TRUE YOUTHFUL TICKLING: (M/F and minimal F/M)
The events in this story took place when my cousin Kate and I were seventeen. Kate was my best friend, and we were virtually inseparable. She often gave me advice about girls and dating, and also introduced me to her friends. This provided me social opportunities I never would have found at my school.
Despite her young age, Kate had dated several young men and wasn’t bothered by issues of physical attraction - including my foot fetish. She was fascinated by my love of women’s feet and also found it amusing.
Kate frequently asked me to massage her feet. She loved being pampered and always complimented my massage skills. I could rarely resist the urge to tickle her, but she didn’t complain. There were moments when the tickling seemed fun for both of us.
On this occasion, it was a picturesque summer day. Kate arrived at our grandmother’s house accompanied by her parents, and we shared lunch. When the meal was over, our parents continued to gossip and chat.
Kate and I decided to find something to do. I expressed interest in going the park. However, there were sales at the mall, and Kate proposed a shopping trip. After some discussion, we agreed on a movie.
As Kate and I were leaving the house, the telephone rang. The call was from a distant relative we’d never heard of. Grandmother spoke to him while our parents huddled around the phone listening in. The conversation lasted ten minutes, and the mood in the house became solemn. Grandmother hung up the phone and explained what was going on.
One of our distant cousins, Greg, passed away. He was eighty-four years old, and Kate and I never met or even heard of him. Greg lived near our parents when they were growing up, so they knew him quite well. After high school, he moved away and fell out of touch, aside from the occasional phone call or Christmas card.
Our parents hadn’t been close to Greg in many years. They were, however, sorry to hear that he died. Kate and I remained quiet, allowing them to discuss the situation without interruption. The conversation ended moments later, and our parents began scurrying about while grandmother wrestled a suitcase from the closet.
“Go pack your bags kids,” my aunt said. “We’re leaving for Minnesota in less than an hour.”
Greg’s immediate family forgot to contact us. At the last minute, one of his brothers noticed the oversight and called grandmother’s house. The memorial service and reception were scheduled for that evening, and the funeral was the following day. My aunt said we could get there on time if we left immediately.
Kate and I felt uncomfortable about this. Neither of us knew Greg, and we didn’t know any of the people who would be at the memorial service. Out of respect for our family, we continued packing and didn’t question anything.
With our suitcases packed, Kate and I piled into
the back of her father’s new
van - a large passenger model with four rows of seats. Grandmother and our parents sat together during the long drive to Minnesota. They were off in their own little universe, talking about old times. Kate helped me pass the time by talking and playing games like license plate bingo.
The drive took six hours, and we reached our hotel sometime after seven o’clock. My mother urged Kate and me to get dressed for the memorial service. I quickly put on my best pair of suit pants and a formal white shirt. Kate threw on a nice blouse, skirt, and a pair of black pumps that immediately caught my eye. She noticed the attention I was paying to her footwear and winked at me. The gesture went unnoticed by the rest of our family.
Kate’s father rushed us to the church. We missed Greg’s memorial service, but the reception was just getting underway in the parish hall - a musty old church building used for wedding and funeral receptions, and other church functions.
A kind elderly gentleman named Steve greeted us at the door. He immediately recognized grandmother and our parents. They enjoyed a brief reunion before Steve introduced himself to Kate and me. He escorted us inside, and we felt hopelessly out of place as stone-faced elderly people stared at us.
Grandmother and our parents became lost in conversation with Steve. They were reminiscing about events that took place long before Kate and I were born, and inadvertently excluded us from the conversation.
Kate and I decided to make the best of things by walking around the room introducing ourselves. We were not well received. The people we met were cold, crotchety, and none of them were under the age of sixty. I think they assumed Kate and I might be disrespectful, unruly kids.
Both of us had sympathy for everyone who knew Greg, but there was nothing we could do for them. Frankly, most of them didn’t want us there. Having nowhere else to go, we retreated to an empty table in the corner of the room.
Sitting in that dank church hall surrounded by grouchy strangers made for a painfully dull evening. The time passed slowly. Kate stared at her watch and sighed. Eventually, she resorted to her favorite pastime… teasing her favorite cousin.
I was mindlessly staring across the room when I heard the clunking sound of Kate’s shoes hitting the floor. Then I felt her toes wiggling against my leg. This was not a sexual gesture on Kate’s part. She was simply amusing herself by torturing me.
“Kate, what are you doing?” I mumbled in an exasperated voice. “This is a public place and our parents are just across the room!”
“I’m just trying to have fun,” she giggled mischievously. “Relax, nobody can see under the tablecloth. Besides, we’re probably going to be stuck here until midnight, and I need you to keep me entertained.”
My foot fetish was getting the best of me, and Kate knew it. I asked her to stop, but she was having too much fun watching me squirm. Her bare feet suddenly emerged from beneath the tablecloth and appeared in my lap.
I don’t have the words to accurately describe Kate’s gorgeous feet. Her ankles and arches were gracefully curved, and her wrinkled soles felt like silk. Her long, slender toes had a subtle curvature and the most beautiful nails I’ve ever seen.
Having Kate’s perfect feet in my lap was more than I could resist. I fondled them for several minutes, during which an aroused breath escaped my lips… a reaction Kate found funny. She decided to further tease me by wiggling her flawlessly painted toes and arching her feet.
From my perspective, it seemed Kate was daring me to tickle her. I latched onto her ankles and stroked her arches with a single fingernail. She lurched and covered her mouth with both hands as involuntary laughter gurgled inside her chest.
“What’s wrong?” I asked innocently.
“HA-HAAAAAA... you… AHHHHH… need to stahahappp… hee hee hee,” Kate pleaded quietly. “Foot monster… HAHAHA… it tee-hee-kles too-hoo much… hee hee hee.”
“You’ve been teasing me with your feet for several minutes,” I calmly replied. “I think I’ll spend the next hour tickling each of these adorable toes one by one.”
Kate’s eyes widened as I systematically tickled her toes. She was holding her breath and biting her lip, attempting to conceal her laughter. I had a firm grip on her ankles, but she made one last attempt to break free. That’s when I got careless. I applied too much pressure to Kate’s left arch, and she squealed loudly.
The sound of Kate’s youthful giggling caught the attention of five crabby seniors who approached our table and reprimanded us for being disrespectful.
Thankfully, Steve interrupted them.
“Hold the phone folks,” he said in a calming voice. “These kids are the only young people here, and we haven’t exactly made them feel welcome. They didn’t know the man who died, and they don’t know any of us. This must be terribly uncomfortable for them… not to mention boring.”
Despite Steve’s call for compassion and understanding, several disgruntled seniors continued glaring at Kate and me. Both of us felt terribly uncomfortable. Steve once again intervened on our behalf, convincing our parents to let us leave. He also gave us twenty-five dollars and suggested a few places we might enjoy. Kate’s father passed me the keys to his van, and we left.
Kate became increasingly jubilant as we drove away from the church. I shared her feelings. We had spending money, our own vehicle, and an evening to explore the town without our parents.
Frankie’s Gallery, the local arcade, was among the businesses Steve recommended to us. It featured a number of classics, including Dig-Dug, Galaga, and PacMan. Kate bested me in several games before I surrendered.
From the arcade, we drove to an old-style ice cream shop along the local waterfront. Kate treated me to an ice cream cone, and we sat on the deck overlooking the lake. She invited me to go for a walk on the sand, but I declined because I was still finishing my ice cream. She handed me her shoes and purse before heading to the beach.
After Kate left, curiosity got the best of me. I raised her shoes to my face and inhaled deeply. Aside from the scent of leather, the only other pronounced aroma was that of wildflowers. I’m pretty sure it was the scent of an imported heirloom foot soap that I gave her for Christmas. I was surprised her shoes could smell so wonderful after she’d worn them all evening.
