Prologue:
There are a couple of stories that I've been thinking about posting under true tickling stories for a while but I haven't, partly because I'm not proud of how I ended up tickling these women, and partly because I know I'll get called out for lying about it even though I'm not.
You see, I was a teenager at the time and they were my teachers.
(To be clear I was of legal age, please don't delete this super long post admin gods.)
Three teachers stand out in particular. One was a high school teacher, two were private music teachers.
I was a shy kid at an all-boys school. I didn’t have any sisters or other females in the family so there weren't a lot of girls around me growing up. In one sense I'm grateful I wasn’t surrounded by girls because it kept me on my studies. But there was still this need, this ache to tickle a girl of woman.
Most boys talked about sex. I never talked or even thought about sex. I used to think there was something wrong with me because I didn’t. To me it was tickling, although it wouldn't be until my twenties when I'd realise that I had a tickle drive where my sex drive should be. Which is to say that I didn't realise until then the full sexual nature of what tickling meant to me.
I was reasonably well liked by the teachers and had a good general reputation. I was in a rough year level and I think most of them were just glad to have someone who didn't cause any trouble in the class. This good reputation, I would use to trick and tickle more than one of them.
There were two teachers I had my eye on tickling at my school.
One was my English teacher, Miss B. She was short, deep freckles, red hair, probably around 28-29. She had a beautiful smile when you saw it, but was pretty serious most of the time. Only other thing I remember about her was that she was a casual rock climber.
The other was Ms D, the art teacher. She was even shorter, half-Asian, probably early thirties, always smiling.
There was also my private music teacher L. I'd say she was late twenties, maybe only a little under six-foot, always wore her chocolate brown hair in a straight ponytail. She was shy, shyer than I was, and although not quite what I'd call BBW, she was close. I took trombone lessons from her in the evenings once a week.
I want to reiterate what I said at the start:
1. I do not condone how I acted at the time. It was totally consenting but even so, false pretexts were involved more than once. It was a long time ago, I've grown as a person and I do not believe my action caused any longstanding harm to anyone involved. If they did, I can only apologise profusely. Again, I didn’t understand that tickling was a sexual thing to me at the time. Looking back now, I wouldn’t handle it again the way I did then.
2. Everything in these stories really happened. You will absolutely doubt some of these stories, I would too. All I can say is there have been no embellishments. This all happened, it's all real and please accept my word for it... despite me not having any evidence I can produce that confirms it.
Part 1: L
You know those old shops strips that used to be down the side streets, where there'd be a milk bar and then five or six other random buildings like a bakery and a hat shop in a line. The buildings were double storey so that the owner could live in the upstairs above the business. Well, this Irish couple had converted one of these buildings so that the downstairs and most of the upstairs were used as music rooms which they hired out to teachers. They did still live in part of the building, I think, but for the most part it was for the teachers and students.
Because I was playing the trombone, we were given one of the two most soundproofed rooms upstairs and because I was near the end of high school, I was the last student of the evening. There were other students in the other classes but they were all downstairs. That left us forty minutes alone together. L was not the teacher I most wanted to tickle but the ease of access meant it was inevitable that she'd be the first I’d try.
Since she wasn't at the school there was no danger of her talking to my other teachers and my science homework. When she asked me how I was going at the start of class as we were setting up, I told her I was stressed because I had a science project. I asked her if she could help me. She said of course. I told her I was doing a series of tests regarding the senses and asked if she'd be willing to be one of my subjects. It was only a couple of questions that wouldn't take long. She agreed.
I told her I'd ask her a couple of questions about tickling. There was no strong reaction from her. I asked my questions, I don't remember them anymore, it was all so long ago. She answered them honesty without any discomfort. She did say that she thought she was ticklish, "very ticklish." That is the only answer I remember strongly. Then I told her that, if she was okay with it, there was a physical component. She laughed nervously and pulled her head down between her shoulders, like a tortoise trying to escape danger. Though she didn't say it, I got the sense that she wouldn't have agreed to helping me if she'd know about this part. I gave her an out, told her she didn't have to, but, after swallowing hard, she insisted.
