californiasole
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Apr 17, 2010
- Messages
- 282
- Points
- 18
Hey everyone, me again. This time with a story during my last year of high school. It’s also the first time I got to tickle my first girlfriend before we dated (now ex), so it has a special place with me.
I was invited by my now-ex, named O, to a Christmas party at her place. This wasn’t a movie-style high school party. Her parents were at home, so it was just like 15 of her friends over, hanging out, watching movies, goofing off, eating, etc. At this time, I didn’t really know her all that well, we’d talked on Myspace (I know…Myspace), but hardly anything further. At the party, I knew two other guys and one of O’s best friends named L.
So I arrived about an hour late, because nobody told awkward teenage me that fashionably late meant 20-30 min. max. So the opens and her mother is there and directs me upstairs where O and a couple others are. The upstairs is just a sitting room area, all the bedrooms and usual second-story stuff is downstairs. So I walk up and see O, L and my guy friend M, who heads downstairs.
So on a small couch lies L, about 5’7-5’8, slightly-past chin-length blonde hair, pale skin, average-to-cute appearance. O was half-Chinese half-white, 5’3, and thin. We said hi, chatted a bit and I sat atop L near her waist. I was still nervous though, so no prospects of tickling crossed my mind yet.
I believe at one point, O mentioned L being ticklish so of course I had to test it. I dug my fingers into L’s ribs and sides and she immediately burst out laughing.
O stood so near me that I couldn’t resist reaching out to her either and goosed her a few times. I expected her to move back, but she stood in place and instead began laughing. So I alternated between the two girls but not for long as I didn’t want to appear too creepy.
Then we ate. Tickling left my mind as I surrounded myself with friends and acquaintances, growing closer with many of them. Then dining room was its own separate room as well, rather than being connected to the living room or kitchen. Doors could isolate it from the rest of the house. However, the dining table, fit for ten or so people, only filled half the room. The other half was made up of a piano and a sofa across from it.
So we sat and talked for a good long while, but then L lay down once again, this time on the floor in front of the couch, one side of her body resting against it. I sat on her other side, effectively pining her against it and begin tickling her upper body. Gauging the reactions of those around me, I continued, as they all seemed to be in high spirits watching me tickle her. I scribbled my fingers everywhere—her ribs, stomach armpits—and she grew redder by the second. If there was ever a single time in my life where I could say I tickle tortured someone in a vanilla sort of way, that would be it. For a few minutes at least, I was unrelenting, the most mercy I gave was seconds at most. So everyone laughed while she died but eventually, even the tickling must end.
I sat back and sat near M with O in front of us talking. She said something teasingly and so I grabbed her nearest ankle and ripped off her sock. To my surprise M, followed my lead and we both let our fingers work on her pale soles. She fell back laughing while her feet remained in our iron grip. Having a foot fetish, this was easily my favorite tickling of the night so far, even though L’s tickling earlier was more prolonged.
O’s feet were thin, about a size seven and pretty ticklish, though it diminished over time.
To my foot-fetishist’s dismay, her feet never smelled or sweat, the most it reached was a warm stickiness. Oh well, I still had fun with them.
Being winter, her feet were quite cold and in no time at all, grew acclimated to the tickling M and I were dishing out. The giggling that had been pouring from her slowed down and she was able to make conversation with friends, stating “that feels good.” The fun over, we separated.
The last portion of the night was spent upstairs in the loft watching a movie. The couch upstairs could fold out into a bed and that’s where a few of us lay. I pressed against the back wall, cross-legged while O lay down on her stomach diagonally across the bed. To my joy she had left her socks off. Once the movie had started going, and we sat in the dark, I reached for her ankle, pulling to me. Her attention caught, her head turned to look at my quizzically. I responded by faux-apologizing for her tickling earlier and that I’d make it up to her. With a massage, she seemed satisfied and kept watching the movie. Elated, I held her feet for about twenty minutes, alternating tickles regularly every minute or so. The tickling would last only seconds, a quick scribble of the soles, but I would feel her body tighten, or a chuckle escape her lips. She’d say stop, but never move her foot leave my hands.
Then a month later, we began dating.
In my mind, the tickles/foot action I’m able to accomplish prior to the girl knowing I have a fetish are superior, if only for the amateur aspect. So many of my stories will be from before she found out, though if the instance is great enough, of course I’ll write about it.
Two other instances before I confessed my fetish stand out to me. Both we far briefer but no less striking.
One time, early in our relationship, she came over and we sat in the living room watching something. We began to mess around in an embrace and eventually found ourselves on the floor wrestling. Once more I ripped off her sock and planted my tongue on her sole. I had never licked a foot up to this point and was certain to make it count. I dragged my tongue from heel, to arch, to ball and she laughed, though whether from the situation or ticklishness I don’t know.
Another instance was a summer or warm spring day when her two friends, she, and I were messing around, nothing to do. I remember we went out to her front lawn and she was barefoot so of course, my eyes were transfixed. She was on her belly in the pose when I sneaked in a few seconds of tickling. I made my attacks, guerilla-style, with her feet darting about when my hands came near. She eventually said, “Stop touching my feet,” and though its tone was playful, I got a bit embarrassed, as though I overstepped my bounds. We move back inside and take our seats in the den and I sat on a couch and her on the lounge chair next to me. In some effort to tease me during the next conversation, she stuck her dirty bare sole in my face.
Yeah, that sure showed me.