Kate walked up and down the beach kicking sand. She returned ten minutes later and carefully wiped her feet before putting her shoes on. I finished my ice cream, and we left.
Our final stop was the mall, which happened to be the largest in the county. Clothing and music stores were Kate’s favorites, and we spent considerable time browsing the aisles.
The top floor of the mall offered a diverse range of shops. I was thrilled to find Heirloom Bodyworks, a store that specialized in handmade soaps, bath products, and a vast array of foot care items. I escorted Kate inside, and she immediately realized why I wanted to shop there. She playfully poked me in the ribs and smiled.
Kate found three bars of handmade soap, and some facial moisturizing cream. She also selected two elegantly shaped champagne glasses with the store logo printed on the side.
When I found the aisle containing foot products, the selection was massive. Kate laughed as I feverishly searched the shelves. I picked out three bars of homemade foot soap, a bottle of massage oil, and four containers of foot lotion.
“Are these for me?” Kate asked with a smile.
“I hope so,” I replied. “Thanks to the way you teased me at the reception, my foot fetish is stuck in overdrive.”
Kate laughed, hugged me, and promised to let me massage her feet when we got the hotel. However, she wanted to do more shopping first. There was an art supply store across the mall, and she wanted to browse the painting supplies.
I expected the art store to be boring, but I was pleasantly surprised. In the far corner, there was a shelf filled with nature-themed items, presumably for homemade flower arrangements and table decorations. Wedged between several types of acorns and artificial flowers, I found packages of long, stiff white feathers. I grabbed a package and walked toward the cash register, hoping Kate wouldn’t see me.
Near the checkout line, I noticed a display of paintbrushes. They were approximately two inches wide, and their bristles were soft but firm. I envisioned ticklish possibilities while testing a brush on my hand.
I paid for the feathers and paintbrush, and waited for Kate near the door. When she finished shopping, we returned to our hotel.
Kate was cracking jokes, laughing, and talking about things we could do the following day. She was in a wonderful mood, but limping noticeably. When we reached our hotel room, she laid down on the bed with her feet hanging just over the edge.
“Foot monster, these shoes make quite a fashion statement, but they aren’t meant for walking,” Kate giggled. “My feet are killing me, and you’ll be my hero if you give me a foot massage.”
Kate smiled at me, knowing I’d been eager to rub her feet for most of the evening. She also dangled her shoes from her toes. This was a deliberate act. Weeks earlier, I confided in Kate that the sight of a woman dangling her shoes always drove me crazy.
My heart was in my throat as I removed Kate’s shoes. Using both hands, I caressed her beautiful bare feet for nearly two minutes. Their softness and graceful curvatures had me enthralled. Kate appeared to be deeply relaxed, but she was also laughing at my reactions to her feet.
Under the circumstances, a measured retaliation seemed appropriate. I reached into my shopping bag and grabbed the paintbrush. I used it to apply generous amounts of massage oil to Kate’s feet. As the bristles made contact with her soles, she squealed and squirmed.
“Hee-hee-hee-hee-hee... that tickles… HAHAHAHAHA… what is that?” Kate asked while wiggling her toes.
I held up the paintbrush and showed it to Kate. Her expression changed from curiosity to forced hilarity as I re-applied the bristles her soles. She went especially crazy when I aggressively brushed the undersides of her toes.
“HAHAHAHAHAHA… rub my feet… hee hee hee… don’t teeheeheekle… hee hee hee!” Kate giggled. “HAHAHAHA… put that brush away… hee hee hee.”
I didn’t feel obligated to comply with Kate’s request, and continued stroking her feet for almost two minutes. The bristles obviously tickled, and she was giggling and squirming. Not wanting to spoil the mood, I stopped.
Kate mentioned that she was hungry, so I called the local pizza place and ordered her favorites… extra-cheese pizza, breadsticks, and A&W root beer. It arrived surprisingly fast, and I paid for it with a chunk of the money from Steve.
The pizza looked good, and I quickly devoured a slice. Kate encouraged me to have more, but I was too busy thinking about her feet.
My foot fetish was taking over, and memories of the many foot games I’d played with Kate over the years began to surface. That’s when I got the bright idea to play “spa” as we’d done a handful of times at grandmother’s house.
Our hotel room was equipped with a nice radio, and I tuned it to the local jazz station. My timing was excellent, as they were playing David Benoit, Art Porter, and a host of Kate’s other favorites. She was impressed that I remembered her love of soft jazz.
I ducked into the bathroom, folded two large towels over my left arm and slipped into character. Speaking in an exaggerated French accent, I exited the bathroom pretending to be a spa employee. I’m sure I looked ridiculous, but Kate was having a good time and happily played along.
While remaining in character, I served Kate A&W root beer in a champagne glass, pretending it was expensive French wine. We had no plates, so I used the pizza box as a serving tray and offered her the remaining slices of pizza. She briefly interrupted the game to tell me how sweet it was that I was waiting on her. When she finished eating, it was time for the next step.
Earlier that day, the hotel staff delivered a shower chair for grandmother.
I thought it would make a perfect addition to my makeshift spa. I filled the bathtub with about fourteen inches of warm water and a generous amount of richly lathering, floral-scented foot soap.
Remaining in character and speaking terrible French, I went to get Kate. She was positively giddy as I carried her to the bathroom and gently lowered her into the shower chair. While continuing to speak in character, I cradled her feet in my hands and began to massage them with foot soap. She smiled and sighed as I applied her favorite techniques.
“This is wonderful,” Kate said in a deeply relaxed voice. “That rich lather feels like silk. Thank you for doing this.”
“Madame, the pleasure is mine,” I said, doing my best to sound French. “You have such lovely feet.”
Kate chuckled in response to my comments and playfully wiggled her toes. With no prompting from me, she slipped into character and inquired about the services available at the spa. She also began to address me as Franz, a name that somehow didn’t sound French, but I really didn’t care. I was elated to see her having fun and playing along.
After rinsing and drying Kate’s feet, I carried her back to the bed. She was speaking in character and becoming increasingly silly.
“What’s next Franz?” she asked.
My desire to tickle Kate’s feet was growing, but she was deeply relaxed. Aggressive foot tickling would have been unpleasant for her, so I decided start with gentle techniques. While answering her question, I caressed her feet with massage oil.
“Madame, this next technique is intended to stimulate the nerve-endings in your feet and promote healthy circulation,” I explained as Kate continued to enjoy my performance.
I rapidly traced light circular patterns on Kate’s soles with my fingernails. Her toes and arches proved especially ticklish, and she flexed her feet while writhing on the bed.
“HAHAHAHA… Franz… hee hee hee… pleeease … he-he-he-he-he… you're tickling me-hee-hee-hee-hee… what are you doing?” Kate squealed.
“Madame, this is a gentle tickle-therapy technique used by reflexologists in spas throughout Europe” I replied. “It’s very good for relieving stress and promoting healthy breathing.”
Kate continued to giggle as my fingers made several passes up and down her soles, but her reactions were not frantic. My delicate techniques were making her laugh, but she remained in character and played along.
“HEHEHEHEHE… Franz… hohoho… that really ti-hi-hi-hi-hi-hickles… hee hee hee,” Kate said. “Hee hee hee… I feel silly… HAHAHAHAHA… I can’t stop laughing… hee hee hee.”
“Don’t be embarrassed,” I said in an encouraging tone. “Laughing helps to rid the body of toxins. Madame, I can tell you’re feeling a little shy, so let me help you. Tickle tickle tickle!”
I intensified my efforts slightly, and Kate’s reaction was quite pronounced. Her laughter was a bit more hysterical, and she was arching her back while flopping around like a fish out of water.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA… PLLLEEEASE… FRANZ… HOHOHO… HA-HA-HEE-HEE-HA-HAAAAAA… IT TEEEHEEHEEKLES… PLEEEHEEEEZE… HAHAHAHA!” Kate pleaded through her laughter.
