In The Summertime
(Published on Tuesday, September 14, 2004)
This story was submitted anonymously.

I had some ups and downs this Summer, even learned a few things.  I had a couple of chances that I blew, and a chance that I didn’t.  So for the tickling fans out there, here was the Summer.

A former bartender, Michelle, at my favorite watering hole still returns to sit on the buying side of the bar.  We became friends while she was tending the bar and remain good friends. The other day she came into the bar for two reasons; One, she saw my truck outside, and two, she had heard that I was about to marry my girlfriend of seven years.

She came in and threw her arms around me and hugged me giving me congratulations.  I of course returned the hug wrapping my arms around her waist, fingers on her ribs.  Without even trying to, I squeezed her and she folded up almost dragging both of us to the floor. Turns out that, in her words, she is “terribly ticklish” everywhere.

So I joked that she was “just a nose to toes ticklish spot.”

Surprisingly she said, “Damn right I am, but we’re going to change the subject because I’m not going into how terribly ticklish my toes and feet are.”

She did change the subject to the details of the marriage, but I couldn’t get my mind off of how ticklish she was.  This could explain why I have never seen her expose her feet by dangling or ever removing her shoes.

Another former bartender, Debbie, also still comes into the bar from time to time as she throws horseshoes and shufflebowls for the bar. A year or better back when she worked there, Montel was on the TV.  The subject was facing your fears, and there was a young lady there who was afraid of, of all things, bare feet. At one point Debbie said she thought feet were “gross,” and when she saw the odd look on my face, she said, “But that could be because my brother always held me down and tickled the soles of my feet until I was in tears.”

A few weeks ago, after the league horseshoe game was over, I happened to stop in at the bar, and she came in barefoot. She sat in the chair next to where I was standing, and placed her feet on the chair I was leaning against. Ever since the day she told me about her brother, I had waited for this chance since I often saw her barefoot.  Her feet were right there, bare, and within striking distance.

I had the plan set in my mind, say something like “Are we comfy?” And then tickle her foot.  I kept trying to work up the nerve. But she suddenly pulled her feet off the stool and ran over to someone else who had just walked into the bar. I blew my window of opportunity, I’m sad to say.

While on vacation this Summer, I met the former girlfriend of my friend’s son.  She was a very sweet girl, about 19 or 20 years old, and her name was Ashley. We did a lot of fishing while there, and on the first day (my girlfriend was with us the first day), I watched her walk about the boat barefoot most of the day. On the second day, things were much the same except she was tired from being out too late the night before, and was spending more time sleeping on the bow of the boat than she was fishing. Face down, her bare feet were hanging off the end, just over the live box (it’s a hole in the boat that allows fresh water to run in to keep the fish alive until you get to shore).

Early in the afternoon my friend caught a nice fluke, so I put down my pole and went to open the live box for him to put his fish in. I made certain that my forearm touched Ashley’s foot as he came up with the fish. My oh my, did she have such nice soft feet!  As my friend was about to put the fluke in, he “slapped” her foot with the tail of the fish.

She complained about it, calling him “mean.”

I closed the box and knew I’d never have a better chance, so I said in a nice whinny voice, “Oh we are sooooooo mean. How’s this for mean?”  And then wiggled my fingers across the sole of her foot.

For 3 days I had been waiting for this chance. I had all of these thoughts of how she’d react to being tickled, from giggles to howling laughter.  All that was dashed, however, is that it turned out that she wasn’t the least bit ticklish on the soles of her feet. Even though I tried to tickle her for a good 3 or 4 seconds, her foot never even so much as moved.

Meanwhile back at the bar, the girlfriend of the head cook, also all of about 20 years old, certainly has ticklish ribs.  I know, because I’ve tickled them a number of times. On one of her off days she came in wearing flip-flops. No John Kerry jokes please. It was the first time I ever saw her feet. She was sitting at the game machine, and was holding her shoe. She was sitting with her leg under her with her foot sticking out in between her toes by the strap.