She always wore the same red leather slip-on flats so she pulled them off and sat back on her chair, placing her feet on the other chair where I normally sat. I strangely remember her even pulling her soles back and spreading her toes without even being asked to. Her feet were large, I don't remember exactly how big. I wasn't good enough at guessing shoe sizes then, but given her height I would guess maybe a US size eight or nine. In that moment, I remember being struck by the impossibility of the situation. The internet was only in its infancy but I had already read several 'True' tickling stories about tickling teachers, all of which seemed less than what I was actually experiencing. I had doubted their authenticity, and for the most part I still do, but that was hard to square with the image of my own teacher sitting there, willingly waiting for me to tickle her.
Without further thought I began tickling her soles and discovered, much to my disappointment, that she wasn't ticklish, at least not enough to laugh. My fingers danced up and down her soles for five minutes, making circles in her arches, on the balls of her feet, even poking between her toes, yet she never laughed. Her feet did flinch a little and her grin as she watched me made me think she might be fighting the laughter.
"You can laugh," I told her.
"It's fine," she replied.
After five minutes, I finished, thanked her and we went on with the lesson. I was disappointed but that was just how it was.
A few months later I decided to try again.
A few weeks earlier I had told her during a lesson that a music teacher at my school had suggested that I use a feather to lightly dust the outside of my instrument to keep it clean. L had laughed at that and said it was a good idea. Now I decided to bring it forward.
I arrived and when she asked how I was, I again told her I was stressed. I told her that I had been doing these sensitivity tests and I needed to do them again but I couldn't remember who had helped me with one of them. It was the tickle test.
L laughed nervously and said it was her. I asked if she was sure and she said she was. I then pretended to remember and asked if we could quickly go through the questions again. She agreed and when we came to the practical I hardly had to ask before she'd slipped her same red flats off. This time she knelt on her chair so that I could tickle her feet from behind. I didn't ask her to pose that way for me and I wouldn't have. I would have preferred to see her face. I tickled her feet again with my fingers as I had done, months prior but there was no change. Then I asked if I could try the feather. She said "sure."
Looking back now I can see that I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up. What sort of person is feather ticklish if they're not finger ticklish? L didn't laugh as I stroked the feather across her soles. This encounter was shorter than the first and I don't remember it as well, but I think there was a moment when I think I heard a muffled giggle. It's possible I am only imagining it, I couldn't see her face, but it might have been while I was worming the feather through her toes, or tracing circles on her heels.
Either way, the tickling ended and we went on with the lesson again. I never tried to tickle her again and we never discussed it again. The reason I have held that experience so close to me was because she was the first woman I ever met who allowed me to tickle her feet for a prolonged period of time, and not once but twice. Sure, she wasn't ticklish but it was still something special. She was also the only teacher who I think was a little uncomfortable when I tickled them, at least at the very beginning. I don't think she ultimately minded but even so...
Part 2: Miss B
With L done I was keen to move on to one of my school teachers. I didn't mind whether Miss B or Ms D went first but before I tickled either I had to figure out how I was going to do it. For obvious reasons I wasn't going to try the school science project excuse, which could be easily checked with the science teachers. Instead, the plan I came up with was... really stupid. I would claim that I had tendon issues in the arch of my foot which got worse in summer months. On a hot summer day when the sun was bright and the teacher I was targeting was wearing open toed sandals, I would stay behind at the end of class. The teacher approaches, asking if I have a question. I then explain that's I'm just waiting because the tendons in my arches are uncomfortable and then show them on their foot where the pain is.
Miss B was the first to experience this technique. After English class, everyone left for lunch and I stayed behind. Seeing this, she stayed too and came over to my desk. She asked what was up and I told her about my situation. She was wearing flats, she often kicked her shoes off under her desk during class, so went I went to show her where the pain was she actually lifted her foot completely out of her flat and allowed me to touch her sole.
