Barb was a very pretty Japanese American woman in her mid twenties who transferred to our Computer Operations department from Customer Service in 1981. When I first met her I was somewhat taken aback, because having just spent two and a half years in the Far East, I was expecting heavily accented broken English, not this creamy smooth flawless speech. Barb’s silky black hair was what I though of as 70’s hair. Very long, very straight, and parted in the middle. She grew up in Denver, CO and was heavily into skiing. She was very outgoing and friendly. Everybody liked her.
One evening Barb was working the swing shift, while I was working similar hours in Network Control. Our two departments both worked in the Computer Room and we all worked pretty closely together. I was shooting the breeze with Barb and noticed she seemed to have some neck pain as she would tilt her head from time to time and grimace.
“Is your neck bothering you, Barb?” I asked.
“Yeah, I think I slept on it wrong,” she replied.
“I can help you out there if you like.” I offered, wiggling my fingers.
“Oh would you mind? I’m dying for a massage.”
“Not at all.” I sat on a chair directly behind her and started massaging her neck and shoulders. I knew how to loosen the tight muscles because I was taught well by the girls in Korea.
“Oh my God! That feels sooooo good!!” She turned around and looked at me, as if for the first time. “Where on Earth did you learn how to do that?!”
“Never mind. I’ll tell you some day. Turn back around.” I continued to massage her neck and shoulders, using my thumbs in circular motions to loosen up the tight muscles.
“mmmmmm….ahhhhhh…” She moaned like this for the entire duration of the massage, which was about 20 minutes and had covered her back as well. When it was done, I turned her chair around, and then spun myself around so that my back was to her.
“Okay, my turn,” I said playfully. She didn’t say anything at first, and since my back was to her, I couldn’t see her reaction. But a moment later, I felt soft warm hands on my shoulders. She wasn’t a bad masseuse herself, as her hands were very strong. She made her way down the middle of my back and it felt great. I asked her, “Hey Barb, can you do that out toward the sides of my back?”
“Okay,” she agreed. She moved her hands toward my sides and as she got close, I began to squirm in my chair. “Does that tickle?” She asked.
“No, it feels great,” I assured her. She then moved her hands around to my sides and I burst out laughing and twisted back and forth.
“Oh no, that doesn’t tickle at all. I can see that,” she smirked, and moved back to my shoulders.
“Okay, it tickles,” I admitted. “But it still feels great.”
“What feels great? Tickling?!”
“I’ve always loved it,” I confessed. “Ever since I was a little kid.” That was certainly true enough.
“Really? So it doesn’t bother you at all if I do this?” She then grabbed my sides and tickled at full voltage. I squirmed and bucked and wheezed laughter, but didn’t move away from her. “Oh my god, that is so funny! I’ve NEVER known anybody who liked to be tickled. My husband hates it. I can’t stand it either.”
“I know. Most people hate it. I love it. Call me weird.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s ‘weird,’ just a little unusual.”
From that time on, Barb and I would often exchange massages. She would always remember to tickle me. I could tell she liked it. She would even call other people over to show them that she could tickle me whenever she wanted.
In February of 1983 we had a blizzard here in the Washington DC area. The snow was between 2 and 4 feet deep. Because some of us were essential personnel, a couple of the managers pitched in and reserved a hotel room at the Mariott across the street. They told us anybody who needed to catch some sleep could go there. Well, as it turned out, evening came around and the only 2 people who needed the hotel room were Barb and myself. Barb was quite a beauty and the idea of spending the night in a hotel with her was very exciting. Not that I would even think of trying anything, because I’d met her husband who was very muscular, athletic, and a black belt in Karate.
By the time we walked across the street to the hotel, we were exhausted from bludgeoning our way through the waist-high snow. Moreover our shoes were soaked as neither one of us had snow boots. We checked in and went upstairs, took off our shoes and laid them on top of the heater to dry out. I also draped my shirt on the heater because it was also wet. There were 2 double beds in the room. Shirtless, I laid face down on one of them and said, “Okay Barb, I’m ready.”
“Oh, look at you,” she feigned admonishment, but climbed on top of me, sitting on my butt. She started massaging my shoulders and back, and let me tell you, I was in heaven. She moved her hands toward the outer edges of my back and I flinched. She then plunged into my sides, tickling me at maximum voltage. I shrieked with laughter and thrashed and bucked wildly, but she kept it up for a good while. Suddenly she stopped altogether, and said, “I’m not going to do this.” I got the idea she was saying this more to herself than to me. For a moment I panicked, thinking I had gone too far. But that lasted only a fraction of a second. I played it off like it was no big deal and she bought it.
