This Sunday is an anniversary of sorts for Baldadonis and I. One year ago, I decided to meet this guy I felt really connected to after one amazing 6 hour IM. I figured maybe we'd meet for coffee and I'd say goodbye. I had no idea where it would go, but I decided to give it a try. That one decision to have coffee completely changed my life. I found the most sincere, genuine person I'd ever met, someone who made me feel safe and respected from the instant I met him. I played for the first time that night, feeling the most myself I had ever experienced. I also delurked. I met some of the most amazing people in the next weeks and months, people I am grateful to call friends.
It would take a couple months for Dave and I to figure out that we could date. I thought there was no way this amazing, hot guy would be interested in me in that way. But something told me, from the moment I met him, that this guy was special. I am so thankful I didn't turn around that day and bail.
With Dave's permission, I decided to post the story below, in red. I wrote it about five months after that day, and shared it only with him. I thought it would be a fitting reminder of how great that day was, and how perfect the following year would be.
Just let me be the first one there, please god. I kept repeating this to myself on a loop as I walked the five minutes from my apartment to the coffee shop next to the park. I am usually early to any meeting, but had specifically left to be there right on time. Delaying the inevitable. But then, I want to be the first one there so I could avoid the awkward scanning of the room to determine if any of the faces I saw matched the photo I know. Somehow if I were first, this whole overwhelming experience would become more manageable.
I had been noticing him on the forum for weeks. He seemed well-respected, normal, and sincere. I finally mustered some courage and IM’d him on a Friday night. I decided I was going try to remain anonymous, since I doubted I would ever feel ready to meet someone from the forum in person. I introduced myself with a fake name but otherwise gave accurate information. We IM’d back and forth all night, talking about anything from getting-to-know-you information to tickling. I had never had such a long IM conversation flow so naturally. I became comfortable enough to sheepishly give him my real first name. I even thought I might be able to meet him eventually, but claimed to be too busy to meet that weekend. We said good night.
The following morning I awoke to an unusual coctail of confidence and frustration. Confidence that this Dave character could work out and we could meet safely. Frustration that my tickling fetish was still there, and I was still not doing anything about it. I IM’d him that same morning and asked to meet later that day. I subsequently spent the rest of the day with my heart pounding quickly in my chest, at least as nervous as I was before my college music auditions. As I made that five-minute walk, I desperately want to turn around, avoid the whole thing, and pretend that I had not just arranged to meet a stranger from an online fetish forum.
As I chant my mantra, please let me be first, I arrive, and I recognize him immediately seated in the front of the coffee shop. So much for being first. He smiles warmly. We get warm coffee-like drinks. We talk for two hours detailing his forum experiences, assuaging my ongoing paranoia of public discovery, and helping me to feel at ease. When the coffee shop employee announces they were closing, we decide to go elsewhere. It’s freezing outside, and this gives me the excuse to go to the closest place. We arrive in my apartment.
He sits on my couch, I sit on a nearby chair. We talk more. I have a hard time relaxing. After so much talk about tickling, I really want to do it. But I am terrified to ask him. My tongue selectively disabled, the consonants refuse to form in my mouth.
He finally asks it: “So, are you interested in playing at all?”
My heart races. Fuck yes, I want to say. Instead I look away and stammer out a meek “Uh, I think so. Yeah.” He asks where, and I can’t move. I tell him I have no idea how to get started, feeling frozen in my chair. He gently inches toward me on the floor. My eyes widen and my cheeks burn red hot.
“Just say red if you want me to stop.” And with that his fingers start to wiggle around my feet. Through my socks, I feel the wiggling and let out solitary giggles. The socks stay on, and he explores farther up my legs. I breathe hard. He smiles and tells me I’m holding back. I know I am, and my nervousness is interfering with feeling all the sensations he is causing.
He squeezes my sides, tickles my stomach, and makes it up to my armpits. I know this is a bad spot for me. Just as he starts to get a decent reaction, I feel uncomfortable. As awesome as Dave is being, as nice and comforting he is, this is still a stranger touching me in a way I had never really experienced. It couldn’t have been more than three or four minutes since he started. I close my eyes and reluctantly say his safe word.
Immediately Dave stops and retreats back to the couch. His eyes inspect my face for signs of wounding.
I try to reassure him. “I’m fine,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’m just surprised, I thought I was more ticklish.”
“Disappointed?”
“No, just surprised.” And I was. I thought I would have been dying, finally being tickled like that. Some time goes by.