“Madame, up until now you’ve been holding back,” I said. “Laughing will help to cleanse your system. Just let yourself go. Kitchy kitchy coo!”
Kate knew her only way out of this was to let me make her laugh. She completely surrendered to the tickling, and a chorus of involuntary laughter spilled from her lips. At one point, she threw her head back and squealed with ticklish laughter.
“GAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHD… PLEEE-HEE-HEEZE SSSSS-SSTTTOP… HEHEHEHEHEHEHE… FRANZ… HAHAHAHAHAHAHA… FOOT MONSTER… NONONONOHAHAHA… PLEEEEEHEEE-HEE-HEEEEZE DOOHOHOHON'T TEEEEHEEKLE… HAHAHAHAHA… ST-HA-HA-HA-HA-HAP!” Kate screamed.
Fearing that I might overtax Kate, I reverted to the gentler tickling. For a moment, she tried to regain her composure, but it didn’t work. Her lips quivered as she attempted to conceal an involuntary smile, and she couldn’t stop giggling.
"Franz… he-he-he-he-he… that still tickles… HAHAHA," Kate giggled.
"Just a little bit more,” I said. “Kitchy kitchy kooooo!"
Kate was doing her best to cooperate with me, but I sensed this portion of our game needed to end. When the tickling stopped, she continued to giggle and smile for a few minutes. It didn’t take long before she was looking comfortable again. I massaged her feet for more than an hour, and she complimented my efforts.
“You have gotten so good at this,” Kate sighed. “This really is like being at a spa.”
I was delighted to hear that Kate was enjoying the massage. I was, however, embarrassed about being so over-the-top with my foot fetish activities. Kate sat beside me and put her arm around my shoulder.
“The fact that you’re so playful is what makes you fun to hang out with,” she explained while giggling and messing up my hair. “I don’t want you feeling weird about this. I had a lot of fun this evening, and I’m counting on you to keep me company tomorrow.”
Kate’s words made me feel better. I hugged her and thanked her for putting up with her foot-crazed cousin for the evening. She assured me that it wasn’t a problem and thanked me for pampering her.
At Kate’s recommendation, we cleaned the room, discarding any evidence of our activities. Then we sat together and talked. As our conversation progressed, Kate questioned me about my foot fetish. She wondered if I could remember my earliest foot fetish experience.
“Don’t you remember?” I laughed. “My first experience was with you!”
Kate smiled and struggled to remember.
“Refresh my memory,” Kate said. “It must have been a long time ago.”
The incident in question took place when Kate and I were approximately five years old. It is one of my earliest memories. Our parents had taken us on a weekend trip to St. Louis. On the way home, we stopped at a scenic picnic area in the countryside. For obvious reasons, Kate and I weren’t allowed to stray far from our parents. They did, however, allow us to sit by ourselves at a picnic table about fifty yards away.
Kate sat atop the table while I sat beneath her on the bench. She was wearing sandals, and I remember being drawn to her feet. Acting entirely on instinct, I removed her sandals and began tickling her. The poor girl giggled and squealed until she was overcome by silent laughter. She was saved when our parents told us to get back in the station wagon.
During the ride home, Kate and I sat alone in the far back seat. She surprised me by taking off her sandals and placing her bare feet in my lap. I rubbed and lightly tickled her feet until we reached our grandmother’s house. That was the first foot fetish experience of my life and the beginning of my innumerable experiences with Kate.
“I remember now!” she grinned. “That was the first time anyone really tickled my feet.”
Kate laughed while recounting memories of our many childhood experiences.
She spoke at length about the creative foot-related games I used to invent, including foot doctor and shoe store. Being able to openly discuss this with her felt wonderful.
The conversation continued for more than an hour, until Kate suggested we should go to bed. She put on cute pink pajamas and asked me to tuck her in, something I used to do when we were kids. As I stood beside the bed, memories of our many foot games raced through my mind. Kate sensed that she was about to be tickled and confronted me.
“Foot monster, what are you thinking?” she giggled.
“I can’t let you go to sleep without counting your toes first,” I replied, unable to contain a growing smile.
Kate covered her face with her hands and laughed, realizing what I was about to do. To her credit, she was very cooperative as I peeled back the blankets, exposing her bare feet.
“You’re being wonderful about this,” I said affectionately. “Are you ready?”
“Ready,” Kate giggled.
I gently tickled the smallest toe of Kate’s right foot as she giggled and squirmed. When I moved on to the space between her smallest toe and its neighbor, Kate squealed. The game continued as I tickled each toe in succession, making sure to visit the spaces in between. Throughout this process, Kate was struggling to count her toes aloud.
"HAHAHAHAHA… one… hoo-hoo-hoo… hee hee hee… two… AAAAAHHHHHHHH… that tickles… hahaha… three… hee hee hee… um… hoo hoo hoo... four… HAHAHAAAAAAHHH… five toes… hee hee hee!” Kate giggled.
Obviously Kate had counted correctly, but I always asked her to verify her final tally. This usually provided me with an additional ten seconds to tickle her foot.
“Repeat that for me Kate,” I said while tickling the sole of her foot with wildly scribbling fingers. “How many toes did you count?”
“ST-HA-HA-HA-HA-HAP… HAHAHAHAHA… FIVE TOES… HAHAHAHAHA… HEE HEE HEE … YOU HEARD ME… HAHAHA… IT TEEHEEKLES… HAHAHA… FIVE TOES… AAAUUUUUGGGHHH… IT TEEHEEKLES… FIVE TOES… HAHAHAHAHA!” she shrieked.
Kate was being exceedingly tolerant, so I stopped the tickling, allowing her an opportunity to catch her breath. When I attempted to repeat the process on her other foot, she resisted vigorously. A playful wrestling match ensued as I struggled to secure Kate’s left foot. We were tousling in the middle of the bed and giggling like children when we heard the voices of our parents in the hallway.
Kate and I stopped wrestling, leaped from the bed, straightened the blankets and fixed our hair. When our parents walked through the door, they found us sitting quietly, in separate chairs, watching television. They apologized for the way we were treated at the reception and told us we could skip the funeral.
Both of us were thrilled by the prospect of having the day to ourselves. Kate suggested another shopping trip and visits to a few local parks. My mind was stuck in foot fetish mode, but Kate’s plans sounded fun as well. Our parents told us to get some sleep, and we went to bed.
In the morning, Steve arrived shortly after six o’clock to pick up grandmother and our parents. He was treating them to an early breakfast at an elegant local restaurant. They smiled, told us to stay out of trouble, and left.
I was still groggy, but Kate was awake and eager to have fun. She jumped on my bed and whacked me with a pillow. With no hope of getting back to sleep, I crawled out of bed.
Kate and I spent a few minutes discussing our plans for the day. Kate decided the hotel swimming pool should be our first stop. She ducked into the bathroom to change while I slipped into some swimming trunks.
Kate exited the bathroom ten minutes later, and I was momentarily stunned. She was wearing a phenomenal two-piece swimsuit that accentuated every aspect of her figure. The fact that we were cousins didn’t stop me from noticing that she looked incredible.
Aside from being in excellent shape and having a well-developed chest, Kate had a flawless tan. Even Kate’s beautiful feet were a lovely shade of golden brown, with a sharp contrast between her milky soles and the suntanned tops of her feet.
For at least a minute, I stood there in a daze. Kate smiled back at me and giggled. That snapped me back to reality, I collected myself, and we began our trek to the pool.
