I guess this gives a whole new meaning to having fun at the old ballpark. The game was called a business fan's special. It started at 1:00 p.m. on a Thursday afternoon.

When I moved to Nashville, I was told that the sumer temperatures could really get high. This day proved it. The forecast called for 100 degrees.

I worked half a day, then headed to the game. I whipped off my sportscoat even before entering the stadium. The heat and unusual starting time resulted in the attendance being down.

There was nobody in either the rows in front or back of me. I sat next to a big-busted blonde with her hair up, a white tank top, shorts and flip flops. The guy next to her was either her boyfriend or husband. At the top of each ining he would go get a beer. At the bottom of the inning he would come back to his sat and guzzle it.

In the bottom of the second, third and fourth inning, she would place her right ankle on her left knee, giving me a wonder view of her lovely instep. I would have given anything to tickle her. Unfortunately, the drunk next to her was always there.

To make matters worse, our home team fell behind 9-0 by the fifth. In the top of the sixth, the team's luck didn't change, but my luck did.

While he went away for another brew, she put her right foot back up for display. I figured this was a good time to get bold. The worst that could happen is that she would tell her guy.He was so loaded that he was in no condition to make real problems. She even seemed a little frustrated with his consumption.

She turned to me and told me that it wasn't bad enough that our team was getting slammed, but that it was so hot on top of that. She was washing off the dripping makeup coming off of her face when I took my right hand to her foot and began lightly tickling her instep.

"Ooh-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo." She said while clutching a tissue. "That makes me crazy. That makes me nuts!"

The drunk was returning, so it was time for me to pay attention and behave myself. While standing for the seventh inning stretch, and our club down 13-2, she leaned toward me and giggled. "I never had anyone tickle my feet at a ball game before." She said softly. "Im going to take my shoes off. You can do that again, but try not to let him notice."

She sat down in a position where her knees were pointed towards him and her feet were hanging off the edge of her seat facing me. I spent the next two and a half innings gently stroking my index finger along her soles, quietly playing with her heels, grasping and jiggling each toe individually, running my fingertips slowly across all parts of her insteps, and other types of fun stuff like that.

The concession stands quit selling beer after the seventh inning. The drunk stayed in his seat, though he really had no idea what was going on. She would occasionally turn to me and smile and/or giggle. A few times she would cover her mouth with her hand to keep in the laughter.

When the last out was made, everyone stood up to head for home. I turned towards her and quietly thanked her for letting me tickle her feet. "Oh no problem." She whispered. "That was neat. Maybe we lost 15-3, but we still found a way to have a little fun."