OldEnglish
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Apr 21, 2001
- Messages
- 239
- Points
- 18
I admit up front I questioned whether I should even post this because it seems as if my luck has almost been TOO good lately. But after about 40 years of not having much to write about - not to mention a host of other obstacles and hurdles in life - maybe Old Lady Fate decided to throw me a bone because I have been on a fortuitous roll as of late. This latest incident occurred on Easter Sunday of all days and involves Erica and Morgan once again.
Some quick backstory. My wife’s family is varying degrees of ULTRA religious. Some attend daily mass and read from the Bible on a nightly basis. Some consistently attend weekly mass and donate time and money to the church. Others even work for the church. Their behavior varies by person, with some shunning you for saying “Oh my gosh” because they believe that even that expression is taking the Lord’s name in vain while others take a more relaxed live-and-let-live approach. Regardless of where each lands, they all generally go all out for the major religious holidays - Easter, of course, being one of them.
Those who have married into the family - myself included - all have varying degrees of involvement. Some just put on a show in support of their spouse. Some have converted to religion. Some consider themselves believers though not necessarily to the degree of my wife’s family. And some just simply don’t believe at all. Erica falls into one of the former categories I mentioned. Morgan falls into the latter.
I only mention any of this religious information to show that Easter Sunday of all days was the absolute last day I would have expected anything noteworthy to occur. And even as I type this now, I am not sure that the mother-in-law has completely gotten over the “spectacle” that took place.
One of the elements of the tickling realm that I most enjoy is the analysis one can do following observation of someone. What made the person do that? Did the instantly regret it? How long had the person been thinking about it? Was it a spur of the moment decision? Those sorts of things… And I must admit that Erica has become a fascinating study in this area over the course of this time. Today was no such exception.
Erica was, of course, dressed for the occasion, as I would have expected her - and everyone else there - to be. She was wearing a pair of black dress pants with a white top - it looked maybe like one of those ‘liquid knit’ type of super soft shirts - and a gray open sweater over it. Today there would be no wondering whether or not she had nylons on for she had chosen to wear a pair of off-black nylons with her outfit.
Now normally nylons would be enough to draw my eye and capture my attention, and to be sure, they certainly did this day on Erica. But what held my attention and ignited my internal analysis into overdrive was the shoes that Erica was wearing this day - a pair of black stiletto high heels.
They weren’t by any means inappropriate; were it not for their height, one could have actually labeled them as conservative in nature. And no doubt, Erica had likely chosen them out of a combination of wanting to match the aesthetic of her wardrobe and also out of a want to gain a few more inches on everyone else at the gathering, as she was clearly on the shorter side of the guests.
But having gotten to know Erica a bit more over these last few months, I also knew that she had very little chance of being able to walk around in those heels throughout the entire day. Though she did wear heels somewhat frequently, a) I had ever seen her in heels of this height before and b) even before our recently-formed friendship, I had always noticed that she would complain about her feet hurting too much from walking around in heels, be it at weddings or other formal events. So it didn’t take a leap for me to come to the realization that those heels were most likely going to be off at some point during the day.
I’ll give credit where credit is due, though. Those heels stayed on a lot longer than I was expecting them to. That they stayed on for as long as they did also allowed a new door to open in my eyes - Erica’s shoeplay abilities. Fueled, no doubt, by the increasing discomfort of walking in those heels - for the shoeplay increased exponentially as the day wore on - Erica was, even if subconsciously and unknowingly, putting on a show.
It was at about the half hour mark that you could tell the heels were already starting to affect Erica. To that point, they had remained glued to her feet without so much as a heel pop or a dangle. But at about the half hour mark, she made her way over to the appetizer table and found herself in conversation with Ally, another sister-in-law who has a minor part later. As the two were talking, I noticed Erica’s right foot slowly starting to fidget a bit in its heel. I’m sure many of you know the fidgeting I mean - the ankle starts to slowly turn a little.. Then the foot is almost on its side, as if to relieve the pressure on the bottom of the foot. Before long, the foot is back upright once again, though this time is starting to slowly slide in and out of the heel. Eventually, Erica’s entire foot was out of the heel, her leg somewhat bent at a 45 degree angle at the knee - almost like a flamingo - the bottom of her nylon sole on full display.
The day went on uneventfully. Almost all of the sisters-in-law were wearing nylons of some kind, so as a nylon aficionado, I wasn’t complaining. Even Morgan was wearing pantyhose. She had worn a dress that had a big belt around the waist paired with a pair of calf high black boots and a pair of suntan pantyhose. Though Morgan wasn’t adamantly opposed to wearing pantyhose that I know of, it wasn’t that often that she wore them - reserving them for special occasions, at least that I saw - so it was a relatively pleasant surprise.
But, onto the tickling (well, sort of)…
After dinner had ended and coffee and dessert had been offered, everyone started making their way to the seating areas to unwind and converse. Erica was one of the first to make her way to the couch - an L couch - plopping herself down at the corner of the “L”. Our mother-in-law took a seat more towards the kitchen area, placing her behind Erica. Erica turned and asked her, “Do you mind if I take off these shoes? I’ve had just about all I can take of them.” The mother-in-law did not mind, having no hard and fast shoes-on or shoes-off policy in her house. Erica reached down and pulled one heel off at a time, flexing her toes a little in the process before putting her legs up on the couch in front of her, her back now against the ‘L’ of the couch.
As to be expected, once one person sits down, a host of others came to join. I had already been sitting on a couch across from the L couch. A sister-in-law who doesn’t factor into the story joined me a few cushions over before moving onto the cushion next to me when her husband sat on her other side. Next was Erica’s husband, who jokingly came in and sat across Erica’s shins. Finally, Ally, from earlier, sat next to Erica while Morgan came over and sat next to Erica’s husband.
