So then. This is a post from some twenty years ago, but not one I’ve shared yet in this thread. It’s a cut and paste and tidy up job, but nonetheless I hope you enjoy.
Early 2003, I was 27 and coming back from a colleague’s funeral. It was only about 7.45 at night, but I’d had a few beers in his memory and was a bit tipsy. I got the train home, and sat down opposite a woman who I noticed had her black stocking feet resting on the chair. She was about 55, had a shock of shoulder length white hair, glasses and was dressed in a black trouser suit. I’d appreciated mature female stocking feet from a young age, and this was no different! I’d been commuting for about three years at this point and had noticed heels being discarded by women on the last train home a few times, but this seemed a bit earlier than usual. The seat was a three berth so there was a seat between me and her feet. When I sat down she moved her feet back into her shoes, and I of course insisted she put them back up! She said 'Maybe later', so I left it at that; don’t want to look weird now, do I?
As the train pulled out it was clear that nobody was going to sit down between us, so I said that it was fine for her to put her feet back up.
'Are you sure?'
'Yeah, yeah, no problem! Relax!'
'Oh, thank you very much! It’s just more comfortable!'
And so with that, up went her feet went once more! We continued the journey in silence aside from occasional small talk, mainly about another passenger on the other side of the train who had his headphones on full blast. However, she mainly read a book while I read a newspaper, sneaking discreet glances at her black stocking feet whenever I could. I noticed that she was getting more and more angry with the guy blaring his headphones, and when we made eye contact I told her to relax and to try and ignore it while reading her book.
'Well, it's just inconsiderate!'
'I know, I have to agree, but hey - it's Friday, nearly the weekend, just relax.’
And then, fuelled by youth and alcohol, I decided to make my move.
‘Excuse me, but I have to ask...'
I reached over and lightly tickled her stocking toes, fingers running across both feet. I’d not tickle a random stranger now, but as I say, I’ll just put this down to youthful enthusiasm and alcohol. We’d built up a mild rapport, but I was still tickling a stranger and expected either laughter (hopefully not anger), but instead got the following.
'Oh, don't do that! I might fall asleep...!'
Now that was unexpected, but as I was on a roll I wasn’t going to miss this opportunity!
'Really? You like having your feet tickled? Well, how’s this? To relax you, and to stop me getting bored for the rest of the journey, shall I carry on until we get to my stop?'
She now had a big and curious smile on her face, and a slight twinkle in her eye. This was an expression I’d seen before and would do again many times in the future. It’s essentially a knowing look where a woman knows EXACTLY what you’re up to when playing with her feet...but she’s happy to be on the receiving end!
‘Yes, absolutely carry on! Please do!’
l certainly didn’t need any further encouragement and so continued tickling her toes. Her smile grew wider and she visibly relaxed. However, I was still a chair away from her and having to reach over. I’d come this far so threw caution to the wind. I lifted her feet up and slid over to the chair directly opposite her, placed her feet in my lap and began tickling the length of her black stocking soles. She didn’t say a word about my new position, but flexed her feet back as if allowing me full access! I massaged and tickled her feet for about half an hour, her book long forgotten about and put down next to her as she smiled throughout my tickled. I began asking her questions, as I wanted to hear about it from her side.
‘Are you enjoying this?’
‘Mmm....very much!’
'Which do you prefer, the tickling or massaging?'
'Oh, everything! It’s all good...!'
And that's what she got, tickling and massaging. She flinched and giggled a few times, but she wasn’t overly ticklish. As I continued she told me that her husband (so it turns out I was tickling a married woman!), couldn't stand having his feet tickled - but who cares about him!
‘Yeah, my husband can’t stand this, but I love it! Have you done this before? It feels like it!’
I’m certain she was onto me, but I didn’t care - I just enjoyed the moment!
‘Yeah, a few times, actually! Not on the train, but female friends and girlfriends...my aunt at times. She likes her feet tickled too!’
‘Hehehe, I’ll bet she does!’
I gained confidence to move down to her ankles and sides, continuing with the tickles and massaging until eventually it was time to get off. She thanked me - I had offered to carry on past my stop! - and said how lovely it was. I thanked her too and said I hoped she enjoyed it. She smiled knowingly, and I returned it, not quite believing what had just happened.
As a footnote (no pun intended), I saw her only one other time a few months later. It was on the train again, but this time a crowded rush hour train. I was in the aisle waiting to get off, and noticed her sitting to my left. She was wearing a blue dress and neutral, greyish tights but once more had kicked off her heels and had her stocking feet resting on the chair in front. It seemed a chance encounter too good to ignore, so I took the opportunity to talk to her.
‘Excuse me...’
She looked up from her book, quizzical at who was talking to her.
‘I’m sorry to bother you, but are you the lady whose feet I tickled recently?’
She smiled coyly, but nodded and laughed at the memory. I looked at her, looked at her stocking feet on the chair and looked back at her. She was grinning now, so without saying a word I ran my fingers the length of her nylon soles. To my surprise she giggled this time, much more ticklish than previously. I bud her goodnight and wished her a safe trip, never to see her again!
Cheers, everybody,
SmashTV
