Context: I am a female 'lee in my mid 20s
As tends to happen, I've been rather stressed lately. I wanted to take a short spa-cation out of town, so I made a plan and hopped on my motorcycle and rode off to one of my favorite spas for a few days. Today is my first day of the trip, and I had a massage.
Now, I try really hard to relax during massages. I attempt to empty my mind and focus on my breathing, but, alas, as occurs every time I get a massage, my mind goes straight to tickling. As I'm sure you all can understand, I'm too aware that someone is going to be touching me. Over almost every inch of my body. For an hour.
I'm really ticklish.
Generally, I do a good job of hiding it if I accidentally get tickled during a massage. Though I am a 'lee and adore being tickled, the thought of someone tickling me by accident in a professional context terrifies me---I'm too embarrassed. I'm afraid (irrationally) that someone is going to realize that I like being tickled. I'm scared of my thoughts and obsessions being plastered on the wall for everyone to see. But still, my 'lee mind betrays me. The masseuse finding out that I'm ticklish is both the most mortifying, and the most exciting thing about getting a massage, even though I'm supposedly there to relax. Even before my appointment began, I had been thinking about being tickled during the massage. Let's be honest, I'd been thinking about it since I booked the damn thing, over a week ago.
My masseuse was about 5'5", blonde, tan, about 30, and undeniably pretty. One of those women I'd find myself awkwardly staring at, but not having the courage to say anything to under normal circumstances. She had a kind voice and a calming, happy demeanor. One of those people who seems to genuinely enjoy what they do.
She took me back to the room. I got on to the table, the warmth flooding to my skin, and closed my eyes.
Most of the massage did not incite ticklish feelings. Every once and a while, she would trace her fingers along the sides of my ribs or along the nape of my neck and I'd have to consciously work to control myself. Even when I didn't get a tickle feeling, I'd be thinking about it, though. How easy it would be. How vulnerable I was lying on that warm table, sprawled out in front of her. I wondered if, maybe---just maybe---she ever thought about tickling clients. If she might enjoy that sort of thing. I wondered how many of her clients were accidentally revealed to be ticklish by a misjudged brush against a bare foot or a pressure point that just sent them off the edge...
My mind was consumed in these thoughts as she made her way around my skin---extra sensitive from the slippery massage oil. How could it not be? My mind is full of tickling as a default. This just made it overflow.
Eventually, the worst part---or the best, depending on how you look at it---came: the foot wrap. At the end of most massages, the masseuse has to get the oil off of your feet before you are able to get up to ensure that you don't slip. For this, they use a warm, damp, washcloth.
To give a little extra background on me, I can't even use washcloths on my own feet without being severely tickled. When I was a kid, I used to scream and beg my parents not to wash my feet because it tickled so torturously. They'd always rub the washcloth between my toes. That was the worst. They'd have to hold my ankle still with one of their hands while the other used the merciless washcloth on my poor, tender feet to get them clean.
But back to my massage...
I'm lying on my back, eyes covered, and body fully under the sheets. I hear the masseuse step around the table towards the bottom. She gently lifts up the first layer of bedding covering my feet and folds it back a little above the ankle. I tense. The second sheet is then lifted and folded to meet the other. My feet are now the only part of my body out of the protection of the sheets. I am painfully aware of it. I can feel the air on my soles as she completes the last fold. She then takes the first washcloth and gently, but deliberately wraps it around my right foot. The wrapping I can handle. She repeats on the left. She returns to the right foot. I tense again.
Her hands wrap themselves around the washcloth, and consequently around my foot. My foot is cradled in her hands and I hold my breath. She applies pressure, and then the washcloth is pulled down my foot, up my sole, and wriggled a little on my toes. I can't contain myself. My foot jerks, my toes curl, and I bite my lip through a smile and try to muzzle my laugh. But it was obvious what just happened.
For a split second I was mortified. I was also unavoidably excited, but I felt my face get hot and pink.
Then something kinda wonderful happened.
She GIGGLED AT ME. Oh my god, she thought that was funny. She liked that she tickled me. My brain was going wild.
And then it happened a second time.
She moved her hands to my left foot. Without adjusting any of the pressure from the first time, she wiped the washcloth along the entirety of my bare foot and around my toes. Same reaction from me, and she giggled again.
It was such a short moment in reality, but of the whole 60 minutes, that was my favorite one. My 'lee brain was driven near to madness upon hearing her entertainment and joy from my being tickled.
I intended my massage to be relaxing, but I got something better. It made me happy.