“Do you want to try lering me?” Dave asks. I nod, still nervous. He lies on the couch. I gently tickle his sides and his whole body jerks. He laughs loudly, which puts me immediately at ease.
“Holy crap!” I say. “You weren’t kidding; you are really, really ticklish.” I tickle his stomach and he bounces up, as if on a trampoline. His laugh is hearty, from his belly. I could barely believe that these simple movements of my hands were having such a profound effect on him. I move my hands up, wanting to try his underarms. He squeezes his arms to his body and I can barely get my fingers. “No fair,” I tease.
“Oh, fine,” he whimpers, folding his hands and putting them behind his head. I laugh at how easily he was convinced. His hand placement is short-lived, however, because as soon as I tickle his armpits he tries to protect them while immediately emitting the loudest laugh I had ever heard. I stay there for a minute, immensely enjoying the extreme reactions I am getting from him.
I move to his feet, much to his protest. He can barely keep them still. I wiggle a finger, and his feet shoot into the air and reluctantly return for more. I stop after no more than ten minutes and return to my chair. We talk about how ridiculously ticklish he is. After some more discussion, we move to my bed. I’m feeling ready for some more serious play.
I remove my sweater, leaving my tank top on. I lie down on my back. He explores my ticklishness more thoroughly. Socks come off, and my reactions are stronger. He moves to my upper body, getting some solid giggles from my tummy and sides. Onto my armpits. Though my instinct is to panic, I put my arms on the headboard for better access.
“Aw, what a good lee,” he teases. This makes me smile, a little embarrassed to be proud of his comment. I laugh much more this time, and he continues, finding a good spot. I eventually put my arms back down, unable to sustain that vulnerability. Twenty minutes later, Dave decides I am done.
I calm down a bit. I am barely adjusting to all of these new sensations. The yin and yang of it all, wanting it to end and continue forever in the same breath, is exhilarating.
Dave and I switch positions. Lering him was even better the second time. It is easier to access different areas on the bed. He laughs like crazy and jumped around like a Mexican jumping bean. My fingers dance around the top and bottom of his feet and he squeals. I lightly tickle his stomach and he laughs deeply. I dig into his armpits and he throws me off of him bucking bronco-style.
After we were done playing, he hung out and we listened to a TMF radio show. At the end of the evening, we hugged and he caught a cab home. I was so wired by the experience I couldn’t fall asleep. After years of wondering what it would be like to explore my tickle kink, it had been explored. I had merely had a taste, and I couldn’t wait to play again.
It would take a couple months for Dave and I to figure out that we could date. I thought there was no way this amazing, hot guy would be interested in me in that way. But something told me, from the moment I met him, that this guy was special. I am so thankful I didn't turn around that day and bail.
With Dave's permission, I decided to post the story below, in red. I wrote it about five months after that day, and shared it only with him. I thought it would be a fitting reminder of how great that day was, and how perfect the following year would be.
Just let me be the first one there, please god. I kept repeating this to myself on a loop as I walked the five minutes from my apartment to the coffee shop next to the park. I am usually early to any meeting, but had specifically left to be there right on time. Delaying the inevitable. But then, I want to be the first one there so I could avoid the awkward scanning of the room to determine if any of the faces I saw matched the photo I know. Somehow if I were first, this whole overwhelming experience would become more manageable.
I had been noticing him on the forum for weeks. He seemed well-respected, normal, and sincere. I finally mustered some courage and IM’d him on a Friday night. I decided I was going try to remain anonymous, since I doubted I would ever feel ready to meet someone from the forum in person. I introduced myself with a fake name but otherwise gave accurate information. We IM’d back and forth all night, talking about anything from getting-to-know-you information to tickling. I had never had such a long IM conversation flow so naturally. I became comfortable enough to sheepishly give him my real first name. I even thought I might be able to meet him eventually, but claimed to be too busy to meet that weekend. We said good night.
The following morning I awoke to an unusual coctail of confidence and frustration. Confidence that this Dave character could work out and we could meet safely. Frustration that my tickling fetish was still there, and I was still not doing anything about it. I IM’d him that same morning and asked to meet later that day. I subsequently spent the rest of the day with my heart pounding quickly in my chest, at least as nervous as I was before my college music auditions. As I made that five-minute walk, I desperately want to turn around, avoid the whole thing, and pretend that I had not just arranged to meet a stranger from an online fetish forum.
