tkrexx
4th Level Green Feather
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- Apr 16, 2001
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I posted this about 5 years ago as a reply in another forum. Today I find myself thinking about her again, and what a wonderful, and terrible, experience this was. It was not my first experience tickling an Asian gal, but up to that point in my life it was the best. At the same time, it was the worst. In the end it forced me for the first time to ponder the need for self-control. Don't read too much into this, just an old man longing for the younger years, and a woman whom I'd have liked to made alot more memories with. Please keep in mind during this time period having a tickling or foot fetish was hardly acceptable, indeed never heard of, especially in small-town America.
Rxx
I'll skip the various early ticklescapades, and go right to 9th grade...the year my little town was honored to host a Japanese foriegn-exchange student. But first, a little background: The town I grew up in is unimaginably small...100 folks on holidays when relatives visited, counting dogs & cats. The school I attended was a conglomerate of several small towns ranging in population from 20 (no kidding!) to 1000, so from grades 7 - 12 there were less than 200 kids. In that type of setting, it's easy to spot anyone with any kind of deviant behavior, so most of the girls I grew up with were aware I'd tickle them if the opportunity arose. Thus, by 9th grade I was usually on the prowl for new blood, or in my case, new feet. This Japanese gal, Noriko by name, was some kinda fine...shoulder length hair, golden-brown skin (as opposed to the fair-skinned Japanese), and a big ol' smile that could light your cigarette 10 feet away. She was from a well-to-do family, and was hosted by the best-off family in our town. My family owned some acres which we farmed and raised cattle/hogs. These acres ran the length of the town, so when I went walking the fence I could touch almost everyone's back yard. It was my lot to make sure the livestock were fed & watered (Let us not forget, these were the days before automation and big corporate farms). Noriko's host family lived alarmingly close to our barns, and she seemed to always be outside after school when I was doing my chores. She was a senior, as was the daughter of the host family, so I knew I really didn't have a chance with her romanticly at least. As it turns out, Noriko and the spoiled rich American girl she shared a room with did not get along well at all, which is why she spent so much time outside. For a well-off Japanese girl, her english was nothing less than dismal. She had never seen a live cow or hog before, so she would always watch in fascination when I did my chores. We would talk, but communication was difficult. Still, I could see she was terribly lonely...Why else would she be so easily coaxed into the barn? I tried to explain the concept of the "Human Pyrimid" to her, but alas, she was baffled. Not about to let anything so paltry as a language barrier deter me, I just said "Come on," and motioned for her to follow me. Her wide-eyed innocence was child-like. Noriko followed me into the barn, but hesitated when I climbed into the hayloft. After a little more coaxing she climbed up. Many times before had I lured my victims into this trap, and my anxiety was high at the prospect of this exotic dish as my prey! I instructed her to sit in the middle of a layer of straw bales with legs extended before her, then I began piling more bales of straw around her...then a second layer...until only her head and feet protudeded from the big square hay block...not the same as being buried in sand, but the result is similar. She seemed amused throughout this process, a wide smile gracing her face the whole time. However when I began removing her shoes her expression immediately changed to that of one who views a horror movie. I suppose my intentions became fearfully obvious to her at that point, for before her first shoe was off, she was babbling a series of "No, please!" at me. She just as well could have been speaking Japanese, 'cuz I wasn't listening. After quite a furious battle, the shoes finally came off, and when I grabbed for the socks, the screaming began. This gal had been tickled before, and she was NOT fond of it! Her feet were well cared for and shapely, brown on top, baby-butt pink on the sides, bottoms and toe nails. I spent a few minutes being my dastardly self, teasing her with pigeon feathers, going close but not quite touching, until she was near panic. Noriko was one of those few memorable "Most-Ticklish" ones that a feather on one foot would send headlong into the sort of laughter most ticklers identify with finger scrabbling on both feet...she was THAT ticklish! I don't remember why I didn't have alot of time that day, but I remember cussing myself for being late and not caring. I wanted to prolong this as long as possible naturally, watching those feet squirm desperately, vainly trying to escape, seeing her lovely face in what I saw as honest joy, hearing her begging in Japanese between bursts of high-pitched, rapid-fire giggles...All too soon (I thought...) I began with the finger tickling, which as it happened was too much for the poor lass. After only a few seconds she was beyond hysterics, shaking her head violently, her normally soft, refined voice changed to hoarse, cracking screeches combined with occasional incoherent drivel. It didn't sound pleasant at all, and I thought I'd best stop for a minute to allow her to catch her breath. It was at that point that pity set in...Noriko flung her head down and quietly weeped. This was truly torture for her. When I asked if she was okay, she raised her head slightly and gazed at me with terrified eyes. Her face was wet with a thousand tears, her hair was sticking to her cheeks, and though she did not speak, I could see she had in the preceding 15 minutes become deathly afraid of me. This was never my intention in ANY of my ticklescapades...I am NOT a SADIST!...at least not to that extent. I found myself feeling a little sick to my stomach as I started tearing down my construct of straw. I couldn't find the words I thought would soothe her, so an awkward silence prevailed for the time it took to release Noriko. Her movements were staggered by trembling, and she sobbed quietly until we left the barn. She finally said as she turned to go to her host's house, "I'm so sleepy." I don't recall the rest of the conversation, but there wasn't much of it anyway. I just remember how awful I felt inside then...How my lack of self-control turned something very good into a nightmare. This could have been a point in my life where one of the worst purge-battles may have taken place, if not for Noriko...The next day when I boarded the school bus, there she was, with the same beautiful smile she gave me every morning...that afternoon she was outside again watching me tend the livestock, waving as always...The forgiveness of this young woman was incredible, and that saved me from myself. Though I never even tried to get her in the barn again, I did manage to sneak a few more quick tickles over the rest of the school year, always accompanied by a yelp, a pointed finger and that knowing look that said "Yes, I'm smiling, but you're NEVER gonna do that to me again!"
