As a generally unrepentant wifetickler, I used to rationalize the tortures I put my wife through time after time. I made peace with myself, I guess, perhaps when in my mid-thirties. After that I became a confirmed wifetickler. If anyone were to ask why, I would likely deliver an incredulous gape and say, "What the heck else is there to do with them?"
I don't think there is much more purely gorgeous than a laughing woman, any laughing woman. I have the good fortune of having one of my own that often finds incongruous little things done by kids, pets or on live TV that pique her laugh control center and get her to laughing so uncontrollably that tears well up, and she puts her hands on her cheeks to try to stop herself from laughing so hard. I found out there is a devilish side to her that can have the same effect when she steps just past her reasonable limits.
She is a generally shy person which is to say she reserves the absolute worst of her teasing and pranks for that poor soul with whom she is the most comfortable. Her imagination can get quite elaborate and lightly brush against the edge of evil. Let me tell you about one...it took place over at least a couple of months.
As I have stated in the past, it wouldn't be the end of the Republic if I were to lose about 20 pounds or so. Even so, I'm much more comfortable if I wear T-shits or casual shirts that are triple extra large so there is lots of room to move around in them. Well, starting, I guess, 2 or 3 months ago, the little woman started getting sets of T-shirts and briefs that were progressively smaller. She washed each of them several times so they would look properly used. She even replaced the labels and sewed in triple extra large labels from old shirts...so who knows how long she planned this?
Over time she replaced what I had in my dresser with the next smaller size. I can tell you, over that same time I though I was losing my mind. By the time I was down to just the large size, I was looking at myself in the mirror and didn't think I was gaining weight. I also found myself weighing in each day.
Then one night that evil woman I live with decided it was time. Somehow she did this with a straight face. Sitting on the bed in her nightie, she asked, "Is it my imagination, or are you getting fatter?" Notice she didn't say "getting fat" or "putting on weight." Noooo!!! She said, "Are you getting fatter?"
That caused my frustration to well up and I said somewhat curtly, "I don't think so. I've been weighing myself and the scale isn't moving." She said, "Oh, didn't I tell you? That scale is broken." I must have used body language that told her this had gone along far enough, and she leaned over the edge of the bed and pulled a plastic bag out. She pulled all my underwear from the bag and started laying it out on the bed. Then she sat up and showed me what she was doing with a positively evil smile on her face. She still had a couple smaller sizes she hadn't yet used. I think my mouth must have fallen open. I picked up a shirt, and even managed to look at the label.
She reached into the bottom of the bag and pulled out these briefs that could have been used by a five year old, and held that up as the coup de gras. She said she planned to work down to these. She held them out in two hands as if trying to size them up on me. Apparently it was my look or the complete disconnect that these briefs were, but anyway, she started that uncontrollable laughing. And I was the object of all this mirth. I think I just stood there looking at her because she would sort of get control then busrt out laughing a little harder each time.
When I could stand it no more, I pushed her over and started tickling her. As hard as she was already laughing, her body felt like a rag doll. She just laid over on her back and couldn't fight me off at all. Instead she put her hands on my wrists and followed me wherever I wanted to tickle. And she laughed harder, almost instantly into lapsing into silent laughter and I got her tummy and waist and sides and armpits. I was simply kneeling at her side and having my tickle way with her. She had tears rolling down her cheeks and she shook her head back and forth and she laughed even harder and she was the most beautiful woman you ever saw.
When I stopped, she just laid there and recovered her breath. She felt around on the bed and found those little kids underwear again and held them up. Then she stared that laughing again! So I straddled her thighs and redoubled my tickling efforts. Despite my obvious need to let her know, I confess tickling like this is really fun. It also creates an additional need which we can get into another time...
I guess when it comes to the question of why a guy tickles his wife, these days I would only respond by saying I feel sorry for guys that don't tickle their wives. Do you know what they are missing? They're really missing out on priceless fun, especially if they can tickle a teasing wife that deserves it. They are also missing out on that most perfect of radiant beauty and then that other need that must be satisfied, but we'll get into that another time.