The door to the pool area was marked with signs: PLEASE EXCUSE THE NOISE: RENOVATIONS IN PROGRESS. We walked in and found a work crew installing new flooring on the far end of the room. Another crew was installing elaborate new windows. Their tools and hammering were loud, but far from unbearable. Other hotel guests apparently didn’t care for the noise, because we had the place to ourselves.
Kate stood at the edge of the pool and tested the water with her toes. It was ice cold, and she opted for the soothing warmth of the Jacuzzi. I watched her bare feet with fascination as she walked across the floor leaving wet footprints behind her.
When I climbed into the Jacuzzi, Kate decided to tease me. She sat on the edge and dangled her feet in the water. I did my best not to stare, but couldn’t help myself. Whenever Kate caught me looking at her feet, I turned away, but she wasn’t fooled. She leaned forward, grabbed my right ear, and pulled me close to her.
“Foot monster, I saw you looking at my feet,” Kate laughed.
Since I was already busted, I gently grabbed her ankles and lifted her feet out of the water.
“Your toes have never looked prettier,” I said while fondling them one at a time.
“You would know better than anyone,” Kate replied jokingly. “You’ve been playing with my toes since we were in kindergarten!”
I responded to Kate’s teasing with some playful splashes, and she climbed into the water. She sat on a comfortable ledge while I made my way to the middle of the Jacuzzi and settled on the bottom.
Only my head and neck were still above water, making me an irresistible target. Kate used both of her feet to mess up my hair and splash my face. She seemed to be goading me, and I took that as an invitation for some foot tickling fun.
Kate offered almost no resistance as I gently grasped her ankles and pulled her feet closer to me. For nearly two minutes, I lightly stroked her velvety soles as she giggled softly. My technique was extremely gentle, and she was coping quite well.
Moments later, Kate made some teasing remarks and splashed me in the face, prompting me to tickle harder. I wasted no time securing her feet and digging into her most ticklish spots with my fingernails. This intense technique produced a frantic reaction from Kate. She was wildly splashing about the Jacuzzi while screaming with ticklish laughter.
“How does that feel Kate?” I asked with a sinister grin.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA… IT TEEEEHEEHEEKLES… AHHHHHHHHHH … GAAAHAHAHAD… ST-HA-HA-HA-P… IT TEEEEHEEKLES… ST-HA-HA-P … PLEEE-HEE-HEEZE S-STOP… HAHAHAHAHA… ST-HA-HA-HA-P… AAAAAAAAAHHHHH!" Kate squealed.
"You were teasing me, so I think I’ll keep going,” I said. “Cootchy cootchy koo!”
This was a unique experience for me. I never tickled Kate in public settings because I didn’t want to embarrass her. On this occasion, the noise of the work crew effectively covered up her hysterical squeals, and nobody was paying attention to us.
“AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH… FOOT MONSTER… HAHAHAHAHAHAA… PLEEEEEHEEE-HEE-HEEEEZE… HAHAHAHAHAHA … IT TEEEEHEEKLES TOO MUCH… HAHAHAHAHA… ST-HA-HA-HA-HA-HAP… IT TEEEEHEEKLES… HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Kate screamed.
"Tickle tickle tickle!” I teased. “Cootchy cootchy koo!”
I ruthlessly tickled Kate’s beautiful feet, which were frantically wiggling and flexing. My techniques were driving Kate to the brink of insanity. She thrashed desperately while squealing, pleading, and laughing helplessly.
Kate’s laughter was music to my ears, but it couldn’t continue. She was out of breath, and the water in the Jacuzzi was quite hot. Fearing that she might have a cardiac episode, I stopped tickling her.
When we left the Jacuzzi, Kate’s cheeks were rosy red, and she was intermittently giggling. It took at least five minutes before she could stop smiling.
We walked back to our room and Kate offered to let me shower first. She wanted to call the front desk and ask if there were any festivals or special events in town.
I only spent ten minutes in the bathroom. When I came out, Kate approached me, sniffed my hair and laughed. The handmade soap I bathed with had a strong floral scent and I smelled rather feminine. Kate continued chuckling as she stepped into the bathroom.
Based on Kate’s track record, I knew she’d take a lengthy shower. I walked to the hotel restaurant and ordered her favorite breakfast foods. She was just turning off the shower when I returned. I quickly set the breakfast tray on the bed and arranged a pile of pillows so she could comfortably recline while eating.
Kate stepped out of the bathroom wearing a beautiful shirt and jeans. She was also barefoot and carrying her shoes and socks. As she’d done before her shower, she smiled, walked over and began smelling me.
“Gee foot monster, you smell better than I do,” Kate giggled. “I’ll have to take you outside and roll you around in the dirt a few times to offset the sweet smell of that soap.”
“Enough!” I replied in a sarcastic tone. “Just sit down and eat your breakfast.”
Kate was surprised to find her favorite foods waiting for her, and she thought it was a sweet gesture. She walked over to the bed and made herself comfortable.
As she was putting on her shoes and socks, I snatched them.
“Will I ever get those back?” Kate laughed while wiggling her toes.
“I’ll return them after breakfast,” I said.
Kate wondered why I wanted her to remain barefoot, but she wasn’t concerned. Since childhood, we had a standing rule that no tickles were allowed during breakfast. She smiled warmly as I placed her feet in my lap and massaged her arches with my most soothing techniques. For a moment, she looked so relaxed that I thought she might fall asleep.
After Kate finished breakfast, she smiled mischievously and invited me to lie down next to her. I assumed she wanted to relax and discuss our plans for the day. As it turned out, she had other ideas.
While I was lying there completely relaxed, Kate unexpectedly plunged her fingers into my stomach. She must have learned a few things during our Christmas encounter, because this tickled more than anything I’d ever experienced. I quickly developed tickling induced paralysis and couldn’t coordinate my bodily movements. That left me entirely at Kate’s mercy.
“You are SO ticklish!" Kate teased. "Cootchy cootchy koo!”
As the minutes passed, Kate tickled me harder. I remember looking up at her through teary eyes and feeling embarrassed as gales of hysterical, almost girlish laughter poured from my mouth. She began verbally teasing me while deeply probing my abdomen with her cruel fingers.
"You always get to tickle me, and now it’s my turn," Kate smiled. “It’s so much fun seeing you like this… tickle tickle tickle!”
Kate dug in harder, and my involuntary laughter echoed throughout the room. I was struggling for breath, and she eased up a little. She affectionately wiped my hair from my face while leaning over me.
"I’m not finished yet,” Kate said with a devilish smile.
Kate’s techniques were gentler, but I still couldn’t stop laughing. She was kneading my stomach with her fingers, finding ticklish spots that few people had explored.
"How does that feel?” she asked.
“HAHAHAHAHA… he-he-he-he-he… it tickles Kate… ha-ha,” I giggled.
"That’s the reaction I was looking for!" Kate said while rapidly poking my stomach. "Cootchy cootchy koo!”
This new technique was much faster and a bit more intense. I was laughing harder, which only inspired Kate to continue.
"He-he-he... Kate… HAHAHAHA... you're tickling me... he-he-he-he-he… cut it out… ha-ha-ha-ha-ha," I squealed.
Kate intensified her efforts until I was once again helpless. She continued for more than three minutes, during which she verbally teased me. Suddenly, she stopped, pulled my shirt down, and knelt beside me.
“I wasn’t trying to be mean sweetie,” Kate giggled. “Things were just getting a bit one-sided.”
Kate was eager to leave the hotel, and she only allowed me a few minutes to recover. She stared at me and giggled as we walked to the van. My reactions to her ticklish assault were obviously racing through her thoughts. She continued to snicker for several minutes as we drove down the street.
“You can’t blame me for enjoying that,” Kate laughed. “You always attack my poor feet until I’m giggling like a ticklish child. It’s only fair that I occasionally get to tickle you.”