“Oh, you’re just a killjoy, Barb. Hey, you hungry? Let’s go downstairs and get some dinner.” We enjoyed a lavish dinner on the company, with wine and desert. I’d love to be able to say she tickled me all night in that hotel room, but after her sudden change of attitude before dinner, I knew better than to suggest anything. Nothing significant happened that night. We slept in separate beds. I do remember checking her out at one point. She was wearing a nightshirt and laying on top of her covers, on her back with her head propped up on the pillows and talking on the phone. She had her feet pulled up close to her butt with her knees bent and pointing upward. Her left thigh was completely exposed to me and I was struck with a powerful lust. It was strong, beautifully shaped, and remarkably tan for February. I shook my head to clear out the thoughts that were taking shape and rolled over and off to sleep.
The next day at work, all of the guys were high-fiving me with remarks like “Drew, way to go, buddy!” and “Drew you stud, you!” I told them nothing happened, but you know how people are. They were convinced that it was virtually impossible for a man and a woman to spend the night together in a hotel room and not have sex. I ultimately gave up and left them to their suspicions.
I often replayed that hotel room scenario in my mind during the following weeks. I wondered exactly what Barb was feeling when she said “I’m not going to do this.” Was she referring to the tickling itself, or did she see the activity as moving toward an inevitable sexual encounter? My guess is that it suddenly dawned on her that here she is, a married woman in a hotel room with another man, not her husband, sitting on his butt and tickling his bare torso. Fortunately, my quick recovery precluded any subsequent embarrassment. She told me the next day in total seriousness that she would not have stayed in that hotel room with any of the other guys. That made me feel pretty good, that she trusted me.
It was a long time before Barb tickled me again. I had resigned to the fact that she had made up her mind that it wasn’t cool, and I’m not one to try and tell someone what her morals should be. But months later she and I were working together at the new computer center in a small isolated town in suburban Maryland. It was just she, a computer operator named Jill, and myself. I was in Barb’s office talking to her and massaging her shoulders.
“So Barb, have you seen that new National Lampoon movie with Chevy Chase?”
“Nuh uh….What’s it called?”
“Vacation. It’s absolutely hysterical. You gotta see it.”
“Maybe David and I will go this weekend.”
“I laughed through the whole movie.”
“Oh, Drew. I just remembered something I want to try on you.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“Here,” she said standing up and taking my hand. “Come on over here and lie down on the floor.”
“I think I like it already.”
“Just shut up and lie down on your stomach.”
“Okay okay.” I did as I was told. To my surprise she sat on top of me, just like in the hotel room. I thought she had probably discovered some new type of massage or some kind of yoga or acupuncture therapy.
“Are you ready?” she asked tantalizingly.
“Go for it,” I said. She then squeezed her knees against my hips and plunged her hands into my sides, tickling with everything she had. I was completely caught off guard, and immediately all air was expelled from my lungs as she worked my ribs and armpits. I bucked and thrashed but she rode me like a bronco. This was some powerful tickling she was dishing out, and I was ill prepared for it. She wedged her fingers into my armpits and tickled me like her life depended on it. I scrunched my arms shut but she was already entrenched and wreaking havoc. I actually got scared because this seemed out of character for her. She pulled her hands out of my pits and ravaged my sides and even got my stomach. When she finally quit, I was gasping for breath and thoroughly exhausted.
“Well?” she finally asked. “How was it?” She asked it very nonchalant and cavalier, as if she were asking me how I liked my dinner.
“That,” I gasped “was awesome! I feel like a new man.” And it was true. I felt lighter, as if a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
She laughed and said, “You’re welcome.”
She tickled me fairly regularly after that. I never asked her about moral implications. I left such matters to her own judgment. There was one other incident that stands out in my memory. It was at the same isolated computer center and I was sitting in her office talking to her. I can’t remember what we were talking about, but she suddenly stood up, walked over to me, grabbed my wrist and headed for the door of her office with me in tow. She pulled me into the break room where Jill was watching TV and sat me in a chair next to Jill. Barb sat on the other side of me, so that I was in between the two woman. To my ecstatic delight, Barb started tickling me in front of Jill and urged her to do likewise. Jill was also quite beautiful, and though she was raised in Virginia she talked with a total Valley Girl voice. Her initial response was “Oh my god!” but she finally decided to participate with a little more urging from Barb. There I was being tickled by 2 beautiful women with nobody else around. Barb would attack my ribs with both hands and I’d grab her wrists and hold them away from me. Of course this tied up both my hands, giving Jill free reign. I’d finally let go of Barb and grab Jill’s wrists and pull them off my ribs and of course Barb would pounce on them. This went on for some time until they could see I was red faced and ready to slump down out of the chair and onto the floor. That was the only time Jill ever tickled me, and I had Barb to thank for it. It was almost as if she read my mind.