I don't think there is much more purely gorgeous than a laughing woman, any laughing woman. I have the good fortune of having one of my own that often finds incongruous little things done by kids, pets or on live TV that pique her laugh control center and get her to laughing so uncontrollably that tears well up, and she puts her hands on her cheeks to try to stop herself from laughing so hard. I found out there is a devilish side to her that can have the same effect when she steps just past her reasonable limits.
She is a generally shy person which is to say she reserves the absolute worst of her teasing and pranks for that poor soul with whom she is the most comfortable. Her imagination can get quite elaborate and lightly brush against the edge of evil. Let me tell you about one...it took place over at least a couple of months.
As I have stated in the past, it wouldn't be the end of the Republic if I were to lose about 20 pounds or so. Even so, I'm much more comfortable if I wear T-shits or casual shirts that are triple extra large so there is lots of room to move around in them. Well, starting, I guess, 2 or 3 months ago, the little woman started getting sets of T-shirts and briefs that were progressively smaller. She washed each of them several times so they would look properly used. She even replaced the labels and sewed in triple extra large labels from old shirts...so who knows how long she planned this?
Over time she replaced what I had in my dresser with the next smaller size. I can tell you, over that same time I though I was losing my mind. By the time I was down to just the large size, I was looking at myself in the mirror and didn't think I was gaining weight. I also found myself weighing in each day.
Then one night that evil woman I live with decided it was time. Somehow she did this with a straight face. Sitting on the bed in her nightie, she asked, "Is it my imagination, or are you getting fatter?" Notice she didn't say "getting fat" or "putting on weight." Noooo!!! She said, "Are you getting fatter?"
That caused my frustration to well up and I said somewhat curtly, "I don't think so. I've been weighing myself and the scale isn't moving." She said, "Oh, didn't I tell you? That scale is broken." I must have used body language that told her this had gone along far enough, and she leaned over the edge of the bed and pulled a plastic bag out. She pulled all my underwear from the bag and started laying it out on the bed. Then she sat up and showed me what she was doing with a positively evil smile on her face. She still had a couple smaller sizes she hadn't yet used. I think my mouth must have fallen open. I picked up a shirt, and even managed to look at the label.
She reached into the bottom of the bag and pulled out these briefs that could have been used by a five year old, and held that up as the coup de gras. She said she planned to work down to these. She held them out in two hands as if trying to size them up on me. Apparently it was my look or the complete disconnect that these briefs were, but anyway, she started that uncontrollable laughing. And I was the object of all this mirth. I think I just stood there looking at her because she would sort of get control then busrt out laughing a little harder each time.
When I could stand it no more, I pushed her over and started tickling her. As hard as she was already laughing, her body felt like a rag doll. She just laid over on her back and couldn't fight me off at all. Instead she put her hands on my wrists and followed me wherever I wanted to tickle. And she laughed harder, almost instantly into lapsing into silent laughter and I got her tummy and waist and sides and armpits. I was simply kneeling at her side and having my tickle way with her. She had tears rolling down her cheeks and she shook her head back and forth and she laughed even harder and she was the most beautiful woman you ever saw.
When I stopped, she just laid there and recovered her breath. She felt around on the bed and found those little kids underwear again and held them up. Then she stared that laughing again! So I straddled her thighs and redoubled my tickling efforts. Despite my obvious need to let her know, I confess tickling like this is really fun. It also creates an additional need which we can get into another time...
I guess when it comes to the question of why a guy tickles his wife, these days I would only respond by saying I feel sorry for guys that don't tickle their wives. Do you know what they are missing? They're really missing out on priceless fun, especially if they can tickle a teasing wife that deserves it. They are also missing out on that most perfect of radiant beauty and then that other need that must be satisfied, but we'll get into that another time.
I think that's great, Hiram. Sounds to me like you married well. (Me too.) We are some lucky dudes. 