"It's right here," I said, running my fingers over her arch. I was looking at her foot as I tickled her but I distinctly heard a ticklish intake of breath and then the word "Tickles" which turned into a half giggle at the end. It was only the end of the period so there wasn't any chance to keep tickling her. The whole experience lasted maybe five seconds. I watched her gather her things and walk down the stairs next to the classroom. I would spend some time trying to find another way to tickle her but never did. Ultimately, it didn't matter. I'd done it once and I knew she was ticklish. Another name off the list.
Part 3: Ms D
I did try this method with a few other female teachers, both old and young, but it didn't work. I mean they let me stroke their arches but they weren't ticklish. I even used this method on the deputy principle when she took my class for a history lesson. She was actually interested in my situation and listened attentively as I tickled her arch but she made no sign that she was ticklish. She was wearing thick stockings at the time, but I'm not convinced that being bare would have made a difference.
I had thought I'd never make any progress this way and should just give up... until an opportunity to tickle Ms D emerged.
Ms D's art studio was very near my locker. I saw her most days, even on days I wasn't in her class. Of all the teachers I ever tickled I knew and liked her best. She was short, so I sometimes helped her move things around the classroom and stack the shelves. She'd even confided in me that I was one of her favourite students to teach. Despite having the chance to tickle her a few times and my desperation to see if she was ticklish, I didn't make the move. I honestly don't remember why.
Then, one day, after class I was back at my locker, preparing to go home when I heard laughter from the art studio. Curiously I stepped in and found Ms D laughing as Mrs T, another teacher, told her a funny story. Mrs T was similar to Ms D, aside from being European. Short, straight hair, maybe a little plumper than Ms D. They waved me over when they saw me and Mrs T asked me how I was going. We chatted a little and then Mrs T brought up the weather. She asked how I was finding the heat. It was an opportunity I couldn't pass up. I gave her and Ms D the same line about the arch of my foot. I made sure to stand next to Ms D so that it made more sense to use her foot to explain. She was wearing open toed sandals.
"It's right in the arch," I said, reaching out. My finger barely grazed her skin when Ms D threw her head back and let out a loud laugh, almost a cackle. "Are you alright," I asked, trying to keep my voice level.
"I'm just really ticklish, sweetie," she said.
"Okay," I said. "Anyway, it's just in here." I traced my index finger up and down her foot more deliberately.
Ms D didn't say anything. She just laughed and put a hand on my shoulder as I knelt by her. Mrs T laughed too as she watched.
I stopped after maybe ten seconds.
"You have very small feet," I observed, putting my hand up against the side of her foot. They were so small the soles were not much bigger than my hand, without her toes.
"They're size 4," she said, watching me measure my hand against her foot. I still remember the size she told me.
I knew we were at the end now, that I'd had my one chance, that this, like the others before, would not be repeated. So I decided to go out in a blaze of glory. The fingers of my right hand sprang into her instep and began madly tickling her.
"NAHAHAHAHAHAHA," she laughed. My eyes were on her feet but when I stopped, after only a couple of seconds, Mrs T was watching me with a grin and Ms D was taking deep breaths. We actually continued the conversation for a few minutes before I had to go to catch my bus. I remember coming home that evening and going out into the back garden, the evening news on the tv coming out the back door behind me. Our family dog, a yorkie, who would live another ten years, despite the fact that I thought it was old then, came and sat beside me. It was just such a moment of strange reflection. I had just tickled one of my favourite teachers and it had gone better than I could have hoped. I remember feeling a sense of hollow victory. I'd done it but I felt as though I'd lost something too. It was an experience I'd loved but I'd never have again.
And then it happened again.
It was the start of recess. Everyone was at the lockers. I was passing one way, she was walking the other. There was a staircase in the hallway so the hallway expanded out, so there was plenty of room for us to talk, even with everyone else around us pulling things out of our lockers. It was another hot day and she was wearing sandals. She asked how I was finding the heat. I mentioned my foot ache again, thinking she'd remembered. She seemed confused. I bent to touch her instep. I wasn't even going to tickle. But as soon as my fingers made contact with her foot she let out a loud cackle that had everyone turning to see what was going on. I tried to play it off as though nothing strange had happened and everyone turned back after only a couple of seconds. I didn't even notice a lingering look.
