I was maybe four or five, in kindergarten. Stuck in a clunky wheelchair, oversized for my body and unmoving. The other kids were running wild, laughing, climbing, roughhousing, all things I couldn’t do. I sat in front of the sandbox. Observing. Always observing.
And then it happened. Two boys pinned down a blonde girl and tickled her armpits. Just for a few seconds. She screamed with laughter, her face red, kicking and wriggling in that frantic, helpless way. Then it was over. They let her go. Everyone moved on.
Except me.
I sat there frozen, wide-eyed. And all I could think was:
Why did they stop?
Something in me didn’t want it to end. I didn’t know what that meant yet. Obviously, in that age, It wasn’t sexual. It was just this... pull. A weird mix of excitement and frustration I couldn’t explain. It hit deep and stayed there.
A few years later, it hit again. I was watching Popeye, the old cartoons. In the episode, a witch captured him, strapped him to a table, and robotic arms removed his shoes and socks. Then feathers started tickling his feet. Popeye laughed like crazy, begging it to stop.
I remember feeling embarrassed watching it. Like I shouldn’t be seeing it. Like it was too much. And just when it started getting intense... the feathers paused. Conveniently. Right as a can of spinach popped out and landed in his mouth.
Boom. Scene over. He escapes. Happy ending.
But in my head? All I could think was:
What if the robotic arms didn’t pause?
I imagined him stuck there, laughing uncontrollably. No help coming. Just tickling, endless and overwhelming.
It scared me, and intrigued me, at the same time.
Not in a violent way. Not about cruelty or pain. Not even sexually. Just that intense loss of control. The way laughter takes over. The way it strips you down, makes you raw and helpless. It stuck with me. It still does.
So yeah—two innocent moments. One real, one fictional. Both lit something up inside me. Something I didn’t ask for, didn’t understand, but eventually accepted. Maybe that’s why my fetish is what it is.
I don’t actually want to tie up a woman and tickle her into madness, not in real life. But If it played out in front of me, would I look away? Honestly... probably not. I might even be the last one to leave the room.
Doe it make me evil? A psycho?!
What about you?
And then it happened. Two boys pinned down a blonde girl and tickled her armpits. Just for a few seconds. She screamed with laughter, her face red, kicking and wriggling in that frantic, helpless way. Then it was over. They let her go. Everyone moved on.
Except me.
I sat there frozen, wide-eyed. And all I could think was:
Why did they stop?
Something in me didn’t want it to end. I didn’t know what that meant yet. Obviously, in that age, It wasn’t sexual. It was just this... pull. A weird mix of excitement and frustration I couldn’t explain. It hit deep and stayed there.
A few years later, it hit again. I was watching Popeye, the old cartoons. In the episode, a witch captured him, strapped him to a table, and robotic arms removed his shoes and socks. Then feathers started tickling his feet. Popeye laughed like crazy, begging it to stop.
I remember feeling embarrassed watching it. Like I shouldn’t be seeing it. Like it was too much. And just when it started getting intense... the feathers paused. Conveniently. Right as a can of spinach popped out and landed in his mouth.
Boom. Scene over. He escapes. Happy ending.
But in my head? All I could think was:
What if the robotic arms didn’t pause?
I imagined him stuck there, laughing uncontrollably. No help coming. Just tickling, endless and overwhelming.
It scared me, and intrigued me, at the same time.
Not in a violent way. Not about cruelty or pain. Not even sexually. Just that intense loss of control. The way laughter takes over. The way it strips you down, makes you raw and helpless. It stuck with me. It still does.
So yeah—two innocent moments. One real, one fictional. Both lit something up inside me. Something I didn’t ask for, didn’t understand, but eventually accepted. Maybe that’s why my fetish is what it is.
I don’t actually want to tie up a woman and tickle her into madness, not in real life. But If it played out in front of me, would I look away? Honestly... probably not. I might even be the last one to leave the room.
Doe it make me evil? A psycho?!
What about you?