Kate had a valid point and I truly wasn’t upset, but I did find myself feeling confused. Some of Kate’s tickling techniques were torturous and a bit too intense. However, her gentler methods were actually somewhat enjoyable, and I found myself hoping she would tickle me again. I kept those feelings to myself.
The downtown featured many businesses, and we shopped for more than an hour. Of the stores we visited, Elaine’s Kitchen Supply was my favorite. It featured a diverse array of kitchen accessories, including large plastic dishwashing basins. I knew they’d be perfect for soaking Kate’s feet, if the opportunity presented itself.
While Kate looked at decorative glasses and plates, I purchased two basins and stashed them in my other shopping bags. We checked out moments later and took a leisurely walk through the downtown. I was enjoying Kate’s company, and we were having a wonderful time together.
Just before ten o’clock, Kate asked for a ride to the hotel. She was tired of carrying her shopping bags and didn’t want to leave them in the van. This didn’t seem like an unusual request, and I agreed.
Back at our hotel room, Kate set her bags in the corner. She said I could rest for a while because she needed time to change her clothes. Wardrobe changes were a common activity for Kate, and this didn’t seem suspicious.
While Kate stepped into the bathroom, I decided to lie down and rest. My eyes were closed and I’d almost fallen asleep. Without warning, Kate leaped onto the bed, straddled my waist and initiated another vicious tickling attack. Her fingers were remarkably strong, and I once again found myself unable to coherently respond.
"I just couldn’t resist!" Kate teased. "Tickle tickle tickle!”
I couldn’t do anything but laugh, and Kate was having so much fun that I thought she’d never stop. For the record, Kate did not have a tickle fetish. I tickled her on countless occasions, and she was having a wonderful time reducing me to ticklish laughter.
"Okay,” Kate said in a soothing voice. “I’ve had my fun. I promise not to tickle you again for the rest of the weekend.”
That was the last thing I wanted to hear, and I tried to change Kate’s mind without being direct.
"It’s okay… um… I mean… well… you didn’t hurt me… really," I said.
Kate smiled and stared at me with a confused expression. After a few moments, I could tell she’d figured it out.
"I remember now,” Kate said in a silly, high-pitched voice. “You liked it when I tickled you at grandmother’s house.”
I was embarrassed, and I could feel myself blushing. Kate leaned over me so that our noses were mere inches apart.
“Look at you,” Kate laughed. “If you blush any harder you’ll turn purple.”
My feelings of embarrassment were growing, and Kate found that entertaining. She was making direct eye contact, which made me feel even more self-conscious.
“Hmmm… what should I do now?” Kate asked in a teasing tone. “Do you want me to tickle you?”
Embarrassment had overtaken me, and I couldn’t answer Kate. Nonetheless, she was determined to get an answer out of me. She verbally teased me while wiggling her fingers just inches above my stomach.
"Well, if you won’t tell me what you want, I’ll just have to guess,” Kate said.
With slow, methodical techniques, she began to lightly stroke my stomach. My abdominal muscles were involuntarily contracting, and I was starting to giggle.
“Let’s see what happens if I go a little deeper,” Kate teased.
She began kneading my stomach and sides like bread dough. This deeper technique tickled more, and I was giggling and squirming like a child.
"Does this tickle?” Kate laughed.
"He-he-he-he-he... yes… ha-ha-ha... he-he-he," I replied.
“Well then… cootchy cootchy coo!” Kate said.
This went on for five minutes, during which Kate experimented with techniques of varying pressure. She appeared to be enjoying herself, and I was having fun, but she decided to wrap things up.
“Time for the big finish!” Kate teased. “Tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle!”
For the grand finale, she applied a deep, abdominal probing technique that her mother used on me during her gastroenternology training. As Kate’s cruel fingers probed deep into my abdomen, I howled with helpless laughter. She continued until I was on the brink of passing out.
“Okay,” Kate said in a soothing voice. “I’ve had my fun. Relax.”
While I was catching my breath, Kate plopped down beside me. She giggled quietly while watching me recover.
“Was that fun?” she asked.
I was too embarrassed to speak, but nodded.
“I thought so too,” Kate laughed. “It was fun being the tickler for a change.”
Kate snuggled with me for a few minutes while I worked to catch my breath. Before long, she was eager to get on with our plans.
“As soon as you’re ready, I’d like to get going,” Kate said. “I want to have lunch on the island.”
“What island?” I asked.
Earlier that morning, the hotel manager told Kate about an island located just offshore. It was small, less than two miles across, but it had become a summer tourist attraction.
“While you rest, I want to change,” Kate said as she reached for her suitcase and ducked into the bathroom.
She emerged a few minutes later wearing a cute, form-fitting t-shirt, jean shorts that looked like they were painted on, and the same white canvas sneakers with lacey cotton ankle socks. Honestly, she looked adorable.
We left the hotel, drove to the waterfront, and boarded a ferry that was delivering tourists to the island. Kate loved boat rides, and she behaved like a little kid. She insisted that I join her on the upper deck so we’d have the best possible view of the lake. The trip lasted fifteen minutes, and both of us enjoyed it.
When the ferry docked, our first order of business was lunch. There was a cozy Italian restaurant a short walk from the pier, and the aroma of spaghetti was unmistakable. Kate and I shared an enormous meal.
After lunch, we took a walk on a beautiful trail that led into the woods. It was a perfect summer day, and the air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers and pine. Kate was in good spirits and chattering away.
We came upon a picnic table, and I asked Kate to sit on the tabletop while I sat beneath her on the bench. She complied, not realizing I was planning to play with her feet. While Kate continued talking, I removed her shoes and socks.
“What are you doing?” she asked while giggling and flexing her bare feet.
“I thought I’d play with your feet while we visit,” I explained.
Kate laughed, reached down, and patted me on the back.
“I really don’t mind sweetie, but we’ll be leaving in a while,” she said. “I should probably put my shoes and socks on.”
I had no intention of surrendering Kate’s shoes and socks. I grabbed them and sprinted up the trail. After ducking behind a tree, I stashed her footwear in a branch. When I rejoined Kate, she did her best to look angry, but couldn’t stop smiling.
“Foot monster, what are you doing?” Kate laughed. “We’re in the middle of the woods, and I’ll need my shoes and socks if I’m going to walk out of here.”
“I’ll give them back… later,” I said.
Kate smirked, playfully punched me in the shoulder, and stepped down from the table. She took a few steps and discovered the ground was covered in rocks and sharp twigs. It wasn't suitable for walking barefoot.
"Foot monster, the ground is all thorny," she whined. "If I walk on this, my feet will be torn to pieces."
"Well, I can’t let you injure those pretty feet,” I said. “I'll just have to carry you."
Kate realized I was improvising another silly foot game and laughed as I carried her deeper into the woods. She found it especially funny when I slipped into character, pretended to be a tour guide, and spoke of the island’s history.
Further up the trail, there was another picnic table overlooking the lake. The view was spectacular, and the air was sweet. Kate and I sat there talking, until she decided we should leave.
"We should start heading back soon so we won’t be late for the boat," Kate said. "Are you going to carry me?"
"I can't do that," I replied.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but taxi services on the island aren't free," I said, speaking in character.
"You're the one who dragged me out here barefoot!" Kate laughed. "Now you want me to pay you?"
"For all transportation on the island, there is a tickle tax," I said with a growing smile. "If you want a ride back, you'll have to let me tickle your feet for five minutes."
Kate's eyes became wider than saucers, and I knew she wasn't going to play along with this portion of my game.
"I will NOT let you tickle my feet for five minutes!" she giggled.
"Oh yes you will!" I replied while wiggling my fingers in the air.
Kate was laughing and wildly kicking, trying to fend off my ticklish assault. She wasn't trying to hurt me, but in the course of our horseplay, she kicked me in the groin with her right heel. I’ve never been kicked so hard in my life. I toppled to the ground, overcome by sickening pain and unable to breathe. Kate stepped down from the table and knelt beside me.
