kopfhorer1
1st Level Orange Feather
- Joined
- Oct 11, 2005
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I haven't forgotten about the continuing adventures of Tammy the Tickler. I just can't seem to get her to show up as yet! However, I have here another story that's been banging around in my head for a while. I hope that you enjoy it!
I started college in the early 1970's at a small liberal arts school just far enough from my hometown that I could move out of my parents’ house and live in the dorms. The wild sex and drug orgies rumored to take place on campus were just that, rumors. Just the same, we weren’t hurting for good times. There was plenty of hanging out, smoking this, drinking that, concerts every week. As for sex, most of that took place between established couples. Casual hook-ups were a lot more rare than the school president or the local newspaper editor would have let on. Despite the fact that the dorms had gone co-ed the previous year, most of the action went to upperclass students who had apartments off-campus, though it was understood that on those rare occasions when someone’s dorm room door was closed, you stood and listened for a minute or so to make sure that it was OK to knock. Lots of us freshmen didn’t have privacy problems that way. We were too inexperienced with women. More of us spent evenings alone than anyone would admit.
Anyhow, I remember one evening where I’d just finished writing a paper which I’d spent the better part of two days on. I was chilling in the dorm’s TV lounge. Now remember, back in those days a TV was a major appliance. It wasn’t like today where you can have a flat-panel TV that fits nicely onto a desk or into a book bag. A few of the wealthier students had one of those new 8-inch portables, little bulky things which they hid in their closets and only took out when the RA wasn’t around because the official campus rule was no TV’s in the dorm rooms. The one in the lounge was one of those hulking wooden consoles which housed a low-fi turntable which only got used during parties, and a 21-inch color TV, which was on fairly constantly. Anyway, I was sitting there by myself, watching Hawaii Five-O, when Alice casually walked into the lounge.
Alice was certainly fetching. She had a round face with soft features, green eyes and unblemished, slightly cream-colored skin. She stood 5-foot-3 and had slightly-wavy shoulder-length honey-blonde hair which had a slight wave to it and which she wore a bit disheveled, a la Janis Joplin. Today she wore a baby-blue cotton T-shirt which flattered her small but pert breasts, and snug, but not excessively tight bell-bottom jeans which she had embroidered herself. Lots of the time she wore the western-style boots which were popular back then, but this being mid-April and the weather being rather warm, she was wearing a pair of Indian leather sandals. The jeans and the sandals showcased her perfectly-formed size 5 feet with their alabaster-white skin, her impeccable arches, her beautifully-sculpted ankles, her cute little toe pads and her flawlessly-trimmed, unpainted toenails. Alice had a reputation for being sexually conservative. Rumors had it that she was one of the few die-hard virgins on campus, saving herself for Mr. Right, or that she was part of the small contingent of campus Jesus-freaks. One dorm-mate even suggested that she might be a lesbian, though I think that he was just being snide. Anyhow, I’m sitting on one end of this 8-toot-long sofa in front of the TV. Alice sits down at the other end of it, pretty much oblivious to me, concentrating on the show. She stretches out her legs in front of her, fidgets one foot against the other, and eventually, she absent-mindedly sheds her right sandal. I’m at the wrong angle to see her bare sole, but I have an unobstructed view of the outside edge of her right foot. Let me tell you, it was mighty hard for me to concentrate on who John Lord was about to bust just then!
Another time, I was watching Sanford & Son when she walked in, barefoot this time. Just like before, I was on one end of the sofa, she on the other, her eyes glued to the tube, only this time, she raised both legs onto the sofa, both soles facing me. I don’t know how many furtive, secret glances I stole of them as I pretended to watch the rest of the program! During a commercial break, I got up and pretended to head for the soda machine at the other end of the lounge. As I passed Alice, I reached out and tickled her left foot. She giggled girlishly and pulled it away from my hand. She looked up at me and smiled, then went back to watching the show, which had just come back on.
The moment of truth came on a dateless Saturday night as I was watching All In The Family. She walked into the lounge, barefoot once more, and sat down on the end of the sofa opposite mine. She was immersed in the show, or so I thought. At the first commercial break, she moved closer to me, then lifted her legs up onto the sofa, her bare soles only inches from me.
So what was I to do? I quickly slid over in her direction, scooped her feet up onto my lap, held her ankles down with one hand and tickled her feet with the other. I heard her giggle - damn, what a sweet voice this girl was blessed with! I ran my the pads of my fingers up and down her soles, being careful not to dig my nails into her, tracing little circles, arabesques and angles along the way. She giggled and chuckled, eyes clenched shut and a huge grin on her face, the likes of which I’d never seen on any woman. After a few minutes of this, she went from chuckles to full-blown belly laughs. It’s a good thing we were watching a comedy, and one with a pre-recorded laugh track, because it provided us with a perfect alibi when someone coming out of a nearby washroom poked their head in to ask what was happening.
I only saw Alice every now and then for a few weeks after that evening. Sometimes we’d pass each other in the lecture halls and each time, she’d flash me a sly, knowing grin. But then one day I found a note in an envelope in my campus mailbox. When I opened it, it read “Why don’t we take a break from studying and watch Archie Bunker together next Saturday? Yours truly, Alice.”