Of course, I would not be a loyal TMFer if I didn’t immediately recognize the situation that just presented itself in front of me. Erica was now sitting with her legs stretched out, shoes removed, so that only a pair of nylons were covering her feet. Next to those very feet was Morgan, an individual who had taken great joy recently in discovering how ticklish those same feet were for Erica. And sitting on Erica’s shins, effectively pinning her down and leaving her a sitting duck for whatever machination Morgan may have had in mind, was Erica’s husband.
‘This can’t be happening again,’ I thought to myself.
I, evidently, wasn’t the only one having that very same thought, for as soon as Morgan took her place on the end of the couch next to Erica’s vulnerable feet, Erica began fidgeting, trying to nonchalantly pull her legs out from under her husband while also trying to steal looks around her husband to see if she could get a better glimpse of Morgan, perhaps see what Morgan was up to at the end of the couch.
“Come on, hun,” Erica said, seemingly trying to be as inconspicuous in her actions as possible. “Why don’t you get up so Morgan can have some more room?”
“But I’m comfortable here,” her husband whined, jokingly, evidently his already jocular mood heightened a bit with the consumption of a few beverages.
“I’m fine,” Morgan said, giving no signs that she was up to anything at that point.
“No, I…” began Erica, no doubt flustered that her plot hadn’t gone as planned. “She just…” she stammered, clearly trying to make something up on the fly. “She probably wants more room,” she finally said, unable, really, to even convince herself.
“I’m really fine,” Morgan said.
“See?” Erica’s husband said. “She’s fine. I’m fine. “We’re ALLLL fine,” he said in his best Billy Madison voice.
“I just, uh… OK, if you insist,” Erica said, clearly not able to come up with anything else on the fly and now reduced to simply hoping that Morgan didn’t have anything in mind.
Clearly, though, Erica did NOT think that everything was fine. Though she had stopped trying to talk her husband out of moving and she had stopped trying to pull her legs free, she was still visibly nervous - at least to me anyways. She was fidgeting with her fingers as she nonchalantly tried to maneuver her body into a sitting position that both seemed natural and also allowed her to see what, if anything, Morgan was doing on the other side of her husband.
And as an aside, this is one of the psychological elements of tickling that I most enjoy. This wasn’t necessarily discussed, so this is all conjecture on my part, but here you have a clearly ticklish woman who is worried that she has found herself in a vulnerable ticklish situation and she finds herself in a cross-roads. Does she continue to try to get herself out of this situation to avoid possibly getting tickled? Or would doing so only serve to raise the tickling sense of the would-be ticklers around her? Is she, then, better off to ‘play it cool’, as it were, and just lay there, no matter how vulnerable she may be, while just hoping that no one else takes notice of that vulnerability? It’s such a fascinating element of this whole thing and one in which I would love to be able to follow someone’s thoughts in real time as they plot their best course.
Meanwhile, if Morgan was plotting anything at this time, she certainly wasn’t tipping her cards, as she barely took notice of Erica’s feet sticking out from under Erica’s husband. As much as Erica seemed immensely aware of the vulnerable state that she was in, if Morgan had any perception of it she wasn’t showing it.
Eventually, Erica managed to catch my eye with her eye, as if silently trying to communicate with me. She gave a somewhat panicked look on her face and tried to direct me to her feet with her eyes, trying, desperately it would seem, to not come out and actually say anything out loud. I played dumb initially, furrowing my eyebrow a bit to show that I wasn’t understanding what she meant. Again, she tried to direct my attention to her feet with her eyes, this time adding in the slightest head tilt to focus my attention. Again, though, I played dumb, slightly shaking my head ‘no’ as if I didn’t know what she was referring to. She gave out a light exasperated sigh and, once more, directed my attention to her feet with her eyes, adding in the slight head tilt again but this time also ever so slightly wiggling her toes, hoping that might act as if a lure to a fish. I pretended to realize that I had only just figured out what she meant and I gave her a reassuring head shake as if to suggest that she didn’t have anything to worry about. She looked at me again, as if for confirmation, and I again tried to state that she was in the clear.
Only she wasn’t. Or rather, she had been. Presumably. Up until that final time trying to direct my attention. However, that slight wiggle of her toes had caught not only my attention but also the attention of Morgan, who inconspicuously looked down and noticed Erica’s trapped soles facing her. I could see the proverbial light bulb shining above Morgan’s head as, no doubt, the wheels were starting to spin. I looked back at Erica and noticed that she seemed much more relaxed, as if my suggestion that she had nothing to worry about had actually allayed any of her concerns. For a moment, I felt bad for Erica. Don’t get me wrong; I was still wishing and hoping that Morgan would take advantage of the opportunity in front of her. But I just hoped she wouldn’t do so immediately; I didn’t want Erica to think I had sabotaged her.
Time seemed to stand still for a moment, as people made their idle chit-chat and my mother-in-law continued to fish for compliments for the meal. I, of course, was laser-focused on what was directly across my view, wondering when - not really even if - Morgan was going to strike. Erica had relaxed to the point that it seemed she was hardly even giving any thought to her vulnerability. Whereas before she was glancing nervously in the direction of Morgan and her feet, now she barely even gave them a glimpse, instead engaging in much of the idle chit-chat that was enveloping the room.
I had noticed that.
And Morgan had noticed that, too.