Ms D smiled widely at me and pulled me close.
"You know something sweetie," she said in a voice so quiet only she and I could hear. "I really enjoy your tickles."
For those who are wondering, this statement is the reason I have never posted this story before. Because it is so obviously fake, so absolutely unrealistic, that there is no way it could be real. All I can say to that is: I promise you it is.
As I've been writing this out, I've been thinking about those words more and more. In part it's because I know it's going to be the part that I’m going to lose a lot of people. Some readers might even go back over what I've written to see if this is all fake or just this next part. However, the other reason is this question I have in the back of my head. Why did she say it? A part of me guesses it was just because she thought I was embarrassed and wanted to reassure me but that doesn't really square with what comes next and I can't shake the feeling that it meant something more than that. What, I don't know. But more.
I also want to just say this, and this is something that I've only just realised thinking about it again as I'm writing this all out. Although I loved Ms D, what she said to me was inappropriate. Don't get me wrong, I was "of age" but a teacher telling a student that they like it when they touch them is not something she should have done. I don't think she meant it that way, although...
Let's just get on to what came next and then you be the judge.
Obviously, this statement massively emboldened me.
About a week later she was in her studio alone, setting things up for her classes that day. I had just arrived and was early. Barely anyone else was at the school. I went in to help her, as I sometimes did, and we started talking. She was wearing flats.
I made a comment about how hot it was going to be today. I mentioned my 'condition' again, basically unprompted, and within a few seconds her foot was in my hand, her flat was on the floor and she was cackling wildly as I tickled her sole. I still remember the feel of her sole. Silky soft with a slightly firmer ball near the toes. That was my favourite spot on her foot to tickle and she always laughed loudly when I stroked her there. This tickling lasted maybe five minutes. There was no reason, no real plan or excuse. I just did it and she let me.
"What if someone used one of your paint brushes to tickle you?" I asked her.
"Oh sweetie, that would be too much for me," she said.
I didn't end up using the brush on her feet, a missed opportunity I'd spend years kicking myself for.
I'm not sure if it was the next time I tickled her or the time after that that she was wearing nylons. I don't' remember many specifics other than it tickled her but not as much as it did barefoot. I don't remember exactly what was said and I don't want to add imaginary dialogue. That tickle ‘session’ had been at lunchtime. I remember because I recall afterwards walking out amongst the other students who were all none the wiser. That was when the ridiculousness of my situation really struck me. How had I managed to have so many tickling stories with teachers when most online stories I’d red either ended in sex, so clearly fake, or were just that one time they grazed a foot. I didn't know then and I still don't entirely.
Ms D was the first woman I ever tickled who really seemed to love it and who I actually lost count of how many times I'd tickled her. I have only two other strong memories of tickling... perhaps I shouldn’t really say ‘sessions’ but... tickling occurrences with her. The first was one time when she was sitting at one of the tables arranging something and I was under the desk tickling her feet, her flats fallen by the wayside. It only went on for maybe two minutes, but it was still unforgettable, although how I ended up there is not something I remember clearly.
The second time was when we were technically caught. I had been tickling her, like normal, when another art teacher stuck his head in and asked what was going on. It'd been a little later when I'd tickled her that day so there'd been more people around to hear the noise. I quickly got up and she made an excuse. I left shortly afterwards. I was worried for a little while if I was going to get into trouble but when I next saw that teacher again, he gave so sign that he thought differently about me. He and I knew each other and even stayed in distant contact for a while after I finished at the school.
I would tickle her feet a couple more times before the end. Including the stories that I've already mentioned I would guess that I probably tickled Ms D about ten times. I'd be surprised if it was more than fifteen or less than eight. Ten feels like the right amount. I also want to be clear that it was usually only for about two to three minutes. Maybe as much as five minutes a couple of times but nothing more than that.