Barb and her husband ultimately moved back to Denver and I’ve lost all contact with her. I might do a people search and see if I can track her down just to say hello. She was a really good friend, who indulged me in what she knew I loved more than anything. I’ll always love her for that.
One evening Barb was working the swing shift, while I was working similar hours in Network Control. Our two departments both worked in the Computer Room and we all worked pretty closely together. I was shooting the breeze with Barb and noticed she seemed to have some neck pain as she would tilt her head from time to time and grimace.
“Is your neck bothering you, Barb?” I asked.
“Yeah, I think I slept on it wrong,” she replied.
“I can help you out there if you like.” I offered, wiggling my fingers.
“Oh would you mind? I’m dying for a massage.”
“Not at all.” I sat on a chair directly behind her and started massaging her neck and shoulders. I knew how to loosen the tight muscles because I was taught well by the girls in Korea.
“Oh my God! That feels sooooo good!!” She turned around and looked at me, as if for the first time. “Where on Earth did you learn how to do that?!”
“Never mind. I’ll tell you some day. Turn back around.” I continued to massage her neck and shoulders, using my thumbs in circular motions to loosen up the tight muscles.
“mmmmmm….ahhhhhh…” She moaned like this for the entire duration of the massage, which was about 20 minutes and had covered her back as well. When it was done, I turned her chair around, and then spun myself around so that my back was to her.
“Okay, my turn,” I said playfully. She didn’t say anything at first, and since my back was to her, I couldn’t see her reaction. But a moment later, I felt soft warm hands on my shoulders. She wasn’t a bad masseuse herself, as her hands were very strong. She made her way down the middle of my back and it felt great. I asked her, “Hey Barb, can you do that out toward the sides of my back?”
“Okay,” she agreed. She moved her hands toward my sides and as she got close, I began to squirm in my chair. “Does that tickle?” She asked.
“No, it feels great,” I assured her. She then moved her hands around to my sides and I burst out laughing and twisted back and forth.
“Oh no, that doesn’t tickle at all. I can see that,” she smirked, and moved back to my shoulders.
“Okay, it tickles,” I admitted. “But it still feels great.”
“What feels great? Tickling?!”
“I’ve always loved it,” I confessed. “Ever since I was a little kid.” That was certainly true enough.
“Really? So it doesn’t bother you at all if I do this?” She then grabbed my sides and tickled at full voltage. I squirmed and bucked and wheezed laughter, but didn’t move away from her. “Oh my god, that is so funny! I’ve NEVER known anybody who liked to be tickled. My husband hates it. I can’t stand it either.”
“I know. Most people hate it. I love it. Call me weird.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s ‘weird,’ just a little unusual.”
From that time on, Barb and I would often exchange massages. She would always remember to tickle me. I could tell she liked it. She would even call other people over to show them that she could tickle me whenever she wanted.
In February of 1983 we had a blizzard here in the Washington DC area. The snow was between 2 and 4 feet deep. Because some of us were essential personnel, a couple of the managers pitched in and reserved a hotel room at the Mariott across the street. They told us anybody who needed to catch some sleep could go there. Well, as it turned out, evening came around and the only 2 people who needed the hotel room were Barb and myself. Barb was quite a beauty and the idea of spending the night in a hotel with her was very exciting. Not that I would even think of trying anything, because I’d met her husband who was very muscular, athletic, and a black belt in Karate.
By the time we walked across the street to the hotel, we were exhausted from bludgeoning our way through the waist-high snow. Moreover our shoes were soaked as neither one of us had snow boots. We checked in and went upstairs, took off our shoes and laid them on top of the heater to dry out. I also draped my shirt on the heater because it was also wet. There were 2 double beds in the room. Shirtless, I laid face down on one of them and said, “Okay Barb, I’m ready.”
“Oh, look at you,” she feigned admonishment, but climbed on top of me, sitting on my butt. She started massaging my shoulders and back, and let me tell you, I was in heaven. She moved her hands toward the outer edges of my back and I flinched. She then plunged into my sides, tickling me at maximum voltage. I shrieked with laughter and thrashed and bucked wildly, but she kept it up for a good while. Suddenly she stopped altogether, and said, “I’m not going to do this.” I got the idea she was saying this more to herself than to me. For a moment I panicked, thinking I had gone too far. But that lasted only a fraction of a second. I played it off like it was no big deal and she bought it.