"Oh my God,” she said in a frantic voice. “Are you okay?”
Kate was arguably the most affectionate person I'd ever known, and it troubled her that she'd hurt me. I must have looked terrible, because she was genuinely worried.
"I am so sorry," she said in an apologetic tone. "I would never hurt you on purpose. Please tell me you’re okay."
I tried to answer Kate, but couldn’t. She became increasingly concerned that she'd seriously injured me, and I thought she might panic. I couldn’t breathe, but with considerable effort, I managed a breathless whisper.
"I'm… not angry… I’ll be okay… can't talk right now," I said, gasping for air.
My words seemed to calm Kate, and she put her arm around my shoulder. We remained on the ground for almost three minutes, until I was able to stand.
There was no way I could carry Kate out of the woods, so I hobbled up the trail and retrieved her shoes and socks. She repeatedly apologized while putting them on.
"Sweetie, I'll make this up to you," she said. "I promise to let you tickle my feet before we go home. Okay? Right now, let’s just get to the pier and wait for the ferry."
Kate’s generous offer was inspired by feelings of guilt, and I should have declined. However, I just couldn’t turn down a chance to tickle those pretty feet. While Kate continued to apologize for kicking me, I accepted her offer.
Kate held my hand and put her arm around my waist as we walked out of the woods. It took almost fifteen minutes before I felt well again.
We arrived at the pier with time to spare. I asked Kate to remain there while I visited the souvenir shop. She assumed I was angry with her. We always did everything together, and it wasn’t like me to leave her behind.
In truth, I wasn’t angry with Kate. I was sneaking off to the Italian restaurant to buy a takeout order of spaghetti for her to eat during the long drive home. I wanted it to be a surprise. Since we wouldn’t be going home for at least another five hours, I stopped at the gift shop and bought a small Styrofoam cooler and some ice blocks to preserve the spaghetti.
Kate was rather quiet during the boat ride back to the mainland. She felt badly about kicking me, despite my repeated assurances that it wasn’t her fault.
When the ferry docked, I escorted Kate to our van and drove us toward the shopping district. She was still concerned about me, but I was fully recovered and planning another foot game.
Four blocks from the downtown, there was a thrift shop located in an elegant Victorian home that reminded me of grandmother’s house. I took Kate’s hand and practically dragged her up the front steps, giggling the entire time. She was stunned to see how excited I was about shopping there, and relieved to see me feeling better.
“What are you hoping to find here?” she asked.
“Nothing important,” I replied, trying to sound innocent.
Kate didn’t believe me for a second, but remained by my side. As we made our way through that spacious old house, she found several antiques that sparked her interest. She selected a few and we continued shopping.
There was additional merchandise on second floor, including women’s apparel. Kate giggled and followed me upstairs, still curious about my intentions.
The first two rooms were full of clothes. In the third room, I found what I was looking for… enormous shelves filled with women’s shoes, mostly high heels and pumps. Many were in good condition, and cheaply priced.
Kate was lagging behind, presumably looking at clothing. She finally entered the room, saw the countless pairs of shoes, and almost crumpled to the floor laughing.
“So that’s why you wanted to come here!” she giggled.
“Of course,” I replied while hugging her.
I generally preferred not to play foot games in public places. However, there were no other customers upstairs. In fact, there was only one other customer in the entire store. Privacy would not be a problem.
Kate loved shopping for shoes and was happy to play this game. She sat in a comfortable chair, removed her shoes and socks, and patiently watched me browse the shelves.
There were hundreds of shoes to choose from, but I decided to limit myself. I found a pair of black heels that appeared to be from the 1950’s, a classic pair of 1980’s vintage white pumps with three inch-heels, and a pair of strappy heels that were painted glittery silver.
I knelt in front of Kate and fondled her feet for a few minutes. Rather than initiating a formal game of shoe store, I engaged her in casual conversation about music, sports, school, our family, and other topics. When it seemed like the appropriate time, I grabbed the black heels and helped her put them on.
“These are seriously retro,” Kate chuckled. “They look like something June Cleaver would have worn on Leave It To Beaver.”
Retro or not, the shoes looked amazingly cute on Kate. She stood up, walked around the room, and did a few runway model turns.
I was still kneeling on the floor, and Kate stopped in front of me. She looked down at me, giggled, and balanced on her left foot. With a very sensual movement, she dangled her right shoe on her toes before letting it fall to the ground. She repeated the process, disposed of her other shoe, and sat down.
The sight of Kate’s beautiful feet was making my heart pound. I was salivating, and my face was probably a nice shade of crimson. Kate fancied herself a student of human sexuality, and she found my reactions to her feet comical and fascinating.
“Shall we proceed?” she asked in a giggly voice.
I nodded, picked up the silver high heels, and helped Kate put them on. These shoes had a spectacular arch, which complimented her naturally shapely feet.
Seeing Kate’s pretty feet wrapped in the elegant straps of these open shoes was literally driving me crazy… and she knew it. While my face continued to redden, she moved her feet in enticing circular movements.
This game was my idea, but I wasn’t coping well. Teenage hormones were racing through my bloodstream, my foot fetish was fully engaged, and I could feel my composure slipping away. Kate was having great fun watching me fall apart.
I took a few deep breaths and attempted to collect myself. It didn’t work.
My heart was pounding, my breathing was accelerated, and my hands were trembling noticeably. The silver shoes Kate was modeling had delicate straps that I was struggling with. She decided to spare me further embarrassment by removing the shoes herself.
“It’s okay sweetie,” she laughed while patting me on the back. “Are there any more shoes you’d like me to try?”
I quietly placed the white 1980’s vintage high heels in front of Kate. She gracefully slipped her feet into them and performed another series of runway model turns. These sensational white shoes accentuated Kate’s calves, arches and ankles in ways I’d never seen before. I was spellbound.
Kate knew I was enjoying the show and decided to put on a dangling exhibition. She sat down and rhythmically flexed her feet, causing the shoes to gracefully bob from her toes. I could no longer resist. With shaking hands, I gently removed her shoes and affectionately caressed her feet.
Kate was still having fun, and decided to test the limits of my foot fetish by seductively arching her feet and wiggling her toes. That proved to be more than I could handle, and an aroused breath escaped my lips.
There was an abrupt silence in the room, and I timidly glanced up at Kate, expecting her to be disgusted. Instead, she smiled and playfully cuffed me across the head.
“You’re a hoot!” she laughed. “You really do love feet.”
I felt relieved, knowing Kate wasn’t upset. However, it was time to end our game. Kate put her shoes and socks on, and we made our way downstairs.
There was an elderly woman staffing the cash register. She smirked and giggled as I paid for the high heels. It seemed like she knew what Kate and I did upstairs. Nonetheless, she was polite and placed the shoes in a tasteful shopping bag. Kate and I left the thrift shop feeling like silly kids.
“Madame, keep these as a souvenir of our trip,” I said while handing her the bag of shoes.
Kate laughed and thanked me.
“Where are we going now?” she asked on the way to the van.
“I hate to say this, but we should go back,” I replied. “Our parents might be waiting for us at the hotel.”
We reached our hotel room around three o’clock, and nobody was there. Kate dialed the front desk, and there was a message waiting for us. Our parents called to say they were visiting with Steve and wouldn’t be back until after seven o’clock.
“The elders won’t be back for hours,” Kate laughed. “We’ve already seen the town. What would you like to do?”
“We’ve been on the go all day,” I said. “Let’s hang out here for a while.”
Kate was agreeable to my plan and plopped down on the bed. She also removed her shoes and socks in an attempt to get comfortable. While we visited, she began flexing her feet and wiggling her toes. I tried not to stare, but it was almost an involuntary response. Kate noticed the attention I was paying to her feet and decided to tease me.