Rxx
I'll skip the various early ticklescapades, and go right to 9th grade...the year my little town was honored to host a Japanese foriegn-exchange student. But first, a little background: The town I grew up in is unimaginably small...100 folks on holidays when relatives visited, counting dogs & cats. The school I attended was a conglomerate of several small towns ranging in population from 20 (no kidding!) to 1000, so from grades 7 - 12 there were less than 200 kids. In that type of setting, it's easy to spot anyone with any kind of deviant behavior, so most of the girls I grew up with were aware I'd tickle them if the opportunity arose. Thus, by 9th grade I was usually on the prowl for new blood, or in my case, new feet. This Japanese gal, Noriko by name, was some kinda fine...shoulder length hair, golden-brown skin (as opposed to the fair-skinned Japanese), and a big ol' smile that could light your cigarette 10 feet away. She was from a well-to-do family, and was hosted by the best-off family in our town. My family owned some acres which we farmed and raised cattle/hogs. These acres ran the length of the town, so when I went walking the fence I could touch almost everyone's back yard. It was my lot to make sure the livestock were fed & watered (Let us not forget, these were the days before automation and big corporate farms). Noriko's host family lived alarmingly close to our barns, and she seemed to always be outside after school when I was doing my chores. She was a senior, as was the daughter of the host family, so I knew I really didn't have a chance with her romanticly at least. As it turns out, Noriko and the spoiled rich American girl she shared a room with did not get along well at all, which is why she spent so much time outside. For a well-off Japanese girl, her english was nothing less than dismal. She had never seen a live cow or hog before, so she would always watch in fascination when I did my chores. We would talk, but communication was difficult. Still, I could see she was terribly lonely...Why else would she be so easily coaxed into the barn? I tried to explain the concept of the "Human Pyrimid" to her, but alas, she was baffled. Not about to let anything so paltry as a language barrier deter me, I just said "Come on," and motioned for her to follow me. Her wide-eyed innocence was child-like. Noriko followed me into the barn, but hesitated when I climbed into the hayloft. After a little more coaxing she climbed up. Many times before had I lured my victims into this trap, and my anxiety was high at the prospect of this exotic dish as my prey! I instructed her to sit in the middle of a layer of straw bales with legs extended before her, then I began piling more bales of straw around her...then a second layer...until only her head and feet protudeded from the big square hay block...not the same as being buried in sand, but the result is similar. She seemed amused throughout this process, a wide smile gracing her face the whole time. However when I began removing her shoes her expression immediately changed to that of one who views a horror movie. I suppose my intentions became fearfully obvious to her at that point, for before her first shoe was off, she was babbling a series of "No, please!" at me. She just as well could have been speaking Japanese, 'cuz I wasn't listening. After quite a furious battle, the shoes finally came off, and when I grabbed for the socks, the screaming began. This gal had been tickled before, and she was NOT fond of it! Her feet were well cared for and shapely, brown on top, baby-butt pink on the sides, bottoms and toe nails. I spent a few minutes being my dastardly self, teasing her with pigeon feathers, going close but not quite touching, until she was near panic. Noriko was one of those few memorable "Most-Ticklish" ones that a feather on one foot would send headlong into the sort of laughter most ticklers identify with finger scrabbling on both feet...she was THAT ticklish! I don't remember why I didn't have alot of time that day, but I remember cussing myself for being late and not caring. I wanted to prolong this as long as possible naturally, watching those feet squirm desperately, vainly trying to escape, seeing her lovely face in what I saw as honest joy, hearing her begging in Japanese between bursts of high-pitched, rapid-fire giggles...All too soon (I thought...) I began with the finger tickling, which as it happened was too much for the poor lass. After only a few seconds she was beyond hysterics, shaking her head violently, her normally soft, refined voice changed to hoarse, cracking screeches combined with occasional incoherent drivel. It didn't sound pleasant at all, and I thought I'd best stop for a minute to allow her to catch her breath. It was at that point that pity set in...Noriko flung her head down and quietly weeped. This was truly torture for her. When I asked if she was okay, she raised her head slightly and gazed at me with terrified eyes. Her face was wet with a thousand tears, her hair was sticking to her cheeks, and though she did not speak, I could see she had in the preceding 15 minutes become deathly afraid of me. This was never my intention in ANY of my ticklescapades...I am NOT a SADIST!...at least not to that extent. I found myself feeling a little sick to my stomach as I started tearing down my construct of straw. I couldn't find the words I thought would soothe her, so an awkward silence prevailed for the time it took to release Noriko. Her movements were staggered by trembling, and she sobbed quietly until we left the barn. She finally said as she turned to go to her host's house, "I'm so sleepy." I don't recall the rest of the conversation, but there wasn't much of it anyway. I just remember how awful I felt inside then...How my lack of self-control turned something very good into a nightmare. This could have been a point in my life where one of the worst purge-battles may have taken place, if not for Noriko...The next day when I boarded the school bus, there she was, with the same beautiful smile she gave me every morning...that afternoon she was outside again watching me tend the livestock, waving as always...The forgiveness of this young woman was incredible, and that saved me from myself. Though I never even tried to get her in the barn again, I did manage to sneak a few more quick tickles over the rest of the school year, always accompanied by a yelp, a pointed finger and that knowing look that said "Yes, I'm smiling, but you're NEVER gonna do that to me again!"