“Oh, you’re just a killjoy, Barb. Hey, you hungry? Let’s go downstairs and get some dinner.” We enjoyed a lavish dinner on the company, with wine and desert. I’d love to be able to say she tickled me all night in that hotel room, but after her sudden change of attitude before dinner, I knew better than to suggest anything. Nothing significant happened that night. We slept in separate beds. I do remember checking her out at one point. She was wearing a nightshirt and laying on top of her covers, on her back with her head propped up on the pillows and talking on the phone. She had her feet pulled up close to her butt with her knees bent and pointing upward. Her left thigh was completely exposed to me and I was struck with a powerful lust. It was strong, beautifully shaped, and remarkably tan for February. I shook my head to clear out the thoughts that were taking shape and rolled over and off to sleep.
The next day at work, all of the guys were high-fiving me with remarks like “Drew, way to go, buddy!” and “Drew you stud, you!” I told them nothing happened, but you know how people are. They were convinced that it was virtually impossible for a man and a woman to spend the night together in a hotel room and not have sex. I ultimately gave up and left them to their suspicions.
I often replayed that hotel room scenario in my mind during the following weeks. I wondered exactly what Barb was feeling when she said “I’m not going to do this.” Was she referring to the tickling itself, or did she see the activity as moving toward an inevitable sexual encounter? My guess is that it suddenly dawned on her that here she is, a married woman in a hotel room with another man, not her husband, sitting on his butt and tickling his bare torso. Fortunately, my quick recovery precluded any subsequent embarrassment. She told me the next day in total seriousness that she would not have stayed in that hotel room with any of the other guys. That made me feel pretty good, that she trusted me.
It was a long time before Barb tickled me again. I had resigned to the fact that she had made up her mind that it wasn’t cool, and I’m not one to try and tell someone what her morals should be. But months later she and I were working together at the new computer center in a small isolated town in suburban Maryland. It was just she, a computer operator named Jill, and myself. I was in Barb’s office talking to her and massaging her shoulders.
“So Barb, have you seen that new National Lampoon movie with Chevy Chase?”
“Nuh uh….What’s it called?”
“Vacation. It’s absolutely hysterical. You gotta see it.”
“Maybe David and I will go this weekend.”
“I laughed through the whole movie.”
“Oh, Drew. I just remembered something I want to try on you.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“Here,” she said standing up and taking my hand. “Come on over here and lie down on the floor.”
“I think I like it already.”
“Just shut up and lie down on your stomach.”
“Okay okay.” I did as I was told. To my surprise she sat on top of me, just like in the hotel room. I thought she had probably discovered some new type of massage or some kind of yoga or acupuncture therapy.
“Are you ready?” she asked tantalizingly.
“Go for it,” I said. She then squeezed her knees against my hips and plunged her hands into my sides, tickling with everything she had. I was completely caught off guard, and immediately all air was expelled from my lungs as she worked my ribs and armpits. I bucked and thrashed but she rode me like a bronco. This was some powerful tickling she was dishing out, and I was ill prepared for it. She wedged her fingers into my armpits and tickled me like her life depended on it. I scrunched my arms shut but she was already entrenched and wreaking havoc. I actually got scared because this seemed out of character for her. She pulled her hands out of my pits and ravaged my sides and even got my stomach. When she finally quit, I was gasping for breath and thoroughly exhausted.
“Well?” she finally asked. “How was it?” She asked it very nonchalant and cavalier, as if she were asking me how I liked my dinner.
“That,” I gasped “was awesome! I feel like a new man.” And it was true. I felt lighter, as if a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
She laughed and said, “You’re welcome.”
She tickled me fairly regularly after that. I never asked her about moral implications. I left such matters to her own judgment. There was one other incident that stands out in my memory. It was at the same isolated computer center and I was sitting in her office talking to her. I can’t remember what we were talking about, but she suddenly stood up, walked over to me, grabbed my wrist and headed for the door of her office with me in tow. She pulled me into the break room where Jill was watching TV and sat me in a chair next to Jill. Barb sat on the other side of me, so that I was in between the two woman. To my ecstatic delight, Barb started tickling me in front of Jill and urged her to do likewise. Jill was also quite beautiful, and though she was raised in Virginia she talked with a total Valley Girl voice. Her initial response was “Oh my god!” but she finally decided to participate with a little more urging from Barb. There I was being tickled by 2 beautiful women with nobody else around. Barb would attack my ribs with both hands and I’d grab her wrists and hold them away from me. Of course this tied up both my hands, giving Jill free reign. I’d finally let go of Barb and grab Jill’s wrists and pull them off my ribs and of course Barb would pounce on them. This went on for some time until they could see I was red faced and ready to slump down out of the chair and onto the floor. That was the only time Jill ever tickled me, and I had Barb to thank for it. It was almost as if she read my mind.
Barb and her husband ultimately moved back to Denver and I’ve lost all contact with her. I might do a people search and see if I can track her down just to say hello. She was a really good friend, who indulged me in what she knew I loved more than anything. I’ll always love her for that.