As I chant my mantra, please let me be first, I arrive, and I recognize him immediately seated in the front of the coffee shop. So much for being first. He smiles warmly. We get warm coffee-like drinks. We talk for two hours detailing his forum experiences, assuaging my ongoing paranoia of public discovery, and helping me to feel at ease. When the coffee shop employee announces they were closing, we decide to go elsewhere. It’s freezing outside, and this gives me the excuse to go to the closest place. We arrive in my apartment.
He sits on my couch, I sit on a nearby chair. We talk more. I have a hard time relaxing. After so much talk about tickling, I really want to do it. But I am terrified to ask him. My tongue selectively disabled, the consonants refuse to form in my mouth.
He finally asks it: “So, are you interested in playing at all?”
My heart races. Fuck yes, I want to say. Instead I look away and stammer out a meek “Uh, I think so. Yeah.” He asks where, and I can’t move. I tell him I have no idea how to get started, feeling frozen in my chair. He gently inches toward me on the floor. My eyes widen and my cheeks burn red hot.
“Just say red if you want me to stop.” And with that his fingers start to wiggle around my feet. Through my socks, I feel the wiggling and let out solitary giggles. The socks stay on, and he explores farther up my legs. I breathe hard. He smiles and tells me I’m holding back. I know I am, and my nervousness is interfering with feeling all the sensations he is causing.
He squeezes my sides, tickles my stomach, and makes it up to my armpits. I know this is a bad spot for me. Just as he starts to get a decent reaction, I feel uncomfortable. As awesome as Dave is being, as nice and comforting he is, this is still a stranger touching me in a way I had never really experienced. It couldn’t have been more than three or four minutes since he started. I close my eyes and reluctantly say his safe word.
Immediately Dave stops and retreats back to the couch. His eyes inspect my face for signs of wounding.
I try to reassure him. “I’m fine,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’m just surprised, I thought I was more ticklish.”
“Disappointed?”
“No, just surprised.” And I was. I thought I would have been dying, finally being tickled like that. Some time goes by.
“Do you want to try lering me?” Dave asks. I nod, still nervous. He lies on the couch. I gently tickle his sides and his whole body jerks. He laughs loudly, which puts me immediately at ease.
“Holy crap!” I say. “You weren’t kidding; you are really, really ticklish.” I tickle his stomach and he bounces up, as if on a trampoline. His laugh is hearty, from his belly. I could barely believe that these simple movements of my hands were having such a profound effect on him. I move my hands up, wanting to try his underarms. He squeezes his arms to his body and I can barely get my fingers. “No fair,” I tease.
“Oh, fine,” he whimpers, folding his hands and putting them behind his head. I laugh at how easily he was convinced. His hand placement is short-lived, however, because as soon as I tickle his armpits he tries to protect them while immediately emitting the loudest laugh I had ever heard. I stay there for a minute, immensely enjoying the extreme reactions I am getting from him.
I move to his feet, much to his protest. He can barely keep them still. I wiggle a finger, and his feet shoot into the air and reluctantly return for more. I stop after no more than ten minutes and return to my chair. We talk about how ridiculously ticklish he is. After some more discussion, we move to my bed. I’m feeling ready for some more serious play.
I remove my sweater, leaving my tank top on. I lie down on my back. He explores my ticklishness more thoroughly. Socks come off, and my reactions are stronger. He moves to my upper body, getting some solid giggles from my tummy and sides. Onto my armpits. Though my instinct is to panic, I put my arms on the headboard for better access.
“Aw, what a good lee,” he teases. This makes me smile, a little embarrassed to be proud of his comment. I laugh much more this time, and he continues, finding a good spot. I eventually put my arms back down, unable to sustain that vulnerability. Twenty minutes later, Dave decides I am done.
I calm down a bit. I am barely adjusting to all of these new sensations. The yin and yang of it all, wanting it to end and continue forever in the same breath, is exhilarating.
Dave and I switch positions. Lering him was even better the second time. It is easier to access different areas on the bed. He laughs like crazy and jumped around like a Mexican jumping bean. My fingers dance around the top and bottom of his feet and he squeals. I lightly tickle his stomach and he laughs deeply. I dig into his armpits and he throws me off of him bucking bronco-style.
After we were done playing, he hung out and we listened to a TMF radio show. At the end of the evening, we hugged and he caught a cab home. I was so wired by the experience I couldn’t fall asleep. After years of wondering what it would be like to explore my tickle kink, it had been explored. I had merely had a taste, and I couldn’t wait to play again.