“You just can’t get enough feet, can you?” she giggled.
“I guess not,” I replied.
Kate continued to playfully tease me for several minutes, attempting to provoke a response. That’s when I decided to remind her of the promise she made on the island.
“Earlier today, you promised to let me tickle your feet,” I said, unable to hide my enthusiasm. “Hmmm… since we’ve got the place to ourselves for a while, now seems like a perfect time.”
Kate giggled nervously and her eyes widened. I could tell she was trying to decide whether to cooperate or flee. She weighed her options and announced her decision.
“Because I nearly killed you this afternoon, I’ll let you have your fun,” Kate said in a giggly voice. “However, you need to be gentle! When you tickled me this morning, I almost peed in the Jacuzzi!”
"You’ve been nothing less than a saint about putting up with me this weekend,” I said. “I promise to be gentle.”
I sat on the bed and gently took hold of Kate’s ankles. She offered no resistance as I lifted her feet onto a comfortable pillow. She did, however, giggle and fidget as I lubricated the soles of her feet with massage oil.
"What are you going to do?” she asked nervously.
"Try to relax,” I reassured her. “I promise to be gentle.”
My words didn’t put Kate at ease. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and clenched the sheets.
"I’m going to start now sweetie,” I said.
With my gentlest techniques, I applied familiar circular patterns across the balls of Kate’s feet. She responded by flexing both feet and wiggling her toes.
"He-he-he… that tickles… he-he-he!" she giggled.
My techniques were gentle, and Kate was tolerating them well. She had relaxed considerably, and the giggles were coming freely. Not wanting to upset the balance, I maintained my gentle touch.
With light, feathery strokes, I drew figure eights across the soles of Kate's feet. Her laughter intensified, but she didn’t appear anxious.
"How are you doing?” I asked pleasantly.
"Hee hee hee... oooooh… that ti-hi-hi-hi-hi-hickles really bad… HAHAHA!” Kate laughed.
"Just relax and let yourself be ticklish,” I said in an affectionate tone. “Tickle tickle tickle!"
By starting so gently, I had eased Kate into the tickling, and she was doing well. I decided to intensify my efforts. With scribbling movements, I tickled up and down her arches, causing her to writhe and squirm all over the bed.
"AAAAAHHH… gaaaawwwd... HAHAHAHAHA… not the arches… he-he-he-he-he-he… that tickles… he-he-he!” Kate squealed.
"You’re so cute,” I said teasingly. “You’ve always been ticklish on your arches. Kitchy kitchy koooo!”
There were some uniquely sensitive areas on Kate’s arches and I zeroed in on them with slightly more aggressive techniques. Her reaction was abrupt and pronounced.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA… NOT THE ARCHES… HEE-HEE-HEE… DON'T TICKLE MEE-HEE THERE… GAAAAWWWD FOOT MONSTER… ST-HA-HA-HA-P!” Kate screamed.
My poor ticklish cousin was thrashing all over the bed, and her involuntary laughter filled the room. It would have been cruel to continue at that intensity, so I reverted to my gentler touches. Kate was still giggling, but she was much more relaxed.
”Hee hee hee… you lousy rat… hahaha,” she giggled. “Hoo-hoo-hoo… you just had to torture me… hee hee hee!”
“Sorry sweetie,” I replied, attempting to sound apologetic. “I couldn’t resist the urge to make you squeal.”
Kate’s beautiful toes were practically begging to be tickled, and I gently stroked them from every possible direction. She squirmed and laughed, but seemed to be tolerating my efforts… until I tickled the spaces between her toes.
"Haa haa haa… not the toes… heeeee heeeeeee… cut it out… hee hee hee!” Kate managed through her laughter. “Hee hee hee… are you… hahaha… almost done?”
“Almost finished,” I said. “There’s just one more thing I need to do.”
I gently grasped the smallest toe of Kate’s left foot between my fingers. She immediately realized what I had in mind.
"This little piggy went to market, and this little piggy stayed home, this little piggy had roast beef… by the way, you really do have the cutest little piggies!” I said in a silly voice. “Do you mind if I tell you what cute piggies you have? They really are lovely. Tickle tickle tickle!”
I wildly scribbled my fingers over Kate’s soles and between her toes. She was laughing hysterically and wiggling all over the bed.
"HAHAHAHAHA… PLEEEEHEEE-HEEEEZE ST-HA-HA-HA-HAP… HAHAHA!" she begged.
Kate’s pleas fell on deaf ears, and I continued torturing her. She tried to make a deal with me, but I was tickling her so hard that she couldn’t talk. I lightened my touch, and she managed to speak through a hail of involuntary giggles.
"HAHAHA… hee hee hee... pleeease... you need to staaahahahahap tickling me-hee-hee!” Kate giggled. “Hoo hoo hoo… I swear… hee hee hee… I'll go barefoot in the van… hahaha… you can play with my feet… HAHAHAHAHA… during the ride home… hoo hoo hoo… I promise… hee hee hee!”
I was thrilled with Kate’s offer because the ride home would take more than six hours. I accepted her terms.
“That’s a deal!” I shouted.
Kate went limp on the bed and continued giggling for several minutes. She eventually collected herself and playfully slapped me on the shoulder.
“Okay foot monster,” she giggled. “You need to burn off some energy. Let’s go for a walk behind the hotel.”
The backyard of the hotel was pretty. It boasted flowers and a perfectly managed lawn with a texture comparable to deep-pile carpeting. Kate chose to remain barefoot during our walk.
Several hotel guests were having picnics, and the weather couldn’t have been more perfect. Kate and I walked the grounds and talked about a variety of things, including memories of family vacations from our childhood.
Walking and talking with Kate calmed my foot fetish. Rather than obsessing about her feet, I was enjoying her company and happily chattering away.
Kate and I walked the entire perimeter of the hotel grounds. Although we were having a nice time, there was nothing else to see, so we returned to our room. Our parents weren’t back yet, and Kate glanced at the clock.
“Well, we’ve still got at least two hours to kill,” she said while sitting on the bed. “What should we do?”
“We’ll find something,” I replied. “We could make another shopping trip or just go for a drive.”
Kate was agreeable to my suggestions, but seemed distracted. While sitting on the bed, she noticed the soles of her feet were dirty. Actually, they were almost black - probably because we’d been walking on a dirt trail adjacent to the hotel.
“Before we go anywhere, I need to wash these dirty feet,” she chuckled.
As Kate uttered those words, my foot fetish resurfaced.
“Would you let me wash your feet?” I asked eagerly.
Kate couldn’t believe I was so excited about washing her feet. She thought it was quite funny.
“Of course!” she replied in a giggly voice.
Knowing that Kate was comfortable with my plans, I gleefully scurried around the room gathering my foot massage supplies. There was a chair in the corner, and I placed two large bath towels on the floor in front of it. Kate knew this seat was intended for her, and she made herself comfortable.
I meticulously arranged my collection of foot soaps and lotions beside the chair while Kate watched and laughed. I also made multiple trips to the bathroom, filling the basins with warm water. My plan was to wash Kate’s feet in one basin and rinse them in the other. With all of my supplies in place, I was ready to begin.
I affectionately lowered Kate’s feet into the water. While they soaked, I covered myself with several thick bath towels. Then I gently placed Kate’s feet in my lap and massaged them with floral scented foot soap.
Kate smiled as I applied profuse quantities of luxurious lather with deep, soothing techniques. In essence, I was giving her a foot massage with warm soap and water instead of lotion. Throughout the process, she arched her feet and wiggled her toes.
“This feels heavenly,” she sighed.
While continuing to massage Kate’s feet, I noticed their remarkable softness. Her soles were adorned with intricate wrinkles that fascinated me since childhood. I allowed myself a few minutes to caress them before moving on.
