Alright, so here's a story from when I was a teenager--not that long ago 🙂
There was an older woman in my neighborhood named Mrs. Nickerson. She was in her late thirties, early forties. She worked in the office of the school district headquarters, and her house was right behind mine, so our backyards were facing each other. Mrs. Nickerson was very cute; she was about 5'5", with big blue-green eyes flecked with gold, and a gorgeous white smile. She jogged every evening and was pretty tan from going to the beach a lot, and she usually kept her sandy blonde hair in a bun. When she wasn't wearing her running shoes or closed-toed shoes for work, she would walk around in flip flops to show off her painted toenails.
Her feet were the absolute cutest--I liked them more than the feet of the girls I was going to school with! If memory serves, hers were about size five, with very tan tops and smooth, light soles with a few wrinkles. I have to emphasize just how smooth this woman's feet were.
Anyway, here's the deal; Since I was the only teenager in the neighborhood, my parents would rent me out to some of the neighbors for manual labor in exchange for some food or money. I usually hated it, except when I worked in Mrs. Nickerson's house or mowed her lawn, because she was such a flirt. It might have been just because she wanted me to willingly keep coming back and do a thorough job, but I was young and didn't really care at the time. She was fun and nice and so easy to talk to. She probably figured out I loved her feet when I was a junior in high school, because I was such a goof, I probably stared at them every chance I could get. Well, whenever she could, she'd lounge around in her bathrobe on and prop her bare feet up to give me a good view of her bare soles, and on multiple occasions complained to me about how much her feet hurt from running or walking around at work, or something. Being the gentleman I am, I offered to give her feet a massage, and she'd give me the cutest smile and call me her hero, and after I did the task at hand, I'd sit next to her and rub her feet and toes. I was pretty damn good, every girl I'd done this for would agree, and she would let out a sigh and say something like "my husband could learn a thing or two from you," and my ego would swell.
Well, one day in my senior year--AFTER MY 18th BIRTHDAY, don't delete this story-- it started to storm pretty badly, so she entreated me to stay over until the storm abated. I was feeling especially bold, and we were laughing and joking as I was massaging her feet. She made some off-hand crack about how my future wife would have me wrapped around her finger if she just let me rub her feet--just joking, she wasn't being mean or anything--so I said "Oh really? Maybe I'll have her wrapped around mine instead…" and wiggled my forefinger between her toes and she yelped. Then she looked at me like I was a completely different person, and poked her big toe into my cheek, so I took her feet under my left arm and started tickling those soft soles with my right hand. She let out a sexy, hearty laugh, and kept trying to swat at me, saying she'd kick my ass once she got free, but she never seriously tried to jerk her feet away…until I found the spot beneath her toes. Her arches and toes were pretty damn soft and ticklish, but the space beneah her toes was a goldmine of sensitivity and she went NUTS. Her eyes almost bulged out of her head and she fell off the low couch we were reclining on, and started rolling on the ground beating her fist on the floor as the thunder was rolling overhead. The lamp we had on actually flickered for a minute, and for some reason that motivated me to quickly start tickling her ribs and belly. She was surprised for a minute, but all she did was roll on her back and left her arms over her head as she laughed her head off. It was incredibly sexy, and that probably made me spider my fingers up into her underarms. Even though I was tickling through a robe, I could tell she was pretty damn ticklish all over. Her ribs were the absolute worst, and so I just played in her underarms for a few seconds and started counting her ribs. She lost it then, and after a minute she begged me to stop and threatened that she was going to piss herself.
We lounged on the floor there for what felt like a fleeting moment before we realized the thunder had abated and my phone started to ring. She smiled and poked me with her toe again, saying I should get back home before my parents came to get me. She gave me a smile and a kiss on the cheek, and said she wanted her gutters cleaned out on friday, and she expected me back. The foot massage and tickling became a mainstay for all of my visits, and I would be there tickling this gorgeous woman until either her husband texted her saying he was on his way home, or my parents called me. In retrospect, I think she really did love being tickled, and maybe her husband just didn't tickle her enough, if at all. She always gave me a hug standing on her tiptoes and kissed me on the cheek, called me 'hun', and always paid me well for my work--she didn't need to, I would've been perfectly happy just to tickle her as payment.
I don't know how far anything would've gone between us--I never got the courage to do anything, and I think it's wise I didn't. Her husband was friends with my parents as well, and that would've ruined everything if one thing went wrong. The two of them moved across the metroplex and I haven't been able to find her on facebook or anything…I don't even know what would happen if we did meet up again, but the time we had was definitely great fun and helped me in my formative years.