In short time, Erica was completely engulfed in a conversation with the mother-in-law. Because of their positioning, ith the mother-in-law sitting at a kitchen chair that was behind the “L” couch where Erica was sitting, Erica had to twist and contort her body to be able to maintain some semblance of eye contact. Because her husband was sitting on her shins, though, that twisting and contorting was limited to Erica’s upper body only. Thus, Erica found herself with her upper body twisted at an almost 90 degree angle to the right so she could face backwards, with her right arm serving to steady her position by acting as an anchor of sorts in grabbing onto the back of the couch.
This, of course, left poor Erica completely oblivious to what was going on at the other end of the couch, where Morgan sat next to her trapped feet.
And Morgan had noticed this.
Sensing this was the perfect opportunity, both because Erica was oblivious to what Morgan was doing and because it would interrupt Erica talking to the mother-in-law, Morgan determined that now was the time to strike, a sly smile spreading across her face as she took one final glance down at Erica’s feet. Morgan waited until Erica was talking, and then, almost as if she were portraying a cartoon villain, Morgan took the pointer finger of her right hand, bent it into a slight hook, and slowly dragged the nail of that finger up the bottom of Erica’s right foot. The effect was instantaneous .
“Yeah, so then I tried shopping at this other store that didn - AHHHH OH MY GOD!!” Erica screamed mid-sentence, jumping as high as she could considering her husband was on her legs, completely caught off guard by the feeling of Morgan’s nail along the bottom of her foot. Erica’s face turned beet red in embarrassment and the look of panic once again took over her face as she realized that what she had feared happening was actually happening.
“Really?” Erica’s husband said in jest. “Using the Lord’s name in such a way on Easter? Who ARE YOU?” he asked, playfully chiding his wife.
“Yeah,” the mother-in-law agreed, though her tone was no doubt split 50-50 between joking around and being serious given her religious views. “Shouldn’t we be watching our language?”
“Noooo,” Erica said, turning redder by the second. “I’m sorry,” she continued. “I just… Morgan…” she continued, stammering, not knowing if admitting what happened out loud would be better or worse.
“What happened?” asked my wife’s aunt - the mother-in-law’s sister.
A few words about my wife’s aunt. She is a complete busybody, having to be in on everyone’s business, even when it is not her own, and having to be included in everything that is going on. She reminds me a bit of those aunts on that home insurance commercial - Progressive maybe? - where a young couple say they like their house but it came with a lot of ants (aunts) - at least in terms of personality. She is also perilously clutching to her youth. I believe she’s in her early 50s, and though she dresses appropriately for her age, she does try to look as glamorous as she can. And to be sure, I’m sure she was very popular in her youth. Where it’s my wife’s aunt, I won’t go so far as to say she was attractive in her younger days, but I’m sure many others would have said just that. But she also knows that those days are drawing to an end, so she goes out of her way to act “cool”.
“I don’t know what she’s blaming me for,” Morgan said, playing the innocent game and making Erica even more flustered. “I didn’t do anything,” she said.
Erica’s mouth dropped in shock. “You little…” Erica said in disbelief.
“What happened?” my wife’s aunt asked again, not letting the subject drop – true to her form.
“She tickled my foot,” Erica said, finally saying the words out loud.
My wife’s aunt looked to Morgan for confirmation. Morgan shrugged her shoulders and gave a smile, silently admitting to the accusations.
“Oh, so she tickled your foot?” my wife’s aunt asked Erica, seeking double-confirmation for some reason.
“Yeah,” Erica said sheepishly, clearly wanting this conversation to come to a close.
“And you’re ticklish?” my wife’s aunt asked Erica. As annoying as my wife’s aunt is on a day-to-day basis, I was quite thankful for this part of her personality at this point. She wasn’t going to let Erica off the hook easily.
“Sort of,” Erica said, barely above a whisper, clearly not knowing what the best thing to say was. I could tell that this was Erica’s worst nightmare coming true - again. Clearly she was ticklish. She wouldn’t have just jumped out of her skin a moment ago if she weren’t.
“Sort of??” Morgan asked in disbelief, clearly having no intention of letting Erica downplay her level of ticklishness. To prove her point, Morgan briefly skittered her fingers along the soles of both of Erica’s upturned feet one more time.
Erica jumped again, screaming, “NO! MORGAN DON’T!” between laughter. Everyone else in the room laughed, as well. “Get off of me,” Erica said to her husband as she regained her composure, trying her best to push him off of her legs, though her small stature provided her little leverage.
“But I’m comfortable,” Erica’s husband said, refusing to get up.
“Only sort of?” my wife’s aunt asked, echoing Morgan’s disbelief as she walked over closer to where Morgan was sitting. Alarm bells rang in Erica’s head as she saw my wife’s aunt approaching.
“No, Auntie, don’t,” Erica said, trying desperately to pull her legs out from under her husband to avoid the incoming tickle attack. “Get off! Get off!!!” she yelled at her husband again, punching him in the arm to emphasize her message.
“Owww!” her husband screamed, in fake pain. “Good! You deserve this,” he said as he watched his aunt bend over and begin her attack.
“NOOO!” Erica screamed before dissolving into a fit of laughter as my wife’s aunt’s nails danced along the bottom of both of Erica’s feet. With her husband on top of her legs, not only could Erica not pull her legs away, but she also couldn’t gain enough movement to use one foot to cover the other. Instead, both of Erica’s feet just say there, unprotected, giving my wife’s aunt free reign to tickle as she pleased.
Erica was instantly a mess. What I would have given to be able to hear her thoughts at the precise moment. The tickling from my wife’s aunt had barely latest for more than five seconds at this point, but Erica was already frantically trying to use whatever energy she still had before losing it to laughter to try to free herself from this situation - all to no avail. She was too small, too weak, and laughing too much already to free herself.