I started college in the early 1970's at a small liberal arts school just far enough from my hometown that I could move out of my parents’ house and live in the dorms. The wild sex and drug orgies rumored to take place on campus were just that, rumors. Just the same, we weren’t hurting for good times. There was plenty of hanging out, smoking this, drinking that, concerts every week. As for sex, most of that took place between established couples. Casual hook-ups were a lot more rare than the school president or the local newspaper editor would have let on. Despite the fact that the dorms had gone co-ed the previous year, most of the action went to upperclass students who had apartments off-campus, though it was understood that on those rare occasions when someone’s dorm room door was closed, you stood and listened for a minute or so to make sure that it was OK to knock. Lots of us freshmen didn’t have privacy problems that way. We were too inexperienced with women. More of us spent evenings alone than anyone would admit.
Anyhow, I remember one evening where I’d just finished writing a paper which I’d spent the better part of two days on. I was chilling in the dorm’s TV lounge. Now remember, back in those days a TV was a major appliance. It wasn’t like today where you can have a flat-panel TV that fits nicely onto a desk or into a book bag. A few of the wealthier students had one of those new 8-inch portables, little bulky things which they hid in their closets and only took out when the RA wasn’t around because the official campus rule was no TV’s in the dorm rooms. The one in the lounge was one of those hulking wooden consoles which housed a low-fi turntable which only got used during parties, and a 21-inch color TV, which was on fairly constantly. Anyway, I was sitting there by myself, watching Hawaii Five-O, when Alice casually walked into the lounge.
Alice was certainly fetching. She had a round face with soft features, green eyes and unblemished, slightly cream-colored skin. She stood 5-foot-3 and had slightly-wavy shoulder-length honey-blonde hair which had a slight wave to it and which she wore a bit disheveled, a la Janis Joplin. Today she wore a baby-blue cotton T-shirt which flattered her small but pert breasts, and snug, but not excessively tight bell-bottom jeans which she had embroidered herself. Lots of the time she wore the western-style boots which were popular back then, but this being mid-April and the weather being rather warm, she was wearing a pair of Indian leather sandals. The jeans and the sandals showcased her perfectly-formed size 5 feet with their alabaster-white skin, her impeccable arches, her beautifully-sculpted ankles, her cute little toe pads and her flawlessly-trimmed, unpainted toenails. Alice had a reputation for being sexually conservative. Rumors had it that she was one of the few die-hard virgins on campus, saving herself for Mr. Right, or that she was part of the small contingent of campus Jesus-freaks. One dorm-mate even suggested that she might be a lesbian, though I think that he was just being snide. Anyhow, I’m sitting on one end of this 8-toot-long sofa in front of the TV. Alice sits down at the other end of it, pretty much oblivious to me, concentrating on the show. She stretches out her legs in front of her, fidgets one foot against the other, and eventually, she absent-mindedly sheds her right sandal. I’m at the wrong angle to see her bare sole, but I have an unobstructed view of the outside edge of her right foot. Let me tell you, it was mighty hard for me to concentrate on who John Lord was about to bust just then!
Another time, I was watching Sanford & Son when she walked in, barefoot this time. Just like before, I was on one end of the sofa, she on the other, her eyes glued to the tube, only this time, she raised both legs onto the sofa, both soles facing me. I don’t know how many furtive, secret glances I stole of them as I pretended to watch the rest of the program! During a commercial break, I got up and pretended to head for the soda machine at the other end of the lounge. As I passed Alice, I reached out and tickled her left foot. She giggled girlishly and pulled it away from my hand. She looked up at me and smiled, then went back to watching the show, which had just come back on.
The moment of truth came on a dateless Saturday night as I was watching All In The Family. She walked into the lounge, barefoot once more, and sat down on the end of the sofa opposite mine. She was immersed in the show, or so I thought. At the first commercial break, she moved closer to me, then lifted her legs up onto the sofa, her bare soles only inches from me.
So what was I to do? I quickly slid over in her direction, scooped her feet up onto my lap, held her ankles down with one hand and tickled her feet with the other. I heard her giggle - damn, what a sweet voice this girl was blessed with! I ran my the pads of my fingers up and down her soles, being careful not to dig my nails into her, tracing little circles, arabesques and angles along the way. She giggled and chuckled, eyes clenched shut and a huge grin on her face, the likes of which I’d never seen on any woman. After a few minutes of this, she went from chuckles to full-blown belly laughs. It’s a good thing we were watching a comedy, and one with a pre-recorded laugh track, because it provided us with a perfect alibi when someone coming out of a nearby washroom poked their head in to ask what was happening.
I only saw Alice every now and then for a few weeks after that evening. Sometimes we’d pass each other in the lecture halls and each time, she’d flash me a sly, knowing grin. But then one day I found a note in an envelope in my campus mailbox. When I opened it, it read “Why don’t we take a break from studying and watch Archie Bunker together next Saturday? Yours truly, Alice.”
