I don’t know whether I’d say this is a favorite tickling memory, but it definitely was a formative experience. Not just for me, but also for the involved ’lee. Fair warning, the ‘lee in this story is my cousin. That being the case, neither party sought sexual gratification from the encounter.
Samantha and I never lived in the same city as children. Hell, we never even lived in the same state. My parents moved far from either of their families for the sake of my father’s career. So I only spent time with Samantha during holidays and summer reunions. We were five months apart in age, which kept us friendly in spite of the infrequent visits. We’d reconnect on each occasion with all sorts of games. Cards, trivia, puzzles… And tickling. Neither of us understood the impact of the last activity. We were both ticklish, and we had fun making each other laugh. That was as much as we thought about it.
By the time Samantha and I reached young adulthood, we were both living in Alabama. Finally. It was nice being less than 5 hours from the nearest family members. I rather enjoyed my bachelor apartment in Birmingham, too. I had a few pieces of workout equipment spaced around it. A sit-up bench, a pull-up bar, a couple dumbbells… Otherwise, my only furniture was two loaded bookshelves, a couch, and a bed. Samantha bought a small house further south, but she was easily within driving distance for day trips.
One autumn weekend shortly after we had settled into our working lives, Samantha decided she needed a night to unwind. She called me, and I suggested that she spend the night in Birmingham. We planned to walk to some of the bars close to my neighborhood. I offered her my couch for as long as it took to sleep off the hangover, which she gladly accepted. About an hour after she arrived at my door, we were ordering beers and pizza at a nearby restaurant.
Fast forward a few hours, Samantha and I caught a cab back to my apartment building. We fell onto the bed almost as soon as we were inside my front door. Then we started having one of those pseudo-philosophical conversations often inspired by large amounts of alcohol. And, out of nowhere, Samantha takes notice of my pull-up bar, which hung off the frame of the bedroom door, and asks how many pull-up’s can I do. I proceed to crank out about 20 before surrendering to gravity. She springs off the bed to give it a try…
Samantha is probably around 5’9” tall, and she has a curvy build. She’s not heavy, mind you. She just has a plump rear and big boobs. Like, DD or E. (I never explicitly asked about it.) She was only able to complete a few pull-up’s on her own, so I offered to help her get to 5. Unfortunately, as I grabbed around her ribs and lifted her, my hands slipped and shot up close to her armpits. She let go of the bar in surprise. I asked if I had tickled her, and she replied that she thought I was trying to attack her while she was vulnerable. I told her it wasn’t intentional, not like when we were kids. Samantha told me she remembered how we used to challenge each other’s resolve with light tickles. She said that she always felt her skin tingling long after the games ended.
I caught the spark in her eye as Samantha suggested we play a tickling game for nostalgia’s sake. She might have caught the spark in my eye when I agreed. I told her that we should probably change into our sleepwear before starting the game, though, just in case we wore ourselves out laughing. Samantha came out of the bathroom in a tank top and flannel pajama pants. I put on a pair of gym shorts and a t-shirt.
Samantha asked me how the game should start. She kept raising her arms to run her hands along the pull-up bar, so I asked her to grab hold of the bar with both hands and to do her best not to let go. She did so. I examined some of her open ticklish spots, letting my fingertips drag along her belly and sides. She subdued a giggle trying to escape her lips. I walked behind her. My fingers moved up and down her back to give her chills, and I made a few casual comments… “Do you think you’re still as ticklish as you were when we were kids? How long do you give yourself before you surrender?”
My eyes kept scanning Samantha’s upper body. Her underarms were bare and smooth, inviting to my eager fingers. With the bottom hem of her tank top now sitting above the waist of her pajama bottoms, I could see a strip of her lower belly. And, finally slowing my mind enough to notice, I could see by the smooth swells and the outlines of her nipples beneath the fabric of her top that Samantha wasn’t wearing a bra. I decided to build her anticipation of the tickles by slowly walking my fingers up both her sides. With each climbing touch, Samantha’s giggles became a little louder. Her wiggling became more energetic. I watched her body flex and bounce as I neared my intended targets. The moment my fingers crossed from the thin cotton of Samantha’s tank top onto the bare skin just beneath her underarms, I gave in to my own anticipation. My hands let loose with a flurry of spider tickles in Samantha’s armpits, combining speed with a light pressure. She exploded in laughter. She even let out a few surprised snorts, which I found adorable. And, much to Samantha’s credit, she maintained her hold on the pull-up bar. Not only that, after the initial shock of my attack, she actually let herself hang a little from the bar. This stretched her upper body more and further exposed her underarms to my fingers. I had to ask, “Looks like you’re actually trying to help me tickle you. Are we enjoying this?” I forgot to lessen the intensity of my tickling, so Samantha was forced to answer while laughing. But she was able to form a “yes” in between guffaws.