(I have two more true tickling stories ready to post, but I'm wondering...should I space them out and post later, or all at once right now?)
I was invited by my now-ex, named O, to a Christmas party at her place. This wasn’t a movie-style high school party. Her parents were at home, so it was just like 15 of her friends over, hanging out, watching movies, goofing off, eating, etc. At this time, I didn’t really know her all that well, we’d talked on Myspace (I know…Myspace), but hardly anything further. At the party, I knew two other guys and one of O’s best friends named L.
So I arrived about an hour late, because nobody told awkward teenage me that fashionably late meant 20-30 min. max. So the opens and her mother is there and directs me upstairs where O and a couple others are. The upstairs is just a sitting room area, all the bedrooms and usual second-story stuff is downstairs. So I walk up and see O, L and my guy friend M, who heads downstairs.
So on a small couch lies L, about 5’7-5’8, slightly-past chin-length blonde hair, pale skin, average-to-cute appearance. O was half-Chinese half-white, 5’3, and thin. We said hi, chatted a bit and I sat atop L near her waist. I was still nervous though, so no prospects of tickling crossed my mind yet.
I believe at one point, O mentioned L being ticklish so of course I had to test it. I dug my fingers into L’s ribs and sides and she immediately burst out laughing.
O stood so near me that I couldn’t resist reaching out to her either and goosed her a few times. I expected her to move back, but she stood in place and instead began laughing. So I alternated between the two girls but not for long as I didn’t want to appear too creepy.
Then we ate. Tickling left my mind as I surrounded myself with friends and acquaintances, growing closer with many of them. Then dining room was its own separate room as well, rather than being connected to the living room or kitchen. Doors could isolate it from the rest of the house. However, the dining table, fit for ten or so people, only filled half the room. The other half was made up of a piano and a sofa across from it.
So we sat and talked for a good long while, but then L lay down once again, this time on the floor in front of the couch, one side of her body resting against it. I sat on her other side, effectively pining her against it and begin tickling her upper body. Gauging the reactions of those around me, I continued, as they all seemed to be in high spirits watching me tickle her. I scribbled my fingers everywhere—her ribs, stomach armpits—and she grew redder by the second. If there was ever a single time in my life where I could say I tickle tortured someone in a vanilla sort of way, that would be it. For a few minutes at least, I was unrelenting, the most mercy I gave was seconds at most. So everyone laughed while she died but eventually, even the tickling must end.
I sat back and sat near M with O in front of us talking. She said something teasingly and so I grabbed her nearest ankle and ripped off her sock. To my surprise M, followed my lead and we both let our fingers work on her pale soles. She fell back laughing while her feet remained in our iron grip. Having a foot fetish, this was easily my favorite tickling of the night so far, even though L’s tickling earlier was more prolonged.
O’s feet were thin, about a size seven and pretty ticklish, though it diminished over time.
To my foot-fetishist’s dismay, her feet never smelled or sweat, the most it reached was a warm stickiness. Oh well, I still had fun with them.
Being winter, her feet were quite cold and in no time at all, grew acclimated to the tickling M and I were dishing out. The giggling that had been pouring from her slowed down and she was able to make conversation with friends, stating “that feels good.” The fun over, we separated.
The last portion of the night was spent upstairs in the loft watching a movie. The couch upstairs could fold out into a bed and that’s where a few of us lay. I pressed against the back wall, cross-legged while O lay down on her stomach diagonally across the bed. To my joy she had left her socks off. Once the movie had started going, and we sat in the dark, I reached for her ankle, pulling to me. Her attention caught, her head turned to look at my quizzically. I responded by faux-apologizing for her tickling earlier and that I’d make it up to her. With a massage, she seemed satisfied and kept watching the movie. Elated, I held her feet for about twenty minutes, alternating tickles regularly every minute or so. The tickling would last only seconds, a quick scribble of the soles, but I would feel her body tighten, or a chuckle escape her lips. She’d say stop, but never move her foot leave my hands.
Then a month later, we began dating.
In my mind, the tickles/foot action I’m able to accomplish prior to the girl knowing I have a fetish are superior, if only for the amateur aspect. So many of my stories will be from before she found out, though if the instance is great enough, of course I’ll write about it.
Two other instances before I confessed my fetish stand out to me. Both we far briefer but no less striking.
One time, early in our relationship, she came over and we sat in the living room watching something. We began to mess around in an embrace and eventually found ourselves on the floor wrestling. Once more I ripped off her sock and planted my tongue on her sole. I had never licked a foot up to this point and was certain to make it count. I dragged my tongue from heel, to arch, to ball and she laughed, though whether from the situation or ticklishness I don’t know.
Another instance was a summer or warm spring day when her two friends, she, and I were messing around, nothing to do. I remember we went out to her front lawn and she was barefoot so of course, my eyes were transfixed. She was on her belly in the pose when I sneaked in a few seconds of tickling. I made my attacks, guerilla-style, with her feet darting about when my hands came near. She eventually said, “Stop touching my feet,” and though its tone was playful, I got a bit embarrassed, as though I overstepped my bounds. We move back inside and take our seats in the den and I sat on a couch and her on the lounge chair next to me. In some effort to tease me during the next conversation, she stuck her dirty bare sole in my face.
Yeah, that sure showed me.
(I have two more true tickling stories ready to post, but I'm wondering...should I space them out and post later, or all at once right now?)
Thanks for sharing your experiences here. 