“This looks more than just sort of ticklish to me,” my wife’s aunt taunted, no doubt internally enjoying, to some degree, being able to “get one over” on the younger generation, as it were.
“OK OK!!” Erica screamed through laughter. “I’M TICKLISH!! PLEASE STOP!!!” she begged, the words barely audible past her incessant laughter.
My wife’s aunt halted her tickling after about maybe fifteen seconds of tickling and started walking back to her seat. As she passed Ally, my wife’s aunt said, “She really IS ticklish,” as if anyone in the room needed convincing of that fact. My wife’s aunt walked with a smug smile on her face, evidently very pleased with herself in getting Erica to admit to being ticklish.
“Seeee?” Morgan said, as if my wife’s aunt’s tickling had exonerated her from her own tickle of Erica’s feet. “Now you can see why I have to do what I have to do,” she said out loud. Though she didn’t actually say what it was she had to do, everyone in the room knew - especially Erica.
“NO!” Erica begged, pleading for mercy. “Morgan, don’t,” she implored. “Please?”
Morgan just smiled at Erica.
“Morgan…” Erica said quietly, trying to make one last push for mercy but realizing it was falling on deaf ears. The look of desperation was clear on her face.
“Yes, Erica?” Morgan asked, pretending to not know what Erica was referring to.
“Morgan, just please do— OH GOD, NO!” she exploded, losing her sentence midway and dissolving into yet another fit of laughter.
Having just endured roughly fifteen seconds of tickle torture already, Erica’s defense mechanisms - what little she had - were already exhausted and now she could do nothing but sit there and laugh. And laugh. And laugh. This round of tickling hadn’t even lasted ten seconds in length yet, but Erica was already near her end.
“Is she really this ticklish?” Ally asked, though I’m not sure if even Ally knew whether she was asking Erica’s husband or Morgan for confirmation.
“I’d say she is,” Morgan said, noticing that Erica’s husband wasn’t answering.
Erica, meanwhile, was at her wit’s end. Unable to gain any leverage to pull her legs away or to even cover her feet, all she could do was pound her fists repeatedly into the couch. Her eyes clenched shut through the laughter, tears were beginning to roll down her cheeks as she twisted and turned her upper body back and forth, anything to try to block out the ticklish sensation.
Morgan, it would seem, was becoming quite the pro at this, as she was admittedly rather expertly going to town on the bottom of Erica’s feet. Of course, that Erica lay so prone and vulnerable to this attack no doubt made the process easier. Still, though, Morgan was making sure to leave no spot untickled as her fingernails slid up and down the bottom of Erica’s ticklish soles. Evidently, Morgan had found Erica’s arches to be a favorite spot to target, for she made sure to pause for a moment and focus the tickle attack in those areas as her fingers danced across. It had been maybe twenty-five seconds of this tickle attack at this point, but Erica was clearly broken.
“This is literally my worst nightmare,” Ally said out of the blue, capturing a portion of my attention from Morgan’s tickle assault. “Like, I’m pretty sure I would actually die if this happened to me,” she confessed.
“I know, right?” Morgan said rhetorically as she continued tickling poor Erica.
My mind began racing. Clearly that was an admission from Ally. There was no other way to interpret that. But had Morgan also just admitted to being ticklish, as well? I looked over to Ally quickly. Was anyone going to do anything about that?
Finally, Morgan stopped her tickle attack, coming in just shy, I’d say of thirty seconds in total. Erica lay on the couch panting, trying desperately to catch her breath. Her husband got up off of her, allowing Erica to pull her legs in closer to her body, protecting them.
“Aww, you poor thing,” Ally said, consoling Erica as she composed herself.
Morgan got up and went over to her husband, proud of her accomplishments. I got up and went over to the restroom, needing a moment or two to recompose myself.
Eventually later in the night, Erica and I found ourselves sitting next to each other at the table, moderately away from anyone else. She jokingly slapped me on the arm.
“Thanks for the help earlier,” she said.
“What was I supposed to do?” I asked.
“Stop them?” she stated, matter-of-factly through clearly jokingly.
“They seemed so determined,” I said, trying to explain why I hadn’t stepped in. I mean, it wasn’t my place to step in, really, even if I weren’t already thinking about writing this story on the TMF.
“Yeah, determined,” she said with a small laugh before her tone changed somewhat to a slightly more serious tone. “It’s not fair,” she said.
“What?” I asked.
“She always goes for my feet,” Erica said, clearly having not gotten over what happened earlier.
“Oh,” I said, trying to quickly gauge how serious a conversation this was going to be. “Well, she knows it’s your weak spot,” I said, not sure what else to really say.
“Yeah,” she said, almost to herself. “I just wish she didn’t know,” she added, finally snapping out of her mini-trance.
“I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” I said.
“It’s just so embarrassing,” Erica said with a sigh.
“I actually think it’s one of your better traits,” I said, grabbing a strawberry from the tray in frot of us.
“Shut up,” she said with a laugh.
"No, I mean it,” I said. “It’s real. Authentic. It’s you,” I said.
“Well… thanks,” she said. “I appreciate that.”
“What else are therapists for?” I asked
And that’s about it. The entire tickling portion lasted less than a minute. Our conversation less than a minute, as well. I hope you don’t mind my wordiness. I’ve received some feedback from people that I wrote TOO much, so I guess you can’t please everyone.