On my last day I went in to see her, hoping for one last chance to tickle her. Unfortunately, there was already another teacher there and the chance didn't present itself again. I would never tickle her again.
Again, I want to stress, this story is exactly why I haven't posted it before, because... how can you? This story is nuts. It's actually only been as I've been writing this up and rereading it that I've realised that Ms D probably shouldn't have let me get away with as much as she did. Don't get me wrong, I always initiated it, and both really enjoyed it and it's really hard to complain from my perspective but... looking back now I can't help but feel that both of our actions were a bit inappropriate. I don't think it was sexual for her, I really, really don't. It was only unconsciously sexual for me. But I still don't understand why she was so okay with me tickling her like I did.
Something else I've thought about is this one little part of our conversation, the thing I'd say before we'd begin a tickling occurrence. I'd always ask her about, or make some comment about, the weather. Every time she accepted the premise and kept on that line of conversation it always quickly ended in me tickling her. However, if she changed subject, we wouldn't. In the many years since those days, I've come to think about and mythologise that exchange. As though it was her way of indicating whether she wanted a tickle or not. I had originally planned to write that into the section before but... I just don't know. Maybe it was but it could have been coincidence. I'm not sure. Of all the people I've ever tickled Ms D remains the most mysterious to me.
Part 4: M
If you remember, way back at the start of this, I mentioned that there were three stand out teachers I tickled: One high school teacher and two private music teachers. Maybe you thought I'd made a mistake, that I really meant two high school teachers (Miss B and Ms D) and one private music teacher (L). But no. Although Miss B might have been the most beautiful teacher I ever tickled, I don't count her in my top three. One quick five second foot tickle and half a giggle does not make that cut when there is still one person left to discuss. Someone not only almost as ticklish as Ms D and who I tickled even more frequently than her, but someone who I tickled for longer periods than L. She was the last teacher I ever tickled as well as being my all-time favourite. She was M.
After a while L decided that she wanted to move on from teaching trombone and was moving to another city. M was a friend of hers who she recommended to replace her. M took over all of L's students and hired out the same room.
M was neither short nor tall, maybe 5'6-5'7. Her skin was almost ghost white, her hair, which was always dyed either chestnut brown, or white with a green or blue strand was cut to a curly bob. She wore glasses, thick black frames, and had at least two piecing's in each ear, maybe one in her nose too, I don't remember. She was apparently quarter Chinese, though I could never tell. She was almost the definition of a free spirit, bubbly and always enthusiastic, and in the summer months she conducted her lessons barefoot without fail.
However, there was just one problem I had with her. She wasn't actually a very good teacher. I remember vividly, her trying to teach me a new piece and her constantly having to stop and correct herself as she played it for me. She might have been good at getting little children to learn for the first time but her more advanced students didn't last long with her, aside from me.
She was definitely conscious of her limits and was quite happy to waste time just chatting to me if I let her.
Shortly after she started teaching, changes began to happen at the music school that are worth noting. Firstly, the guitar teacher that had always used the room next to us moved on and a new one never took his place. This meant that we were given that room for trombone practise. It was just as soundproofed as the other room but it was larger. There was an electric keyboard in it as well as two black fold down chairs and a large low comfortable armchair.
The second was that the Irish couple that rented out the rooms moved away. They kept the property and continued leasing it out, but they were no longer living on the premises anymore. That meant that it was up to the last teacher of the night to lock up the place before the next day. Suddenly other teachers were scrambling to end earlier until M was the last one. By the time I arrived the other classes were wrapping up. The other shops on either side had either permanently closed or didn't have anyone living in them after 5 pm when most businesses shut.
My lessons were also doubled. Instead of forty minutes, they were extended out to eighty minutes.
So, to recap:
I would arrive at a backstreet suburban shopping strip at night, go to the only building that wasn't deserted, go through the empty downstairs, up to the soundproof room where the single other person in the whole street would be, and spend eighty uninterrupted, undisturbed minutes with her while she tried to find other distractions to stop her having to play her instrument too much.