After almost two minutes of continuously tickling Samantha’s armpits, I took a break to select another target area. Samantha caught her breath. I ran my fingers up and down her back again. My nails weren’t long, so I wondered if it felt as pleasant or as soothing as I wanted. Samantha cooed, “Mmm, I really like that.” “The back scratches?” I asked. A brief pause for another breath. Samantha grinned and replied cautiously, “Not the back scratches.” Right then, I guessed that the game might be changing a bit…
To be continued…
Samantha and I never lived in the same city as children. Hell, we never even lived in the same state. My parents moved far from either of their families for the sake of my father’s career. So I only spent time with Samantha during holidays and summer reunions. We were five months apart in age, which kept us friendly in spite of the infrequent visits. We’d reconnect on each occasion with all sorts of games. Cards, trivia, puzzles… And tickling. Neither of us understood the impact of the last activity. We were both ticklish, and we had fun making each other laugh. That was as much as we thought about it.
By the time Samantha and I reached young adulthood, we were both living in Alabama. Finally. It was nice being less than 5 hours from the nearest family members. I rather enjoyed my bachelor apartment in Birmingham, too. I had a few pieces of workout equipment spaced around it. A sit-up bench, a pull-up bar, a couple dumbbells… Otherwise, my only furniture was two loaded bookshelves, a couch, and a bed. Samantha bought a small house further south, but she was easily within driving distance for day trips.
One autumn weekend shortly after we had settled into our working lives, Samantha decided she needed a night to unwind. She called me, and I suggested that she spend the night in Birmingham. We planned to walk to some of the bars close to my neighborhood. I offered her my couch for as long as it took to sleep off the hangover, which she gladly accepted. About an hour after she arrived at my door, we were ordering beers and pizza at a nearby restaurant.
Fast forward a few hours, Samantha and I caught a cab back to my apartment building. We fell onto the bed almost as soon as we were inside my front door. Then we started having one of those pseudo-philosophical conversations often inspired by large amounts of alcohol. And, out of nowhere, Samantha takes notice of my pull-up bar, which hung off the frame of the bedroom door, and asks how many pull-up’s can I do. I proceed to crank out about 20 before surrendering to gravity. She springs off the bed to give it a try…
Samantha is probably around 5’9” tall, and she has a curvy build. She’s not heavy, mind you. She just has a plump rear and big boobs. Like, DD or E. (I never explicitly asked about it.) She was only able to complete a few pull-up’s on her own, so I offered to help her get to 5. Unfortunately, as I grabbed around her ribs and lifted her, my hands slipped and shot up close to her armpits. She let go of the bar in surprise. I asked if I had tickled her, and she replied that she thought I was trying to attack her while she was vulnerable. I told her it wasn’t intentional, not like when we were kids. Samantha told me she remembered how we used to challenge each other’s resolve with light tickles. She said that she always felt her skin tingling long after the games ended.
I caught the spark in her eye as Samantha suggested we play a tickling game for nostalgia’s sake. She might have caught the spark in my eye when I agreed. I told her that we should probably change into our sleepwear before starting the game, though, just in case we wore ourselves out laughing. Samantha came out of the bathroom in a tank top and flannel pajama pants. I put on a pair of gym shorts and a t-shirt.
Samantha asked me how the game should start. She kept raising her arms to run her hands along the pull-up bar, so I asked her to grab hold of the bar with both hands and to do her best not to let go. She did so. I examined some of her open ticklish spots, letting my fingertips drag along her belly and sides. She subdued a giggle trying to escape her lips. I walked behind her. My fingers moved up and down her back to give her chills, and I made a few casual comments… “Do you think you’re still as ticklish as you were when we were kids? How long do you give yourself before you surrender?”
My eyes kept scanning Samantha’s upper body. Her underarms were bare and smooth, inviting to my eager fingers. With the bottom hem of her tank top now sitting above the waist of her pajama bottoms, I could see a strip of her lower belly. And, finally slowing my mind enough to notice, I could see by the smooth swells and the outlines of her nipples beneath the fabric of her top that Samantha wasn’t wearing a bra. I decided to build her anticipation of the tickles by slowly walking my fingers up both her sides. With each climbing touch, Samantha’s giggles became a little louder. Her wiggling became more energetic. I watched her body flex and bounce as I neared my intended targets. The moment my fingers crossed from the thin cotton of Samantha’s tank top onto the bare skin just beneath her underarms, I gave in to my own anticipation. My hands let loose with a flurry of spider tickles in Samantha’s armpits, combining speed with a light pressure. She exploded in laughter. She even let out a few surprised snorts, which I found adorable. And, much to Samantha’s credit, she maintained her hold on the pull-up bar. Not only that, after the initial shock of my attack, she actually let herself hang a little from the bar. This stretched her upper body more and further exposed her underarms to my fingers. I had to ask, “Looks like you’re actually trying to help me tickle you. Are we enjoying this?” I forgot to lessen the intensity of my tickling, so Samantha was forced to answer while laughing. But she was able to form a “yes” in between guffaws.
After almost two minutes of continuously tickling Samantha’s armpits, I took a break to select another target area. Samantha caught her breath. I ran my fingers up and down her back again. My nails weren’t long, so I wondered if it felt as pleasant or as soothing as I wanted. Samantha cooed, “Mmm, I really like that.” “The back scratches?” I asked. A brief pause for another breath. Samantha grinned and replied cautiously, “Not the back scratches.” Right then, I guessed that the game might be changing a bit…
To be continued…