I’m not sure what else lays ahead in terms of this saga. With temperatures into the high 80s up here the last few days, I’m sure the days of nylons are drawing to a close. But I’m also sure that those will be replaced with days of sandals and flip flops and bare feet, so who knows… I’ll just happily remain a bystander and at the ready to report anything else that I should see.
Some quick backstory. My wife’s family is varying degrees of ULTRA religious. Some attend daily mass and read from the Bible on a nightly basis. Some consistently attend weekly mass and donate time and money to the church. Others even work for the church. Their behavior varies by person, with some shunning you for saying “Oh my gosh” because they believe that even that expression is taking the Lord’s name in vain while others take a more relaxed live-and-let-live approach. Regardless of where each lands, they all generally go all out for the major religious holidays - Easter, of course, being one of them.
Those who have married into the family - myself included - all have varying degrees of involvement. Some just put on a show in support of their spouse. Some have converted to religion. Some consider themselves believers though not necessarily to the degree of my wife’s family. And some just simply don’t believe at all. Erica falls into one of the former categories I mentioned. Morgan falls into the latter.
I only mention any of this religious information to show that Easter Sunday of all days was the absolute last day I would have expected anything noteworthy to occur. And even as I type this now, I am not sure that the mother-in-law has completely gotten over the “spectacle” that took place.
One of the elements of the tickling realm that I most enjoy is the analysis one can do following observation of someone. What made the person do that? Did the instantly regret it? How long had the person been thinking about it? Was it a spur of the moment decision? Those sorts of things… And I must admit that Erica has become a fascinating study in this area over the course of this time. Today was no such exception.
Erica was, of course, dressed for the occasion, as I would have expected her - and everyone else there - to be. She was wearing a pair of black dress pants with a white top - it looked maybe like one of those ‘liquid knit’ type of super soft shirts - and a gray open sweater over it. Today there would be no wondering whether or not she had nylons on for she had chosen to wear a pair of off-black nylons with her outfit.
Now normally nylons would be enough to draw my eye and capture my attention, and to be sure, they certainly did this day on Erica. But what held my attention and ignited my internal analysis into overdrive was the shoes that Erica was wearing this day - a pair of black stiletto high heels.
They weren’t by any means inappropriate; were it not for their height, one could have actually labeled them as conservative in nature. And no doubt, Erica had likely chosen them out of a combination of wanting to match the aesthetic of her wardrobe and also out of a want to gain a few more inches on everyone else at the gathering, as she was clearly on the shorter side of the guests.
But having gotten to know Erica a bit more over these last few months, I also knew that she had very little chance of being able to walk around in those heels throughout the entire day. Though she did wear heels somewhat frequently, a) I had ever seen her in heels of this height before and b) even before our recently-formed friendship, I had always noticed that she would complain about her feet hurting too much from walking around in heels, be it at weddings or other formal events. So it didn’t take a leap for me to come to the realization that those heels were most likely going to be off at some point during the day.
I’ll give credit where credit is due, though. Those heels stayed on a lot longer than I was expecting them to. That they stayed on for as long as they did also allowed a new door to open in my eyes - Erica’s shoeplay abilities. Fueled, no doubt, by the increasing discomfort of walking in those heels - for the shoeplay increased exponentially as the day wore on - Erica was, even if subconsciously and unknowingly, putting on a show.
It was at about the half hour mark that you could tell the heels were already starting to affect Erica. To that point, they had remained glued to her feet without so much as a heel pop or a dangle. But at about the half hour mark, she made her way over to the appetizer table and found herself in conversation with Ally, another sister-in-law who has a minor part later. As the two were talking, I noticed Erica’s right foot slowly starting to fidget a bit in its heel. I’m sure many of you know the fidgeting I mean - the ankle starts to slowly turn a little.. Then the foot is almost on its side, as if to relieve the pressure on the bottom of the foot. Before long, the foot is back upright once again, though this time is starting to slowly slide in and out of the heel. Eventually, Erica’s entire foot was out of the heel, her leg somewhat bent at a 45 degree angle at the knee - almost like a flamingo - the bottom of her nylon sole on full display.
The day went on uneventfully. Almost all of the sisters-in-law were wearing nylons of some kind, so as a nylon aficionado, I wasn’t complaining. Even Morgan was wearing pantyhose. She had worn a dress that had a big belt around the waist paired with a pair of calf high black boots and a pair of suntan pantyhose. Though Morgan wasn’t adamantly opposed to wearing pantyhose that I know of, it wasn’t that often that she wore them - reserving them for special occasions, at least that I saw - so it was a relatively pleasant surprise.
But, onto the tickling (well, sort of)…
After dinner had ended and coffee and dessert had been offered, everyone started making their way to the seating areas to unwind and converse. Erica was one of the first to make her way to the couch - an L couch - plopping herself down at the corner of the “L”. Our mother-in-law took a seat more towards the kitchen area, placing her behind Erica. Erica turned and asked her, “Do you mind if I take off these shoes? I’ve had just about all I can take of them.” The mother-in-law did not mind, having no hard and fast shoes-on or shoes-off policy in her house. Erica reached down and pulled one heel off at a time, flexing her toes a little in the process before putting her legs up on the couch in front of her, her back now against the ‘L’ of the couch.
As to be expected, once one person sits down, a host of others came to join. I had already been sitting on a couch across from the L couch. A sister-in-law who doesn’t factor into the story joined me a few cushions over before moving onto the cushion next to me when her husband sat on her other side. Next was Erica’s husband, who jokingly came in and sat across Erica’s shins. Finally, Ally, from earlier, sat next to Erica while Morgan came over and sat next to Erica’s husband.