I think it was our fourth lesson together that I decided I was going to tickle her, or at least try to.
I had already established the fact that I had a feather to clean the outside of my trombone and I had also included a little paint brush. M thought it was strange but she shrugged when I asked if she thought it was worth having.
When I arrived I put my trombone case on top of the stool for the electric organ and began setting it up. She was sitting on her chair, turning back to look at the window as she swivelled the blinds closed.
"How are you?" she asked, clearly more intent on what she was doing.
"Not super great actually," I said.
"I'm sorry dude, what's up?"
"It's this reflexology project I'm doing," I said. "I don't suppose L ever told you about it?"
M shook her head.
"There are a series of tests I have to do with different people," I said. "You have a set of different tasks and a set of different age and gender groups and then you assign a different task to an age and gender group. L was helping me as one of the subjects and now that she's gone I can't get the data I need."
"Couldn't you get someone in your family to help you?" she asked.
"Because of the tests it has to be a woman in her twenties or early thirties," I said. "I've already been using other demographics for different parts of the test."
"What sort of test was it?" she asked, putting one hand under her chin.
I paused, only briefly, but still I paused. This was it.
"This one was a tickle test," I said. "It was just some questions and a brief practical test."
She nodded.
"I can try and get back in contact with L if you want," she said. "She might be coming back to the city to visit in a few weeks."
"I don't want to worry her about it," I said. "I'll find someone else... I just don't know who."
She studied me in silence for a few moments. Then she sighed.
"I'm twenty-three," she said, putting her hands on her hips.
"Are-are you offering to help?" I asked, the stutter in my voice not even an act. For a moment there I'd thought I'd lost my chance.
"Do you want me to help you?" she asked.
"Yes," I said, perhaps too quickly. "That would be so much help."
"What do you need me to do?" she asked.
First, I asked her some questions. Nothing much just whether or not she thought was ticklish, how ticklish did she think she was. I might have asked her shoe size but I don't remember her answer if I did. When that was done, I had her sit on the two foldout chairs, not unlike how L had that first time. Her feet weren't small but nor were they as large as L's.
"Are you ready?" I asked.
She nodded.
My fingers made contact with the balls of her feet and I began slowly stroking. The effect was immediate. Her mouth took the form of a broad Cheshire cat grin and she began to giggle loudly as my fingers glided over the pads of her feet.
"You okay?" I asked.
"Ihihihit rehehehahahahally tihihihihcklehehehes," she managed.
"That's good," I said and kept tickling.
As I worked, gently moving over her soles I asked her questions about what tickled most where. She answered truthfully. Her heels were quite ticklish but probably the least ticklish part of her foot. It took all five fingers doing circles on each heel to get her to really start twisting in her seat. The balls of her feet were pretty bad too. even light tickling really got to her there but her toes and arches were her real weak spots. She guided me to the exact spot on her arches that tickled the most and she laughed loudly when I started worming my fingers between her toes. When I asked her which foot was more ticklish she said it was her left so I tickling her with both hands on her left foot for a few minutes. That made her belly laugh hard, but to her credit she kept her feet in place as best she could.
Once I was satisfied, I went to the feather. It tickled enough to make her giggle as I stroked it up and down her soles but it was not nearly as bad as the fingers.
"Ihihit fehehels nihicehe," she bubbled as the feather did circles on her arches.
Then I began running the feather through her toes, which took her from light giggles to mad cackling in seconds.
"Worse than fingers," she told me, after stopping to catch her breath.
The paint brush was last and its effects were minimal. To be honest this is the part I really struggle to remember so I'd guess it wasn't very effective.
When we were done I looked at the clock. Almost fifteen minutes had gone by since I'd arrived. Not all of that had been tickling but most of it had. It was the longest to that point that I'd ever tickled someone.
We finished up and I noticed that she seemed extra relaxed as she sat back in her chair, watching me set up my instrument.
"Do you like being tickled?" I asked her.
"Yeah dude," she said.
"How much?" I asked.
She paused for a moment, her mouth quirking to the side as she considered.