There was an older woman in my neighborhood named Mrs. Nickerson. She was in her late thirties, early forties. She worked in the office of the school district headquarters, and her house was right behind mine, so our backyards were facing each other. Mrs. Nickerson was very cute; she was about 5'5", with big blue-green eyes flecked with gold, and a gorgeous white smile. She jogged every evening and was pretty tan from going to the beach a lot, and she usually kept her sandy blonde hair in a bun. When she wasn't wearing her running shoes or closed-toed shoes for work, she would walk around in flip flops to show off her painted toenails.
Her feet were the absolute cutest--I liked them more than the feet of the girls I was going to school with! If memory serves, hers were about size five, with very tan tops and smooth, light soles with a few wrinkles. I have to emphasize just how smooth this woman's feet were.
Anyway, here's the deal; Since I was the only teenager in the neighborhood, my parents would rent me out to some of the neighbors for manual labor in exchange for some food or money. I usually hated it, except when I worked in Mrs. Nickerson's house or mowed her lawn, because she was such a flirt. It might have been just because she wanted me to willingly keep coming back and do a thorough job, but I was young and didn't really care at the time. She was fun and nice and so easy to talk to. She probably figured out I loved her feet when I was a junior in high school, because I was such a goof, I probably stared at them every chance I could get. Well, whenever she could, she'd lounge around in her bathrobe on and prop her bare feet up to give me a good view of her bare soles, and on multiple occasions complained to me about how much her feet hurt from running or walking around at work, or something. Being the gentleman I am, I offered to give her feet a massage, and she'd give me the cutest smile and call me her hero, and after I did the task at hand, I'd sit next to her and rub her feet and toes. I was pretty damn good, every girl I'd done this for would agree, and she would let out a sigh and say something like "my husband could learn a thing or two from you," and my ego would swell.
Well, one day in my senior year--AFTER MY 18th BIRTHDAY, don't delete this story-- it started to storm pretty badly, so she entreated me to stay over until the storm abated. I was feeling especially bold, and we were laughing and joking as I was massaging her feet. She made some off-hand crack about how my future wife would have me wrapped around her finger if she just let me rub her feet--just joking, she wasn't being mean or anything--so I said "Oh really? Maybe I'll have her wrapped around mine instead…" and wiggled my forefinger between her toes and she yelped. Then she looked at me like I was a completely different person, and poked her big toe into my cheek, so I took her feet under my left arm and started tickling those soft soles with my right hand. She let out a sexy, hearty laugh, and kept trying to swat at me, saying she'd kick my ass once she got free, but she never seriously tried to jerk her feet away…until I found the spot beneath her toes. Her arches and toes were pretty damn soft and ticklish, but the space beneah her toes was a goldmine of sensitivity and she went NUTS. Her eyes almost bulged out of her head and she fell off the low couch we were reclining on, and started rolling on the ground beating her fist on the floor as the thunder was rolling overhead. The lamp we had on actually flickered for a minute, and for some reason that motivated me to quickly start tickling her ribs and belly. She was surprised for a minute, but all she did was roll on her back and left her arms over her head as she laughed her head off. It was incredibly sexy, and that probably made me spider my fingers up into her underarms. Even though I was tickling through a robe, I could tell she was pretty damn ticklish all over. Her ribs were the absolute worst, and so I just played in her underarms for a few seconds and started counting her ribs. She lost it then, and after a minute she begged me to stop and threatened that she was going to piss herself.
We lounged on the floor there for what felt like a fleeting moment before we realized the thunder had abated and my phone started to ring. She smiled and poked me with her toe again, saying I should get back home before my parents came to get me. She gave me a smile and a kiss on the cheek, and said she wanted her gutters cleaned out on friday, and she expected me back. The foot massage and tickling became a mainstay for all of my visits, and I would be there tickling this gorgeous woman until either her husband texted her saying he was on his way home, or my parents called me. In retrospect, I think she really did love being tickled, and maybe her husband just didn't tickle her enough, if at all. She always gave me a hug standing on her tiptoes and kissed me on the cheek, called me 'hun', and always paid me well for my work--she didn't need to, I would've been perfectly happy just to tickle her as payment.
I don't know how far anything would've gone between us--I never got the courage to do anything, and I think it's wise I didn't. Her husband was friends with my parents as well, and that would've ruined everything if one thing went wrong. The two of them moved across the metroplex and I haven't been able to find her on facebook or anything…I don't even know what would happen if we did meet up again, but the time we had was definitely great fun and helped me in my formative years.
