I Heard Flip Flops, Part 1
(Posted on Sunday, December 30, 2001)
This story was submitted anonymously by Tock.

No matter how much noise may surround me, I can always detect that wonderful sound of the back of a shoe sole popping against a bare heel. I automatically take notice of who is wearing the flip flops and if there is a tickling opportunity just waiting for me.

I work in an office building and there are about eighty people on my floor. Most are women. Because I may have to go downstairs and meet with a client or get called into a boring meeting with some of the company big shots, I have gotten into the habit of dressing up for work. I'm the exception.

Because just about everyone else spends most of their day in their cubicles, most on my floor wear casual shirts and blue jeans. The summers in Tennessee get pretty hot and that has the girls in the office dressing comfortably .

When I'm at my desk and I hear that flip flop sound, I am up and out of my chair in a matter of seconds, to see who it is and where they sit. This is my starting point, to begin plotting my fun.

Everyone really likes working there (except for the boring meetings with the company big shots) and it is not uncommon to just go to anyone's cubicle and strike up a conversation about work issues or anything.

The first tickling fun instance came on a Thursday. I usually finish work around five, but prefered to work later that night, so I can get though things and be able to get out early on Friday. We do have an evening shift and because most of the company big shots do not stay around, the office staff is far more likely to kick back and get comfortable.

Peggy started working with the company on the exact day I did. We instantly had that in common and it was easy to find conversational ice breakers with her. My desk is close to a water fountain. I heard that great flip flop sound, coming up to get a drink. Then I heard her giving a client's phone number to someone.

I knew she worked into the evening. I knew she would be easy to talk to and I knew it would be easy to get at her feet. Man, was the table set. I couldn't wait until six o'clock!

When I heard the newsman on my transistor say that, "At the sound of the tone, it's 6 p.m.," I figured that it was time for the show to start. There were only a dozen others left in the office when I walked towards Peggy's end of the floor. No one was in any of the nearby cubicles. If I wanted to cut up, I wouldn't disturb anyone else.

When I got to her work space, things were even better than I was expecting. She was wearing jeans and a bright red blouse to go with her bright red hair. But, no flip flops. They were on the floor and she had her bare feet on the left side of her desk. And, there was a chair at that end of the desk. I couldn't have asked for better luck.

I said, "Hi," and told her I was taking a stretch break from my work. She started to sit up and take her feet down, but I told her not to move. She should stay just like and "don't bother on account of me."

She said she was sorting some insurance claim forms in chronological order, as I sat myself into the chair next to her desk. I was just inches from those feet that were crossed at the ankles and I couldn't help but to grab them gently.

"Well, since you're in the perfect position for a foot massage, I'll be perfect and give you one." I said. "You've been working hard all day. You just sit back and relax."

"Thanks. That's really good." she replied. "But, I'm not really working hard today. I've just been sitting on my ass. You're the one who has to tolerate those meetings. I don't see how you stand that shit."

After a little more conversation about work-related junk, she did surprise me by saying that I gave a much better massage than her husband. I didn't know she was married. She doesn't wear a ring. At that point, I uncrossed her ankles and held her feet together, having her bare soles facing right at me. I began to blow up and down her insteps. She started giggling and wiggling her toes.

"Tell me if you can tell what I am spelling." I said to her as I started tracing letters of the alphabet on her right sole. By the second letter, she had her arms wrapped around her head, trying not to burst into laughter.

"Oh gosh, that tickles so bad," she answered. "I couldn't tell what you wrote. Try it-again. I'II try to concentrate."

This time I went to the left foot and slowly traced the same word. Then I blew on her insteps again to get another reaction out of her. She started giggling and shuffling her feet around.

"Did you write my name?" she asked. "It was kind of hard to tell because I am really ticklish."

I told her that she was correct. I started slowly dragging my index fingers up to her toes and down to her heels. We continued a conversation around her laughter. We talked about work hours, how fun it was to work there (except for the boring meetings with the company big shots, and how if she had her way, she wouldn't ever wear any shoes, anywhere, during the  summer.

I began to tickle her with all ten fingers, to see how long she could stand it. I went at it for about 15 seconds, then stopped, because I was afraid that she might fall out of her chair.

We could hear others coming back near the work area and figured that we might need to start getting serious again. I said I would head back to my desk and finish the some more work .

"Oh, my feet feel so good now." she said. "The next time you work late, drop on by, we'll do it again."

I am so glad I heard those flip flops.