kopfhorer1
1st Level Orange Feather
- Joined
- Oct 11, 2005
- Messages
- 2,006
- Points
- 0
Tammy sat comfortably in her recliner where I had sat only a few days earlier. Her feet were strapped onto the footrest with the same nylon webbing belt which she'd used as a safety strap with me, the “ripcord” extension of it in her hands for instant emergency release. Today she'd been wearing black leather motorcycle boots with heavy lug soles. They stood as a pair off to one side of the chair, the white cotton socks that she'd been wearing stuffed into their tops. Her feet, which looked to be about size 6 or 7 had almost perfectly rounded heels and toe pads, and smooth, curvaceous arches. They had a faint scent of of leather. Her toenails were painted bright red. The recliner's footrest put Tammy's toes just below eye level as I sat on the padded stool in front of it.
She'd set out her favorite tickling tools on top of the dresser near the chair. She instructed me to pick up a couple of brushes, each of which were actually several bamboo-handled brushes lashed together in a row, sort of like pan pipes. Their white bristles fanned out almost willy-nilly. “What are these?” I wondered out loud. “Those are Japanese brushes.” she answered. “They're for putting down washes of color on paper.” “What do you want me to do with them?” I inquired. “Oh, you'll think of something!” she replied with a wry grin on her face, her toes wiggling.
I wasted no time. Holding the brushes horizontally, I gently placed the row of brush-heads of each one at the tips or her big toes. Ever so slowly, I brought them down, the bristles covering the width of each foot and following the curves of her toe pads, under the toes, across the ball of each foot, down her arches, over her heels, then back up to her toes. Tammy moaned softly and sighed. I gradually picked up the pace. Up and down, up and down both feet, both brushes in my hands. Tammy looked up at the ceiling, little giggles emanating from her.
As I was about to begin yet another stroke, Tammy looked at me, raised her hand and pointed toward the dresser, at a large crystal vase filled with water, which held several artist's paint brushes. I pulled out one which also had a bamboo handle. I looked at its pointed tip. I tested it with my fingertip. It was firm, almost like the nib of a pen. “That's a sumi brush” chimed in Tammy. “It's also Japanese. It's used for calligraphy”. I grinned. “Shall I draw Kanji characters on your feet?” “Why don't you start with the one for 'laughter'?” she replied.
Starting at the point on her forefoot just underneath the little toe, I gently dragged the point across her skin, towards the ball of her foot, slowly and deliberately circling it several times. Tammy giggled softly. I moved it down to the inner edge of her foot. She giggled a bit more loudly, kind of like a child at play. I ran the side of the brush slowly around the edge of her left heel and up the outside edge of her foot, eliciting more giggles. I did the same things with her right foot. If her unceasing giggles were any indication, I must have been doing something right!
As I was getting ready to go once around her left foot again, she stopped me and pointed toward the dresser once more. She pointed to the vase and directed my attention to the biggest brush in it, one with a black lacquered wooden handle, which must have been a foot long and an inch in diameter. It had a traditional artist's-brush tip of pure sable. I rolled its tip on my palm to form a point. I didn't need to ask her what to do with it! I went straight for the arch of her left foot!
At first I put the point dead-center in the middle of her right sole, just barely touching her with the uppermost point of the tip. She gave a little gasp. I moved the brush slowly toward the ball of her foot, around the ball of her foot, and then, applying just a little more pressure, traced the middle of her arch. She started laughing, at first those silent laughs that you see some people give when they're out of breath, but after she took her next breath, her living room rang with her chuckles and belly laughs. I was on a roll. I kept on drawing serpentines, curlicues and straight lines over her arch with the wet brush. Switching hands momentarily so that I could keep the pattern on her left foot going, I grabbed another brush from the vase. It wasn't as big as the one which was now in my right hand, but it looked similar. Quickly, I applied the new brush on her left foot while starting in on her right with the big one. She was laughing almost hysterically now, her feet straining at the safety strap, her fists pounding the arms of the recliner.
(To be continued...)
She'd set out her favorite tickling tools on top of the dresser near the chair. She instructed me to pick up a couple of brushes, each of which were actually several bamboo-handled brushes lashed together in a row, sort of like pan pipes. Their white bristles fanned out almost willy-nilly. “What are these?” I wondered out loud. “Those are Japanese brushes.” she answered. “They're for putting down washes of color on paper.” “What do you want me to do with them?” I inquired. “Oh, you'll think of something!” she replied with a wry grin on her face, her toes wiggling.
I wasted no time. Holding the brushes horizontally, I gently placed the row of brush-heads of each one at the tips or her big toes. Ever so slowly, I brought them down, the bristles covering the width of each foot and following the curves of her toe pads, under the toes, across the ball of each foot, down her arches, over her heels, then back up to her toes. Tammy moaned softly and sighed. I gradually picked up the pace. Up and down, up and down both feet, both brushes in my hands. Tammy looked up at the ceiling, little giggles emanating from her.
As I was about to begin yet another stroke, Tammy looked at me, raised her hand and pointed toward the dresser, at a large crystal vase filled with water, which held several artist's paint brushes. I pulled out one which also had a bamboo handle. I looked at its pointed tip. I tested it with my fingertip. It was firm, almost like the nib of a pen. “That's a sumi brush” chimed in Tammy. “It's also Japanese. It's used for calligraphy”. I grinned. “Shall I draw Kanji characters on your feet?” “Why don't you start with the one for 'laughter'?” she replied.
Starting at the point on her forefoot just underneath the little toe, I gently dragged the point across her skin, towards the ball of her foot, slowly and deliberately circling it several times. Tammy giggled softly. I moved it down to the inner edge of her foot. She giggled a bit more loudly, kind of like a child at play. I ran the side of the brush slowly around the edge of her left heel and up the outside edge of her foot, eliciting more giggles. I did the same things with her right foot. If her unceasing giggles were any indication, I must have been doing something right!
As I was getting ready to go once around her left foot again, she stopped me and pointed toward the dresser once more. She pointed to the vase and directed my attention to the biggest brush in it, one with a black lacquered wooden handle, which must have been a foot long and an inch in diameter. It had a traditional artist's-brush tip of pure sable. I rolled its tip on my palm to form a point. I didn't need to ask her what to do with it! I went straight for the arch of her left foot!
At first I put the point dead-center in the middle of her right sole, just barely touching her with the uppermost point of the tip. She gave a little gasp. I moved the brush slowly toward the ball of her foot, around the ball of her foot, and then, applying just a little more pressure, traced the middle of her arch. She started laughing, at first those silent laughs that you see some people give when they're out of breath, but after she took her next breath, her living room rang with her chuckles and belly laughs. I was on a roll. I kept on drawing serpentines, curlicues and straight lines over her arch with the wet brush. Switching hands momentarily so that I could keep the pattern on her left foot going, I grabbed another brush from the vase. It wasn't as big as the one which was now in my right hand, but it looked similar. Quickly, I applied the new brush on her left foot while starting in on her right with the big one. She was laughing almost hysterically now, her feet straining at the safety strap, her fists pounding the arms of the recliner.
(To be continued...)
