I'll get back to topic while Q and Jo dance for each other like bees across a grove of flowers. And while you, D-to-the-V, sit back and enjoy the way your friends meet each other through you. I know you love it, you know you love it.
It's - how you say in English - all about the love.
Q, Jo, nice to meet you both. Kim, missed ya. It would be great to reunionize. We'll have Aurora's chicken pepperoni, okay?
I have never tickled someone out of anger, for the simple reason that if I get the urge or even the idea to tickle someone, my blood naturally begins pumping happy feelings through my veins. Life is good when you're tickling.
And I'm not the kind that can enjoy the tickling if my ticklee is not enjoying it. If she's miserable and hating it, or even pissed and tolerating it, then end of scene. It's not working for me. Otherwise, it's like a preschool version of a rape fantasy. Some women dig that, and some men dig that. Me no dig that.
And conversely, if I AM angry, and the girl who irks me tries to defray my anger by getting me to tickle her, then. . . well, it works. Anger goes bye-bye, I smile, then grin intently, then my fingers make contact and mirth surrounds us.
HOWEVER, there was a time that I begrudgingly agreed to do an inconvenient and time-consuming favor for my ex. (Not recent ex, past past ex.) The night I was performing said favor (chasing around down collecting various things for her), she decided to treat me with a detached coldness. Sensing this, I believed cynically (ah, but realistically!) that she would be ungrateful when all was said and done.
I showed up at her door that night bearing her requested items. Sure enough, I was treated to a darling lack of gratitude and sweet see-ya-later. She took the things from me and turned to go into another room, my cue to leave. Then I was inspired.
"Hold on," I said in a demanding, but not angry, voice. I kicked off my shoes and walked over to her couch. "Come here."
She approached the couch with a pressed-lip "whatever-you're-up-to-is-boring" look. "Sit down," I said, "Let me see your feet." I used the same demanding, not angry, voice.
I figured I had a 30% chance of success, 70% chance of showers. Amazingly, still with that "I'm-not-impressed" look, she actually sat on the couch and placed her bare feet on my lap. "Oh, what are you gonna do?" she said in a condescending voice, "Tickle me? That's so typical of your--" She was cut off by her own laughter as my fingernails lightly pressed into her bare soles. She laughed with abandon, and it felt SO GOOD to transform the energy like that. The funk dissipated quickly as her laughing brightened the room. She is up on the "extremely ticklish" side of the scale, her feet the worst, and here she was giving in to it. Letting it overwhelm her with ticklish sensory overload. I kept it up for several minutes, which is maximum with her. More, and it would turn into screams of near insanity.
That's the closest I've come to tickling in anger. It kind of counts, no?
BoomKaBoom