Of course, I would not be a loyal TMFer if I didn’t immediately recognize the situation that just presented itself in front of me. Erica was now sitting with her legs stretched out, shoes removed, so that only a pair of nylons were covering her feet. Next to those very feet was Morgan, an individual who had taken great joy recently in discovering how ticklish those same feet were for Erica. And sitting on Erica’s shins, effectively pinning her down and leaving her a sitting duck for whatever machination Morgan may have had in mind, was Erica’s husband.
‘This can’t be happening again,’ I thought to myself.
I, evidently, wasn’t the only one having that very same thought, for as soon as Morgan took her place on the end of the couch next to Erica’s vulnerable feet, Erica began fidgeting, trying to nonchalantly pull her legs out from under her husband while also trying to steal looks around her husband to see if she could get a better glimpse of Morgan, perhaps see what Morgan was up to at the end of the couch.
“Come on, hun,” Erica said, seemingly trying to be as inconspicuous in her actions as possible. “Why don’t you get up so Morgan can have some more room?”
“But I’m comfortable here,” her husband whined, jokingly, evidently his already jocular mood heightened a bit with the consumption of a few beverages.
“I’m fine,” Morgan said, giving no signs that she was up to anything at that point.
“No, I…” began Erica, no doubt flustered that her plot hadn’t gone as planned. “She just…” she stammered, clearly trying to make something up on the fly. “She probably wants more room,” she finally said, unable, really, to even convince herself.
“I’m really fine,” Morgan said.
“See?” Erica’s husband said. “She’s fine. I’m fine. “We’re ALLLL fine,” he said in his best Billy Madison voice.
“I just, uh… OK, if you insist,” Erica said, clearly not able to come up with anything else on the fly and now reduced to simply hoping that Morgan didn’t have anything in mind.
Clearly, though, Erica did NOT think that everything was fine. Though she had stopped trying to talk her husband out of moving and she had stopped trying to pull her legs free, she was still visibly nervous - at least to me anyways. She was fidgeting with her fingers as she nonchalantly tried to maneuver her body into a sitting position that both seemed natural and also allowed her to see what, if anything, Morgan was doing on the other side of her husband.
And as an aside, this is one of the psychological elements of tickling that I most enjoy. This wasn’t necessarily discussed, so this is all conjecture on my part, but here you have a clearly ticklish woman who is worried that she has found herself in a vulnerable ticklish situation and she finds herself in a cross-roads. Does she continue to try to get herself out of this situation to avoid possibly getting tickled? Or would doing so only serve to raise the tickling sense of the would-be ticklers around her? Is she, then, better off to ‘play it cool’, as it were, and just lay there, no matter how vulnerable she may be, while just hoping that no one else takes notice of that vulnerability? It’s such a fascinating element of this whole thing and one in which I would love to be able to follow someone’s thoughts in real time as they plot their best course.
Meanwhile, if Morgan was plotting anything at this time, she certainly wasn’t tipping her cards, as she barely took notice of Erica’s feet sticking out from under Erica’s husband. As much as Erica seemed immensely aware of the vulnerable state that she was in, if Morgan had any perception of it she wasn’t showing it.
Eventually, Erica managed to catch my eye with her eye, as if silently trying to communicate with me. She gave a somewhat panicked look on her face and tried to direct me to her feet with her eyes, trying, desperately it would seem, to not come out and actually say anything out loud. I played dumb initially, furrowing my eyebrow a bit to show that I wasn’t understanding what she meant. Again, she tried to direct my attention to her feet with her eyes, this time adding in the slightest head tilt to focus my attention. Again, though, I played dumb, slightly shaking my head ‘no’ as if I didn’t know what she was referring to. She gave out a light exasperated sigh and, once more, directed my attention to her feet with her eyes, adding in the slight head tilt again but this time also ever so slightly wiggling her toes, hoping that might act as if a lure to a fish. I pretended to realize that I had only just figured out what she meant and I gave her a reassuring head shake as if to suggest that she didn’t have anything to worry about. She looked at me again, as if for confirmation, and I again tried to state that she was in the clear.
Only she wasn’t. Or rather, she had been. Presumably. Up until that final time trying to direct my attention. However, that slight wiggle of her toes had caught not only my attention but also the attention of Morgan, who inconspicuously looked down and noticed Erica’s trapped soles facing her. I could see the proverbial light bulb shining above Morgan’s head as, no doubt, the wheels were starting to spin. I looked back at Erica and noticed that she seemed much more relaxed, as if my suggestion that she had nothing to worry about had actually allayed any of her concerns. For a moment, I felt bad for Erica. Don’t get me wrong; I was still wishing and hoping that Morgan would take advantage of the opportunity in front of her. But I just hoped she wouldn’t do so immediately; I didn’t want Erica to think I had sabotaged her.
Time seemed to stand still for a moment, as people made their idle chit-chat and my mother-in-law continued to fish for compliments for the meal. I, of course, was laser-focused on what was directly across my view, wondering when - not really even if - Morgan was going to strike. Erica had relaxed to the point that it seemed she was hardly even giving any thought to her vulnerability. Whereas before she was glancing nervously in the direction of Morgan and her feet, now she barely even gave them a glimpse, instead engaging in much of the idle chit-chat that was enveloping the room.
I had noticed that.
And Morgan had noticed that, too.
In short time, Erica was completely engulfed in a conversation with the mother-in-law. Because of their positioning, ith the mother-in-law sitting at a kitchen chair that was behind the “L” couch where Erica was sitting, Erica had to twist and contort her body to be able to maintain some semblance of eye contact. Because her husband was sitting on her shins, though, that twisting and contorting was limited to Erica’s upper body only. Thus, Erica found herself with her upper body twisted at an almost 90 degree angle to the right so she could face backwards, with her right arm serving to steady her position by acting as an anchor of sorts in grabbing onto the back of the couch.