As tends to happen, I've been rather stressed lately. I wanted to take a short spa-cation out of town, so I made a plan and hopped on my motorcycle and rode off to one of my favorite spas for a few days. Today is my first day of the trip, and I had a massage.
Now, I try really hard to relax during massages. I attempt to empty my mind and focus on my breathing, but, alas, as occurs every time I get a massage, my mind goes straight to tickling. As I'm sure you all can understand, I'm too aware that someone is going to be touching me. Over almost every inch of my body. For an hour.
I'm really ticklish.
Generally, I do a good job of hiding it if I accidentally get tickled during a massage. Though I am a 'lee and adore being tickled, the thought of someone tickling me by accident in a professional context terrifies me---I'm too embarrassed. I'm afraid (irrationally) that someone is going to realize that I like being tickled. I'm scared of my thoughts and obsessions being plastered on the wall for everyone to see. But still, my 'lee mind betrays me. The masseuse finding out that I'm ticklish is both the most mortifying, and the most exciting thing about getting a massage, even though I'm supposedly there to relax. Even before my appointment began, I had been thinking about being tickled during the massage. Let's be honest, I'd been thinking about it since I booked the damn thing, over a week ago.
My masseuse was about 5'5", blonde, tan, about 30, and undeniably pretty. One of those women I'd find myself awkwardly staring at, but not having the courage to say anything to under normal circumstances. She had a kind voice and a calming, happy demeanor. One of those people who seems to genuinely enjoy what they do.
She took me back to the room. I got on to the table, the warmth flooding to my skin, and closed my eyes.
Most of the massage did not incite ticklish feelings. Every once and a while, she would trace her fingers along the sides of my ribs or along the nape of my neck and I'd have to consciously work to control myself. Even when I didn't get a tickle feeling, I'd be thinking about it, though. How easy it would be. How vulnerable I was lying on that warm table, sprawled out in front of her. I wondered if, maybe---just maybe---she ever thought about tickling clients. If she might enjoy that sort of thing. I wondered how many of her clients were accidentally revealed to be ticklish by a misjudged brush against a bare foot or a pressure point that just sent them off the edge...
My mind was consumed in these thoughts as she made her way around my skin---extra sensitive from the slippery massage oil. How could it not be? My mind is full of tickling as a default. This just made it overflow.
Eventually, the worst part---or the best, depending on how you look at it---came: the foot wrap. At the end of most massages, the masseuse has to get the oil off of your feet before you are able to get up to ensure that you don't slip. For this, they use a warm, damp, washcloth.
To give a little extra background on me, I can't even use washcloths on my own feet without being severely tickled. When I was a kid, I used to scream and beg my parents not to wash my feet because it tickled so torturously. They'd always rub the washcloth between my toes. That was the worst. They'd have to hold my ankle still with one of their hands while the other used the merciless washcloth on my poor, tender feet to get them clean.
But back to my massage...
I'm lying on my back, eyes covered, and body fully under the sheets. I hear the masseuse step around the table towards the bottom. She gently lifts up the first layer of bedding covering my feet and folds it back a little above the ankle. I tense. The second sheet is then lifted and folded to meet the other. My feet are now the only part of my body out of the protection of the sheets. I am painfully aware of it. I can feel the air on my soles as she completes the last fold. She then takes the first washcloth and gently, but deliberately wraps it around my right foot. The wrapping I can handle. She repeats on the left. She returns to the right foot. I tense again.
Her hands wrap themselves around the washcloth, and consequently around my foot. My foot is cradled in her hands and I hold my breath. She applies pressure, and then the washcloth is pulled down my foot, up my sole, and wriggled a little on my toes. I can't contain myself. My foot jerks, my toes curl, and I bite my lip through a smile and try to muzzle my laugh. But it was obvious what just happened.
For a split second I was mortified. I was also unavoidably excited, but I felt my face get hot and pink.
Then something kinda wonderful happened.
She GIGGLED AT ME. Oh my god, she thought that was funny. She liked that she tickled me. My brain was going wild.
And then it happened a second time.
She moved her hands to my left foot. Without adjusting any of the pressure from the first time, she wiped the washcloth along the entirety of my bare foot and around my toes. Same reaction from me, and she giggled again.
It was such a short moment in reality, but of the whole 60 minutes, that was my favorite one. My 'lee brain was driven near to madness upon hearing her entertainment and joy from my being tickled.
I intended my massage to be relaxing, but I got something better. It made me happy.
Thanks for sharing your experience with us. 