With lather the consistency of shaving cream, I gently kneaded each of Kate’s toes. She looked deeply relaxed.
“That feels wonderful,” she said while smiling. “You’re the only guy I know who gives toe massages.”
Kate was obviously enjoying my efforts, and I saw no reason to stop. I repeatedly massaged her feet from heels to toes and back. Time lost all meaning for me as I became mesmerized by her beautiful feet.
Under different circumstances, Kate would have checked on my progress or made a teasing remark. However, she was enjoying my techniques and chose to remain quiet. My internal clock eventually kicked in, and I realized our parents would be returning in an hour. I needed to move on.
Kate continued smiling as I rinsed her feet with warm water and dried them with a fluffy towel. She also leaned forward and lovingly patted me on the head.
“Sweetie, you really ARE good at this,” she said. “This is wonderful.”
Kate’s words meant a great deal to me, but I wasn’t finished yet. Using my best techniques, I massaged her feet with peppermint foot lotion for five minutes. I concluded the process with a dusting of foot powder to prevent her feet from sticking to her socks.
“Thank you so much,” Kate giggled while hugging me. “Me feet feel so good!”
After my foot massage supplies were put away, Kate decided it would be fun to venture out one more time. We revisited the ice cream shop and a few stores. From there, we took a drive along the waterfront.
Shortly after we returned to our hotel room, our parents got back. Steve was with them. He wanted the opportunity to visit with Kate and me before we left. We shared a pleasant conversation. However, I experienced a moment of mild anxiety as Kate’s mother detected the scent of my foot massage supplies.
“My goodness, this place smells wonderful,” she said while inhaling deeply. “What is that?”
“Um… housekeeping was here,” I said, attempting to muster my best poker face.
Kate’s mother accepted my answer and inquired about our day. Kate gave her the abbreviated version, leaving out any references to feet or tickling. Then we resumed our conversation with Steve.
When it was time to checkout, I volunteered to load everyone’s suitcases in the van. My goal was to completely fill the middle seat, allowing Kate and me to sit in the far back with a row of luggage separating us from our parents. The strategy worked.
My aunt asked why we didn’t sit closer to them. I explained that we were going to talk and play games and didn’t want to disturb them. That explanation satisfied all of the adults, and they didn’t bother us again for the rest of the trip.
The sun had nearly set, and the interior of the van was dark enough so I could play with Kate’s feet without being seen by our parents. At the same time, headlights of passing cars were providing sufficient light to work by. That seemed like a good time to begin.
While grandmother and our parents loudly chattered away, I scooped Kate’s feet into my lap and removed her shoes and socks. She smirked and playfully kicked me. I desperately wanted to tickle her, but delicate methods were required. That’s when I remembered my purchase from the art supply store.
Kate watched with a curious expression as I reached beneath the seat and rummaged through my duffel bag. Her eyes widened when I withdrew a long stiff white feather. I’d never tickled her with a feather, neither of us knew how this would work, and that added to the anticipation.
I firmly grasped Kate’s toes. With methodical strokes, I dragged the feather up and down her soles. She immediately began to twitch and quietly giggle. The tickling inflicted by the feather was relatively gentle and Kate allowed me to continue for more than twenty minutes.
My instincts told me that Kate might not appreciate being tickled for the duration of the trip home. I grabbed a container of unscented foot massage lotion and did my best to pamper her. She appreciated the gesture and we shared a wonderful conversation, which helped pass the time.
Three hours into our journey, grandmother announced she needed a break. Sitting in the van was making her stiff. My parents voiced similar complaints, and Kate’s dad pulled into Highway Haven - a large rest spot with gas pumps, a restaurant, a gift shop, and rooms where truck drivers could rest, do laundry, cook, or watch TV.
Kate giggled, withdrew her feet from my lap, and scrambled to put on her shoes and socks. I tucked my foot massage supplies beneath the seat. Our parents helped grandmother from the van, and we followed them.
The Highway Haven turned out to be somewhat impressive. While grandmother and our parents ordered a meal, Kate and I went exploring. In the TV room, a group of truck drivers were watching an NFL pre-season game. We joined them for the final minutes of the first half.
The gift shop was huge and obviously geared toward tourists. Merchandise and trinkets lined seemingly every wall. In the corner, there were two wax figurine machines. Kate made a bust of Abe Lincoln, while I bought a wax replica of a locomotive.
Across the room from the wax machines, there was a cartoon booth. Some of you may not have seen these… they looked like photo booths, but contained a small video screen. You could climb inside and watch cartoons for fifty cents.
This particular booth was only big enough for one person, but Kate and I were determined to get in there together, the same way we did as children. I entered first, and she awkwardly sprawled across my lap. We watched more than fifteen minutes of the Bugs Bunny - Road Runner Show. When the cartoons ended, we rejoined our parents, who weren’t even half finished with their meal.
Kate was hungry, but the food our parents were eating didn’t appeal to her. I quickly retrieved the cooler of spaghetti from the van, carried it to the truck drivers’ kitchen area, and reheated it. Despite being in a cooler for nine hours, the spaghetti looked and smelled wonderful.
When I returned to the table carrying a large bowl, Kate was curious. It only took her a few seconds to realize where the spaghetti came from, and she squealed with delight. She also expressed her gratitude and insisted on sharing it with me.
Kate and I ate our meal at a leisurely pace. By the time we finished, our parents were ready to leave. They helped grandmother board the van, and we resumed our drive home.
Throughout the weekend, Kate had been very generous about sharing her feet. I decided not to force things. I made no attempts to grab her feet, and waited patiently for her to decide what we’d do for the remainder of the trip.
Kate sat beside me, talking and telling jokes. There was no indication that she intended to let me play with her feet. That was probably for the best. We were still near a city, and streetlights were illuminating the van. If we had engaged in foot play, our parents could have seen us.
When we reached the countryside, the interior of the van once again went dark. That’s when Kate surprised me. She gently nudged me, removed her shoes and socks, and placed her bare feet in my lap. The lights of passing cars provided enough light for me to see her smiling and pointing at my bag of foot massage supplies.
Over the course of ninety minutes, I massaged and caressed Kate’s feet, doing my best to make her feel like she was in a spa. She greatly enjoyed the experience. At one point, she quietly asked me if I’d give her another foot massage the following day. I responded by nodding emphatically.
It seemed there would be no more tickling opportunities for the remainder of the trip, but grandmother unknowingly intervened. She asked Kate’s dad to find a polka station, and I’m sorry to say he found one. The Pennsylvania Polka echoed throughout the van.
Grandmother sealed the deal by forcing our parents to sing along with her. Between their loud voices and the radio station, I knew Kate could giggle without being heard.
Kate could tell I was up to something as I secured her ankles. Before she could question my actions, I dug into her soles with wiggling fingers. She threw her head back and giggled heartily before entering a state of silent laughter. I planned to tickle her until the end of the song, but couldn’t go through with it. She collapsed in a giggling heap when I stopped.
While grandmother and our parents continued singing, Kate smiled and punched me in the shoulder several times. She’d been a wonderful sport about putting up with me, and I decided not to tickle her for the remainder of the trip.
When Kate was ready to trust me with her feet again, I massaged them. She loved my techniques, and being pampered seemed to make up for all of the tickling she endured earlier. She even fell asleep a few times before we reached grandmother’s house.
Sometime during the wee hours of the morning, we pulled into grandmother’s driveway. Kate was noticeably groggy, and I helped her from the van.
“You kids were quiet during the ride home,” my aunt said. “What were you doing back there?”
“Nothing,” Kate replied. “We just kept each other company.”
Kate smirked, winked at me, and we walked to the house. Our parents never suspected a thing… and hopefully they don’t subscribe to the TMF.