"I think it would be more fun if it was a social thing," she said. "Not that it isn't fun when you do it. But I think it would be more fun if it was someone tickling me to tickle me. Obviously you're tickling me but you're doing it for a school project, not for fun."
"I think that's fair," I said.
After class was over, I made a promise to myself that I would tickle her again.
At the next class I thanked M again for her help. She told me not to worry about it. I then mentioned that I'd probably have to do the experiment three or four more times throughout the year if she was okay with that, checking details over time and adding new components. She agreed without any concern.
For the next couple of months I didn't mention tickling again. Neither did she.
Eventually I thought enough time had passed and I broached the subject again. In the prelude to the day I had plucked out more feathers from my parent's old feather duster they didn't use anymore, as well as buying some fuzzy brightly coloured pipe cleaners. I snuck them into my trombone case when I finished practise the night before my lesson.
It had been wet in the days before the lesson and M was wearing sneakers. When I asked if I could do the experiment again, she nodded and slipped off her shoes and socks without complaint. We skipped the pre tickling questions and went straight to the tickling. This time I had her sit in the low armchair and have her put her feet up through the collapsible chair, so that her feet hung out the back of it, heels dangling over the edge. This also mean that her feet were slightly higher than the rest of her body, limiting her ability to move her core.
We went over the same questions again, this time even more slowly than last time. I tickled her soles with fingers first, loving her melodic laughter as I worked. I also introduced two games, one was where she had to keep her feet completely still while I tickled her. She passed that game, although her upper body moved around and her legs trembled as I spidered my fingers up her arches. Then I told her she couldn't laugh. She really did try but we both knew she'd lose before she even started playing.
Then I told her the main focus of the experiment this time. We had managed to establish that the feather through her toes was slightly more ticklish than her arches, so the real question was simple, between which toes was she the most ticklish. This took a long time, as you'd expect, weaving the feather between each digit and asking her to rank whether it was more or less than the previous one. The worse toes had to be repeated a couple of times which kept her cackling until we had our answer. While some things have become a little hazy as the years have passed, I think her worst spot was between her middle toe and ring toe on her left foot.
We did try the pipe cleaners and they did tickle between her toes but not as much as the feathers did. Finally, I told her I wanted to do one last test. She asked what it was with characteristic enthusiasm.
"I want to see if this is worse," I said, pulling out the other feathers I'd brought and slipping one between the gaps in each of her toes. I'd like to say I saw her eyes widen or heard her gasp but I don't remember exactly what her reaction was as she realised what I was about to do. However, her reaction about half a second after I started pulling them all back and forth through her toes will be forever burned into my brain.
She cackled madly, throwing her head back and roaring with laughter. Her hands went to cover her mouth as her whole body shook. Her knees went up and down as she fought the urge to pull away. Eventually one foot did slip back momentarily.
"Sorry," she said, putting her foot back in place.
"Just another couple of seconds," I replied, then I resumed my action again before finally stopping about twenty seconds later.
She was panting as I packed my tickle tools away.
I checked the clock. I'd been tickling her for about twenty-five minutes.
"Fun?" I asked.
"Yeah," she said, getting to her feet.
About twenty minutes later the door to our room opened unexpectedly. One of her previous students had accidently left something behind and his parents had come to collect it before we finished up for the night. We had been in the middle of playing something and they just opened the door and started looking for whatever their son had left behind. M was annoyed but I was nervous. If they'd been earlier, they could have walking in on me tickling her.
Again, I waited a few months before tickling her again and again she was wearing sneakers, this time with a crop top.
However, when I asked if I could tickle her she became unusually reluctant.
"I just broke my toe a few weeks ago," she told me. "You'll have to be gentle."
I promised I would be and had her sit on the keyboard stool with her feet through the collapsible chair like last time. This time I tickled her for only maybe ten minutes. I mostly kept away from her toes and just stoked her soles while I asked her the same questions about where she was most ticklish as though I'd forgotten from last time.