This, of course, left poor Erica completely oblivious to what was going on at the other end of the couch, where Morgan sat next to her trapped feet.
And Morgan had noticed this.
Sensing this was the perfect opportunity, both because Erica was oblivious to what Morgan was doing and because it would interrupt Erica talking to the mother-in-law, Morgan determined that now was the time to strike, a sly smile spreading across her face as she took one final glance down at Erica’s feet. Morgan waited until Erica was talking, and then, almost as if she were portraying a cartoon villain, Morgan took the pointer finger of her right hand, bent it into a slight hook, and slowly dragged the nail of that finger up the bottom of Erica’s right foot. The effect was instantaneous .
“Yeah, so then I tried shopping at this other store that didn - AHHHH OH MY GOD!!” Erica screamed mid-sentence, jumping as high as she could considering her husband was on her legs, completely caught off guard by the feeling of Morgan’s nail along the bottom of her foot. Erica’s face turned beet red in embarrassment and the look of panic once again took over her face as she realized that what she had feared happening was actually happening.
“Really?” Erica’s husband said in jest. “Using the Lord’s name in such a way on Easter? Who ARE YOU?” he asked, playfully chiding his wife.
“Yeah,” the mother-in-law agreed, though her tone was no doubt split 50-50 between joking around and being serious given her religious views. “Shouldn’t we be watching our language?”
“Noooo,” Erica said, turning redder by the second. “I’m sorry,” she continued. “I just… Morgan…” she continued, stammering, not knowing if admitting what happened out loud would be better or worse.
“What happened?” asked my wife’s aunt - the mother-in-law’s sister.
A few words about my wife’s aunt. She is a complete busybody, having to be in on everyone’s business, even when it is not her own, and having to be included in everything that is going on. She reminds me a bit of those aunts on that home insurance commercial - Progressive maybe? - where a young couple say they like their house but it came with a lot of ants (aunts) - at least in terms of personality. She is also perilously clutching to her youth. I believe she’s in her early 50s, and though she dresses appropriately for her age, she does try to look as glamorous as she can. And to be sure, I’m sure she was very popular in her youth. Where it’s my wife’s aunt, I won’t go so far as to say she was attractive in her younger days, but I’m sure many others would have said just that. But she also knows that those days are drawing to an end, so she goes out of her way to act “cool”.
“I don’t know what she’s blaming me for,” Morgan said, playing the innocent game and making Erica even more flustered. “I didn’t do anything,” she said.
Erica’s mouth dropped in shock. “You little…” Erica said in disbelief.
“What happened?” my wife’s aunt asked again, not letting the subject drop – true to her form.
“She tickled my foot,” Erica said, finally saying the words out loud.
My wife’s aunt looked to Morgan for confirmation. Morgan shrugged her shoulders and gave a smile, silently admitting to the accusations.
“Oh, so she tickled your foot?” my wife’s aunt asked Erica, seeking double-confirmation for some reason.
“Yeah,” Erica said sheepishly, clearly wanting this conversation to come to a close.
“And you’re ticklish?” my wife’s aunt asked Erica. As annoying as my wife’s aunt is on a day-to-day basis, I was quite thankful for this part of her personality at this point. She wasn’t going to let Erica off the hook easily.
“Sort of,” Erica said, barely above a whisper, clearly not knowing what the best thing to say was. I could tell that this was Erica’s worst nightmare coming true - again. Clearly she was ticklish. She wouldn’t have just jumped out of her skin a moment ago if she weren’t.
“Sort of??” Morgan asked in disbelief, clearly having no intention of letting Erica downplay her level of ticklishness. To prove her point, Morgan briefly skittered her fingers along the soles of both of Erica’s upturned feet one more time.
Erica jumped again, screaming, “NO! MORGAN DON’T!” between laughter. Everyone else in the room laughed, as well. “Get off of me,” Erica said to her husband as she regained her composure, trying her best to push him off of her legs, though her small stature provided her little leverage.
“But I’m comfortable,” Erica’s husband said, refusing to get up.
“Only sort of?” my wife’s aunt asked, echoing Morgan’s disbelief as she walked over closer to where Morgan was sitting. Alarm bells rang in Erica’s head as she saw my wife’s aunt approaching.
“No, Auntie, don’t,” Erica said, trying desperately to pull her legs out from under her husband to avoid the incoming tickle attack. “Get off! Get off!!!” she yelled at her husband again, punching him in the arm to emphasize her message.
“Owww!” her husband screamed, in fake pain. “Good! You deserve this,” he said as he watched his aunt bend over and begin her attack.
“NOOO!” Erica screamed before dissolving into a fit of laughter as my wife’s aunt’s nails danced along the bottom of both of Erica’s feet. With her husband on top of her legs, not only could Erica not pull her legs away, but she also couldn’t gain enough movement to use one foot to cover the other. Instead, both of Erica’s feet just say there, unprotected, giving my wife’s aunt free reign to tickle as she pleased.
Erica was instantly a mess. What I would have given to be able to hear her thoughts at the precise moment. The tickling from my wife’s aunt had barely latest for more than five seconds at this point, but Erica was already frantically trying to use whatever energy she still had before losing it to laughter to try to free herself from this situation - all to no avail. She was too small, too weak, and laughing too much already to free herself.
“This looks more than just sort of ticklish to me,” my wife’s aunt taunted, no doubt internally enjoying, to some degree, being able to “get one over” on the younger generation, as it were.
