ... w-what are you doing? M-M-My shoes? You're removing my sh-shoes? Goodness, why are you taking off my shoes? You're gonna to what? We're gonna ... play Tic Tac Toe ... on my feet?"
As I spoke, I was lying flat on my stomach, wrists and ankles cuffed and with that bitch Marie seated on my back. I felt her pull my ankles toward her, making my legs bend at the knee. Then she carefully unfastened the straps of my clear platform sandals and slowly slid them off my feet. Now my tender bare soles were helplessly displayed. I wiggled my toes nervously and some bitch in the crowd laughed and said, "Look at that slut ... wiggling her piggies! Is as if she actually wants you to write on her big bare feet!".
Marie just chuckled and asked me, "Are you ready, Slut? Now then ... I'll just draw the board ... right here ..." - then she drew a Tic Tac Toe board right in the center of my right sole, " ... why, whatever is wrong, Julie dear? Don't tell me you're (heh heh) ... ticklish?".
I tried to reason with her but it was no use.
"Listen ... this is silly ... we're both mature intelligent women and this ... this is no way for us to settle our differences. Look ... I'll admit I was, well, wrong for coming her without an invitation and ... and I'll admit, y-you're a better woman than me. It's just that, well, you can't possibly be serious about playing Tic Tac Toe on ... on the soles of my feet. It's just that ... can I be honest with you, Marie ... can I trust you with a little secret? Well, it's just the silliest thing I know but ... the thing is, well ... my feet are rather ... rather sensitive ... huh ... what do I mean by sensitive? Well, the fact is ... they're ... well, they're ... they're ticklish ... the soles of my feet are highly ticklish so you can see why I can't possibly have you writing on them with a pen ... you can understand that, can't you? ... I mean, you can't seriously ... HOO HOO HA HA HA HA HA ... AHA HA HA HA ... oh God no ... HA HA HA HA HA ... don't ... HA HA ... don't do that ... HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE ... please don't write on my foot ... HA HA HA HA HA ... I can't take it ... HA HA HA ... it tickles ... HA HA ... it tickles ... HEE HEE HEE ... it tickles ... oh please, I'm ... I'm ticklish ... HA HA HA HA ... oh that tickles ... HEE HEE HEE HEE ... m-m-mercy I ... I can't s-s-stand it!"
In spite of all my pleading, Marie had drawn a Tic Tac Toe board on the bottom of my foot. Now, you have to understand that I am a VERY ticklish person - and the bottoms of my feet are THE most ticklish part of my body - so you can only imagine what this was doing to me - having another woman beat me up and then write on my ticklish sole with a ball point pen ... and in front of a jeering crowd of people. Can you imagine my humiliation? Anyway, Then she put's an "X" in the center square and asks me where I want her to put my "O". My "O" - can you imagine the nerve of her? She expected me to actually ASK her to write on my feet ... and my dilemna was I really had no choice! It had been made clear that the only way I was going to be set free was if I was able to back up all of my big talk about being the superior woman by winning a game of Tic Tac Toe ... but how was I supposed to concentrate when every single move involved the tickling of my feet and put me into hysterics? My dilemna was positively fiendish - I had to play along in order to have any hope of getting out of there and that meant having to actually ask this other woman to tickle my feet!
"Al-Alright ... I'll ... I'll play but ... how ... how am I supposed to concentrate when you're (ulp) writing on my feet? Huh ... what's that ... that's "Granny's" handicap? Oh dear, I'm ... I'm sorry I called you "Granny", you're ... you're actually a very attractive older woman ... in fact, I ... I ... I think we can work something out, don't you? You know, Marie, I was serious when I said I thought you were an attractive woman. I have an eye for that sort of thing, you know. Wh-what's that? Y-You're not interested in the opinion of a cheap slut like me? Hurry up and move or you'll move for me? Alright ... alright ... let me think ... let me think ... "O" in the lower right hand corner ... please, be gentle, I ... BWOOOOO HOO HOO HA HA HA HA ... AHA HA HA HA ... oh please ... no ... HA HA HA HA HA ... that ... HA HA .. that tickles ... oh please it tickles ... HOO HOO HOO HOO ... AHA HA HA HA ... I can't take it ... AHA HA HA HA ... it tickles ... HA HA HA HA HA ... it tickles ... HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE ... it tickles!".
Well, needless to say, I wasn't able to think straight with that blonde bitch writing on my feet and I lost the game! Ooooh, it makes me so mad just to think about it! It was pretty easy for her to distract me and trick me into bad choices; meanwhile she and her friends are going on like she's some kind of genius and I'm some kind of moron - and the whole time I'm actually laughing like I think it's funny or something.
