For chivalric reasons I've changed a few details here because I don't 'kiss' and tell, but the essential details happened exactly as I wrote them. The actress for whom I've provided the pseudonym of 'Lascivia Lush' was an authentic Hollywood film star during the 80s and 90s, and a superb actress who still works a fair bit though no longer as a sex bomb, which is exactly what she was during her heyday; an intelligent and elegant one at that.
I've never had a successful career as an actor, but if one spends time working in several countries, one does meet and work with those who've been far more successful in the profession. In this specific case, I trained with one. The star in question was actually a then-unknown classmate at RADA, in her late teens at the time, a lovely person, tall and shapely, blue eyed with abundant ash-blond hair almost to her waist, kind and friendly as she was beautiful. During my first year there in the late 1970s I was living in the usual student shithole, but in my second I was flatsitting for a wealthy couple who were out of the country (posh place) and Lascivia, although dayjobbing when she could as an editorial fashion model or doing the occasional TV advert, was living in standard reduced circumstances student’s freezing accommodation.
Britain is the only country that conquered the world but still can’t figure out how to heat a house. During winter Lascivia sometimes had to gather firewood in some of the London parks because there was no proper heating in the basement in which she dwelt, a fireplace was all there was between her and frostbite, and she smelled equally of sweat and smoke due to the lack of reliable hot water at her place. There were hot showers at school, but she’d now and again drop by my place when invited to loll in the bathtub for an hour or so at a time, usually before a date. Or if not, she’d take advantage of the warmth of the central heating afterwards, and sit around in my bathrobe while we’d kill a flask of cognac. This happened four or five times.
At one point out of sheer politeness she indicated that if I ‘wanted a bit’ it would be a quid pro quo, but I sensibly/regretfully/regrettably didn’t take her up on the offer because I wasn’t in her league and anyway where could it possibly have gone from there? Nevertheless she was famous for her ‘generosity' in school to a selected few. An upmarket, handsome and privately-educated fellow in my year once staggered up to me in the Common Room one morning, sat down looking like he’d barely survived a hurricane combined with a tsunami, and quavered, ‘I have to tell someone- I’ve just spent the night with Lascivia…’
I patted him on the back sympathetically because that’s what appeared was needed.
I did tickle her, though. After one of her baths and some cognac and conversation, she looked so fetching in my green bathrobe as we sat next to one another on the sofa that I decided something had to be done.
Reaching down, I gently grasped her ankles and lifted her legs into my lap, studiously avoiding placing them too near an ‘interested area’ just in case she’d have been horrified by the proximity. (In retrospect I think she probably would have been amused.) I looked her in the eye, and wiggled my fingers. She smiled back, stretched her arms skyward, which did astonishing things for her perfect bosom, and reclined languidly on some cushions against the arm of the sofa saying, ‘Ah, so that’s your game. Well, you can try, but I’m not ticklish’. As it happened her feet were not nearly as beautiful as the rest of her- a bit big because she was a tall girl, wide with negligible arches and shortish toes. At her invitation I did try- her soles were smooth and soft due to the typical female ministrations generally undertaken in the bath, but there was no reaction save for her usual friendly grin as I scrabbled away.
Shortly after leaving drama school she got her first role in a very important, very successful British film, Hollywood beckoned, and that repeatedly. We've remained on friendly terms over the years, and whenever she's starred in a play and I've been in England I've tried to watch her work. KT's met her on a few occasions too when she invited us for champagne in her dressing room after performances. 'Lascivia' found my choice of wife surprising because of the age gap but on later occasions was happy that we're still together. And I doubt very much that she recalls 'That Incident'- it meant nothing to her and would have been thoroughly unmemorable anyway.
So- unattractive girl reacting helplessly, or beautiful girl not reacting at all… look-ist that I am, I know, unfortunately, what the answer to that is, at least in my case. Fortunately I’m married to an ideal combination, but now and again I think back to that afternoon almost 40 years ago, smile, and wish it had gone differently.
I've never had a successful career as an actor, but if one spends time working in several countries, one does meet and work with those who've been far more successful in the profession. In this specific case, I trained with one. The star in question was actually a then-unknown classmate at RADA, in her late teens at the time, a lovely person, tall and shapely, blue eyed with abundant ash-blond hair almost to her waist, kind and friendly as she was beautiful. During my first year there in the late 1970s I was living in the usual student shithole, but in my second I was flatsitting for a wealthy couple who were out of the country (posh place) and Lascivia, although dayjobbing when she could as an editorial fashion model or doing the occasional TV advert, was living in standard reduced circumstances student’s freezing accommodation.
Britain is the only country that conquered the world but still can’t figure out how to heat a house. During winter Lascivia sometimes had to gather firewood in some of the London parks because there was no proper heating in the basement in which she dwelt, a fireplace was all there was between her and frostbite, and she smelled equally of sweat and smoke due to the lack of reliable hot water at her place. There were hot showers at school, but she’d now and again drop by my place when invited to loll in the bathtub for an hour or so at a time, usually before a date. Or if not, she’d take advantage of the warmth of the central heating afterwards, and sit around in my bathrobe while we’d kill a flask of cognac. This happened four or five times.
At one point out of sheer politeness she indicated that if I ‘wanted a bit’ it would be a quid pro quo, but I sensibly/regretfully/regrettably didn’t take her up on the offer because I wasn’t in her league and anyway where could it possibly have gone from there? Nevertheless she was famous for her ‘generosity' in school to a selected few. An upmarket, handsome and privately-educated fellow in my year once staggered up to me in the Common Room one morning, sat down looking like he’d barely survived a hurricane combined with a tsunami, and quavered, ‘I have to tell someone- I’ve just spent the night with Lascivia…’
I patted him on the back sympathetically because that’s what appeared was needed.
I did tickle her, though. After one of her baths and some cognac and conversation, she looked so fetching in my green bathrobe as we sat next to one another on the sofa that I decided something had to be done.
Reaching down, I gently grasped her ankles and lifted her legs into my lap, studiously avoiding placing them too near an ‘interested area’ just in case she’d have been horrified by the proximity. (In retrospect I think she probably would have been amused.) I looked her in the eye, and wiggled my fingers. She smiled back, stretched her arms skyward, which did astonishing things for her perfect bosom, and reclined languidly on some cushions against the arm of the sofa saying, ‘Ah, so that’s your game. Well, you can try, but I’m not ticklish’. As it happened her feet were not nearly as beautiful as the rest of her- a bit big because she was a tall girl, wide with negligible arches and shortish toes. At her invitation I did try- her soles were smooth and soft due to the typical female ministrations generally undertaken in the bath, but there was no reaction save for her usual friendly grin as I scrabbled away.
Shortly after leaving drama school she got her first role in a very important, very successful British film, Hollywood beckoned, and that repeatedly. We've remained on friendly terms over the years, and whenever she's starred in a play and I've been in England I've tried to watch her work. KT's met her on a few occasions too when she invited us for champagne in her dressing room after performances. 'Lascivia' found my choice of wife surprising because of the age gap but on later occasions was happy that we're still together. And I doubt very much that she recalls 'That Incident'- it meant nothing to her and would have been thoroughly unmemorable anyway.
So- unattractive girl reacting helplessly, or beautiful girl not reacting at all… look-ist that I am, I know, unfortunately, what the answer to that is, at least in my case. Fortunately I’m married to an ideal combination, but now and again I think back to that afternoon almost 40 years ago, smile, and wish it had gone differently.
Sadly, some women, including some very beautiful women, are not ticklish at all on their feet. 
