Perusing various posts on the TMF presents a slew of rather interesting questions
for people who share our fascinating fetish. One, in particular, always seems to be repeated.
'When did you first realize that you had a tickling fetish?'
It was in thinking back through the years trying to answer this question that I came
up with this idea. A chronological history of tickling encounters in my life.
I often find it helps to work out thought processes on paper (or in this case digital ether).
When I was five years old, my parents made the move from the frigid climate of Maine
all the way down to the subtropic one of Louisiana. Prior to this point, my memories
of tickling are foggy at best.
Immediately upon settling down in our new home, I began attending preschool at a local
woman's house nearby. I recall that she would tickle her children quite often, and even then I
remember an intense feeling of jealousy watching them be tickled.
I was tickled rarely by my own parents if at all.
Already, my quiet manner began to assert itself and set me apart from others my age.
This feeling of being an outcast did not go away until my late teens and early twenties.
Even then I had to struggle against this feeling and fight my way upstream.
I found that the only way to overcome unfounded fears of rejection and stigmatism
is by confronting that which you fear the most.
Anyway, in first or second grade, I attended a private Christian school.
Here, as usual, I felt out of the 'social loop'. I must have looked pretty solemn most
of the time because I remember one day walking down the covered sidewalk between
buildings before or after lunch when one of the girls who was a higher grade than I came up
and planted herself squarely in my path, smiling mischievously.
Well, I was nonplussed by her invasion of my personal space, and so, tried to make my
way around her. She deftly mirrored my movement, blocking my path again. The smile never
left her lips. When I attempted to double back the other way, her hands shot up from nowhere
and lightly squeezed my ribs a few times. The effect was devastating.
I was NOT used to being tickled, and although it lasted only a few precious moments, my legs
completely folded under me. The incident was over almost before it had begun, and yet
it lingered on in my mind for weeks afterward. It sparked curiosity in me.
Why had she tickled me? Why did it feel so good to me? Why did other people not like to be tickled?
Was it normal to feel this way? The thoughts whirled around and around in my head like a maelstrom
of introspection. And time, the thief of always, sped on...
for people who share our fascinating fetish. One, in particular, always seems to be repeated.
'When did you first realize that you had a tickling fetish?'
It was in thinking back through the years trying to answer this question that I came
up with this idea. A chronological history of tickling encounters in my life.
I often find it helps to work out thought processes on paper (or in this case digital ether).
When I was five years old, my parents made the move from the frigid climate of Maine
all the way down to the subtropic one of Louisiana. Prior to this point, my memories
of tickling are foggy at best.
Immediately upon settling down in our new home, I began attending preschool at a local
woman's house nearby. I recall that she would tickle her children quite often, and even then I
remember an intense feeling of jealousy watching them be tickled.
I was tickled rarely by my own parents if at all.
Already, my quiet manner began to assert itself and set me apart from others my age.
This feeling of being an outcast did not go away until my late teens and early twenties.
Even then I had to struggle against this feeling and fight my way upstream.
I found that the only way to overcome unfounded fears of rejection and stigmatism
is by confronting that which you fear the most.
Anyway, in first or second grade, I attended a private Christian school.
Here, as usual, I felt out of the 'social loop'. I must have looked pretty solemn most
of the time because I remember one day walking down the covered sidewalk between
buildings before or after lunch when one of the girls who was a higher grade than I came up
and planted herself squarely in my path, smiling mischievously.
Well, I was nonplussed by her invasion of my personal space, and so, tried to make my
way around her. She deftly mirrored my movement, blocking my path again. The smile never
left her lips. When I attempted to double back the other way, her hands shot up from nowhere
and lightly squeezed my ribs a few times. The effect was devastating.
I was NOT used to being tickled, and although it lasted only a few precious moments, my legs
completely folded under me. The incident was over almost before it had begun, and yet
it lingered on in my mind for weeks afterward. It sparked curiosity in me.
Why had she tickled me? Why did it feel so good to me? Why did other people not like to be tickled?
Was it normal to feel this way? The thoughts whirled around and around in my head like a maelstrom
of introspection. And time, the thief of always, sped on...