“OK OK!!” Erica screamed through laughter. “I’M TICKLISH!! PLEASE STOP!!!” she begged, the words barely audible past her incessant laughter.
My wife’s aunt halted her tickling after about maybe fifteen seconds of tickling and started walking back to her seat. As she passed Ally, my wife’s aunt said, “She really IS ticklish,” as if anyone in the room needed convincing of that fact. My wife’s aunt walked with a smug smile on her face, evidently very pleased with herself in getting Erica to admit to being ticklish.
“Seeee?” Morgan said, as if my wife’s aunt’s tickling had exonerated her from her own tickle of Erica’s feet. “Now you can see why I have to do what I have to do,” she said out loud. Though she didn’t actually say what it was she had to do, everyone in the room knew - especially Erica.
“NO!” Erica begged, pleading for mercy. “Morgan, don’t,” she implored. “Please?”
Morgan just smiled at Erica.
“Morgan…” Erica said quietly, trying to make one last push for mercy but realizing it was falling on deaf ears. The look of desperation was clear on her face.
“Yes, Erica?” Morgan asked, pretending to not know what Erica was referring to.
“Morgan, just please do— OH GOD, NO!” she exploded, losing her sentence midway and dissolving into yet another fit of laughter.
Having just endured roughly fifteen seconds of tickle torture already, Erica’s defense mechanisms - what little she had - were already exhausted and now she could do nothing but sit there and laugh. And laugh. And laugh. This round of tickling hadn’t even lasted ten seconds in length yet, but Erica was already near her end.
“Is she really this ticklish?” Ally asked, though I’m not sure if even Ally knew whether she was asking Erica’s husband or Morgan for confirmation.
“I’d say she is,” Morgan said, noticing that Erica’s husband wasn’t answering.
Erica, meanwhile, was at her wit’s end. Unable to gain any leverage to pull her legs away or to even cover her feet, all she could do was pound her fists repeatedly into the couch. Her eyes clenched shut through the laughter, tears were beginning to roll down her cheeks as she twisted and turned her upper body back and forth, anything to try to block out the ticklish sensation.
Morgan, it would seem, was becoming quite the pro at this, as she was admittedly rather expertly going to town on the bottom of Erica’s feet. Of course, that Erica lay so prone and vulnerable to this attack no doubt made the process easier. Still, though, Morgan was making sure to leave no spot untickled as her fingernails slid up and down the bottom of Erica’s ticklish soles. Evidently, Morgan had found Erica’s arches to be a favorite spot to target, for she made sure to pause for a moment and focus the tickle attack in those areas as her fingers danced across. It had been maybe twenty-five seconds of this tickle attack at this point, but Erica was clearly broken.
“This is literally my worst nightmare,” Ally said out of the blue, capturing a portion of my attention from Morgan’s tickle assault. “Like, I’m pretty sure I would actually die if this happened to me,” she confessed.
“I know, right?” Morgan said rhetorically as she continued tickling poor Erica.
My mind began racing. Clearly that was an admission from Ally. There was no other way to interpret that. But had Morgan also just admitted to being ticklish, as well? I looked over to Ally quickly. Was anyone going to do anything about that?
Finally, Morgan stopped her tickle attack, coming in just shy, I’d say of thirty seconds in total. Erica lay on the couch panting, trying desperately to catch her breath. Her husband got up off of her, allowing Erica to pull her legs in closer to her body, protecting them.
“Aww, you poor thing,” Ally said, consoling Erica as she composed herself.
Morgan got up and went over to her husband, proud of her accomplishments. I got up and went over to the restroom, needing a moment or two to recompose myself.
Eventually later in the night, Erica and I found ourselves sitting next to each other at the table, moderately away from anyone else. She jokingly slapped me on the arm.
“Thanks for the help earlier,” she said.
“What was I supposed to do?” I asked.
“Stop them?” she stated, matter-of-factly through clearly jokingly.
“They seemed so determined,” I said, trying to explain why I hadn’t stepped in. I mean, it wasn’t my place to step in, really, even if I weren’t already thinking about writing this story on the TMF.
“Yeah, determined,” she said with a small laugh before her tone changed somewhat to a slightly more serious tone. “It’s not fair,” she said.
“What?” I asked.
“She always goes for my feet,” Erica said, clearly having not gotten over what happened earlier.
“Oh,” I said, trying to quickly gauge how serious a conversation this was going to be. “Well, she knows it’s your weak spot,” I said, not sure what else to really say.
“Yeah,” she said, almost to herself. “I just wish she didn’t know,” she added, finally snapping out of her mini-trance.
“I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” I said.
“It’s just so embarrassing,” Erica said with a sigh.
“I actually think it’s one of your better traits,” I said, grabbing a strawberry from the tray in frot of us.
“Shut up,” she said with a laugh.
"No, I mean it,” I said. “It’s real. Authentic. It’s you,” I said.
“Well… thanks,” she said. “I appreciate that.”
“What else are therapists for?” I asked
And that’s about it. The entire tickling portion lasted less than a minute. Our conversation less than a minute, as well. I hope you don’t mind my wordiness. I’ve received some feedback from people that I wrote TOO much, so I guess you can’t please everyone.
I’m not sure what else lays ahead in terms of this saga. With temperatures into the high 80s up here the last few days, I’m sure the days of nylons are drawing to a close. But I’m also sure that those will be replaced with days of sandals and flip flops and bare feet, so who knows… I’ll just happily remain a bystander and at the ready to report anything else that I should see.
Thanks for sharing your experience here. 