"... HOO HOO HA HA HA HA ... AHA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA ... s-s-stop ... HEE HEE HEE ... p-p-please ... AHA HA HA HA ... that ... that tickles ... HA HA HA HA HA ... this ... HA HA ... this isn't fair ... HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE ... I-I-I can't think ... HA HA ... with you ... HOO HOO HOO HOO ... t-t-tickling my bare feet! Oh ... oh ... oh, you've stopped. Thank goodness, I ... I was losing my mind! Look, I-I know I was wrong to crash your party and I apologize ... really I do ... I am so sorry ... and I will gladly admit that you are twice the woman I am ... so if you could just let me go now, I'd ... w-what's that? It's my turn? Where do I want my 'O'? Oh dear, you're so cruel - I can't beleive you're making me do this. The right move is to take the center square, I'll finally win a game but ... it's right in the middle of my arch - the most ticklish spot on my whole foot! What's that ... I have to repeat it exactly as you ask? Oh dear, this is so humiliating but ... OK I'll .. I'll do it. Ms. Marie ... please draw a nice big 'O' ... right in the center of my (sob) ... of my great big ticklish sole ... oh dear, no ... it's ... it's too ticklish ... it's ... AHA HA HA HA HA HA ... WHEEEE HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE ... oh please ... HA HA HA ... you're killing me ... HA HA HA HA HA ... I c-c-can't s-stand it ... HEE HEE HEE ... I'm ... I'm ticklish ... my feet ... my feet ... HA HA HA HA HA ...I can't stand you writing on my feet ... they're ticklish ... HA HA HA HA HA ... oh you're killing me ... HA HA HA HA HA ... I-I-I'm losing my mind ... HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE ... it ... it ... it ... it TICKLES!"
Well, after what seemed liked an eternity of me laughing like a lunatic as that crowd of assholes cheering, both of my soles were competely covered with Tic Tac Toe boards. I assumed that meant it was over; of course, I was wrong. Why did I ever go to that damned place. Some of the bastards in the crowd are FINALLY saying that I've had enough and that Marie should let me go but that blonde bitch then announces that my feet are filthy - covered with ink - and that there was no way she was letting me track ink on her floors so ... she has one of her bitchy friends fetch a bucket of water, a bar of soap and a scrub brush - she's going to scrub my helpless soles sparkling clean - no matter how much it tickled!
"Y-You're gonna let me go now? Oh please ... I've learned my lesson, really I have. Wh-What's that ... m-my feet are filthy? Y-You have to clean them? Oh dear God, no ... y-y-you're planning to scrub the soles of my feet with a brush? But ... but ... they're ticklish, y-y-you know that ... the soles of my feet are hopelessly ticklish ... I-I wouldn't be able to stand it if you ... oh no ... please ... AHA HA HA HA ... WHEEEE HEE HEE HEE ... no s-s-stop ... I c-can't stand it ... HA HA HA HA HA ... it tickles ... HA HA HA HA ... it tickles ... HA HA HA HA HA ... it tickles ... HA HA HA HA HA ... this is torture ... HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE ... I can't take it anymore ... HA HA HA HA HA ... not the feet ... HEE HEE ... not the feet ... HA HA HA ... not my BARE FEET!!!"
Well, around then she started inviting other people from the crowd to be her "assistant ticklers". Those bastards kept me in hysterics for what seemed like an hour! They tickled my poor bare feet mercilessly. When they were finally done, I was told I could leave IF I apologized to Marie ... little did I know how humiliating the apology would be! I was not only to address a crowded room of people - I was forced to kiss Marie's feet!
"... Uhmmmm ... I wish to humble apologize to everyone for crashing this party ... I especially want to apologize to Marie, the hostess, who is twice the woman I will ever be ... I couldn't back up any of my bragging ... Marie kicked my ass and now everyone knows that she is the better woman ... as a sign of my submission, I now humbly ask permission to kiss her feet before dragging my slut ass out of here ..."
Well, I kissed her feet and they all had another good laugh at my expense. When I was finally turned loose, I went over and very meekly asked Marie for my shoes, my top and my purse so I could leave. She then informed me that she was keeping them for souvenirs! I was shocked. I asked her how I was supposed to get back home and she told me to hitch-hike. She flipped one of my tits and said I shouldn't have to much trouble getting a ride the ay I was dressed - remember all I had left on were my pants. I just stood there, not knowing what to do. Then Marie announced that I had until she counted to ten to get off her property. She held up a pair of scissors and said if I didn't leave immediately she was going to cut off every hair on my head. Needless to say, I started running - barefoot and bare chested - out the door and onto the lawn. I could hear them all laughing in the background and congratulating Marie for the way she handled me. Well, I hid in the bushes for a while until I saw this guy come out alone and I tried to get his attention ...
"H-Hi ... I was at the party, remember? The hostess beat me up and took my clothes? I ... I really need a ride home and I was wondering if you'd be willing to ... you know ... huh, what's that? What's in it for you? Well, I ... I don't know how to answer that, I ... I could pay you when I get home or c-couldn't you just ... oh ... oh, I get it ... y-you want a ... a blow job? Uhmmm ... okay I guess ... I-I can do that ... let me just get you zipper down and ... oh, it's ... it's kinda big, isn't it, I don't know if I ... no, wait, don't leave ... I'll ... I'll do it ... I'll do it!"
Well ... finally he practically exploded down my throat; yes, he insisted that I swallow - the bastard. He lent me an old T-shirt to wear and drove me home - would you beleive that when we got there he asked for the T-shirt back? As I walked barefoot through the lobby of my apartment building, my bare feet still throbbing from their torture, I got a strange look from the doorman. Later, as I sat alone in my apartment, rubbing lotion on my sore feet, I resolved to never ever ever to crash a party again!
This story is 100% true fiction! It is based on a letter to Penthouse Variations all those years ago. Comments would be most welcome
). It was very nice of you, however to give her your shirt, and a lift back to the hotel. I always wondered, DID you ever meet up with her again? Anyway, you brought back some very fond memories! Thanks!