I had brought some different types of paint brushes to try on her but all of them were disappointments. Some only made her giggle and some didn't even tickle at all. She preferred the light finger tickling so I just did that until I thought she'd had enough.
As we were finishing up and she had put her shoes and socks back on, I asked her if she was ticklish anywhere else.
“I'm not sure," she said.
"Some people are quite tickling on their stomach's" I said. I reached out towards her and she immediately put her arms up and put her back to me so it was easier for me to tickle her. My fingers lightly traced her belly muscles and I felt her shake against me as she giggled. It only lasted maybe five or six seconds before I stopped. Then we went on with our lesson.
Once her toe healed, she started going barefoot again and when we discovered that the room had a good heating system ever winter couldn't keep her feet in her shoes. Around this time, I started tickling her more socially. If she was kneeling down, I'd get a quick tickle on her feet. She'd giggle but wouldn't say anything.
Finally, at the end of the year, our last tickling session came and... this is the session I remember the least. She was back in the low armchair again, feet through the back of the collapsible chair as she let me tickle her soles. I asked a few questions but I mostly just tickled her. I had left the brushes and the pipe cleaners at home. This was just fingers and feathers, the stuff we both enjoyed most. I had brought a strong rubber band which I had suggested to use to wrap around her big toes to keep feet together but she had told me she wasn't comfortable with that, so I had put it aside without argument. Like I said I don't remember much of the session since there wasn't anything new about it to help it stand out. I think I did the feather saw through all of her toes again and I spent a lot of time doing light finger tracing circles over her soles but little more than that.
My parents had already told me that they didn't want me to continue taking lessons from M next year. I wasn't making enough progress because of her slow teaching. This was true regardless of my occasionally tickling her. Several of her other high-level students had failed their music exams and despite my frequent defence of her as a person, there was no way I could stay on with her. Despite this, my parents were keen not to get her into trouble. There would be no complaints to the Irish couple that could see them try to find someone else to rent the rooms to.
I knew as I watched her soles shake against the back of the chair, resisting the urge to draw back as I skated my fingers over her soles, that this was it. This was the last time ever. I had tickled all of my other teachers I'd really had the chance to, and I wasn't going to get the chance to again. One thing I do remember about our last session was that I didn't go hard on her. I didn't go into it with the thought of 'I'd really better get her in the grand finale.' This was more personal to me. As much as possible I tried to focus it on what I knew she liked. As a tickler I always try to focus on whatever I know the other person enjoys most, and this was no exception. I don't remember how long this last session lasted, maybe twenty minutes or so.
And then I was done.
Epilogue:
Let me start by saying this: "Don't try this at home kids"
Looking back on this now, I'm not proud of how I handled myself. I tricked several women into letting me touch them under the guise of something innocent but in reality in the name of a one-sided sexual encounter. That is wrong. It was wrong then and it's wrong now.
Now, admittedly, I didn’t really understand that my burning desire to tickle was an explicitly sexual thing. It wasn’t until my twenties when I started figuring out that this was actually sexual. To me, I just knew I liked tickling. The tickling culture online at the time was much more one of, ‘how can I touch a woman’s foot?’ Things like consent were not usually focused on and informed consent was hardly ever discussed.
Don’t get me wrong these women did all consent to being tickled and I never intentionally pushed them beyond what they were comfortable with, but I still feel bad about it looking back on it more than twenty years later. I can definitively say all these years later that I would not do something like this again.
As far as the unbelievable nature of these stories I think there are three responses to this story that I expect people will have:
1. You're right, I don't believe you.
2. I believed the first half but after that it went off the deep end.
3. I mean maybe it happened and maybe it didn't but it's a really cool story either way.
To that all I can say is. I have no evidence, I have no trust established to invoke or prior good standing in the community to call upon. All I can say is this: This happened, all of it, every word of it. I promise there are no embellishments.
I might post this story again in the main True tickling Story section if people are interested. Like I said I've always resisted posting it before because... I mean look, if this had all happened to you would you expect to be believed?
- Malgus
I wish that I had been there to see it first hand. 
Thanks for sharing your experience here. 