I sat next to her, waiting only for her to finish her game. Time was important for points, so I didn’t want to be so mean as to disturb her while she was playing.

I was certain she is ticklish on her feet, so I’m all ready to strike the second the game is over, but as luck would have it, the phone rings. It’s for her. She puts her flip-flops back on, and jumps up and tells me to finish her game. Then she heads over to the phone. Another opportunity lost.

The summer was not a total loss however. I was a sub for the horseshoe team this year, and on the last game of the season I was asked to play. I was hopeful that I’d get the chance to tickle Debbie, but although she was barefoot most of the evening, there was never the opportunity to do so.  But another girl on the other team did give the opening.

After the first two games, I was asked if I’d mind switching ends, which made no difference to me. So I tossed my third game from the other end, then waited for the next three games to go by until I would toss my last game. It is a mixed league, and I was against Amy.  She's a very nice, not hard to look at lady, who also, like many of the girls there that night, spent most of the evening walking around barefoot.

After our first match, we started to talk, along with her husband and some of the other team members, but ended up sitting at the picnic table very close to each other, watching the other matches. She had her ankles crossed, right over left, so that the sole of her right foot was very close to my feet. I noticed this because I “accidentally” dropped a cigarette, and leaned over to pick it up.

Her husband was at the other end playing his match, so I came up with the idea that I would at least touch her foot. I let out an “ouch” and reached down towards my ankle, making sure my knuckles scrapped along the sole of her foot just a little bit.

She looked at me and I said, “Sorry, something just bit me.”

She flicked out her foot a couple of times tapping her toes against my hand and said, “OH, I thought you were going to play footsies with me,” and smiled.

There was no way I could let an opening like this pass by as I continued to rub my ankle. So I reached over the very short distance between my ankle and her foot and said, “You mean like this?” Then I lightly danced my fingers across the sole of her foot.

At first I thought, “Oh crap, another Ashley,” because she didn’t react at all. Maybe it was due to the fact she was drinking, but after a few seconds of tickling, she started to wiggle her foot around. Then she grabbed my arm, digging her nails into my skin, almost to the point of drawing blood, and then started to giggle and laugh a bit.

After maybe 15 seconds or so, she finally jerked her feet away from my fingers.  She grabbed my arm with both hands, leaned over and put her head on my shoulder and said, “I can’t believe you just tickled my foot.”

I was feeling my beer and replied, “A bit ticklish are we?  If you don’t believe it, just put them back here and I’ll try again.”

At that point though her husband’s match was over, and he was heading back to the table.  So she said “You wouldn’t dare,” but left her feet out in front of her.

I said, “Don’t bet on it.”  Then the conversation shifted to other things. But it wasn’t over yet. Her husband was on for his last match, and was no longer standing just behind us a game later.

She again crossed her ankles, and started to tap on my ankle with her toes. I love a challenge! She said “S’matter? Not so bold when you’re not being sneaky about it, huh?”

I’m thinking this just can’t be happening to me, but I reached down and said, “Yeah right,” as I started to let my fingers dance across the sole of her foot again. She again grabbed my bicep, foot wiggling about and started to giggle and laugh softly.

She’s smacking her head against my shoulder after about 15 seconds or so and says, “I’m not moving this time.” Her face is looking like it’s about to burst with the effort not to scream, with her teeth clenched very tightly, but to her credit she stayed put. Then without warning I stopped, and moved to her other foot that was very tightly stretched out, and I started tickling that one.

It took only 2 seconds before she let out this loud “EEEEEK!!!!” Lucky for me the place was rather noisy, and no one took notice. She just jerked her feet away. It took her a couple of seconds to catch her breath, all the while she was still gripping my arm and leaning against me. But finally she said. “Oh you are SO bad.”

It ended there. We played our last match, which she won. Maybe I shouldn’t have told her that I’d tickle her again if she beat me?

So although the Summer is pretty much over, there is still better than a month of warm weather left, and who knows if other opportunities will arise?