My First Time
(Posted on Sunday, September 9, 2001)
This story was submitted anonymously.

I was 12 years old the first time that I remember really being tickled. I don’t recall either my Mom or Dad ever tickling me. In fact, I only ever saw my Dad tickle my Mom once. She got so mad at him that she didn’t speak to him for a week.

I had 2 younger brothers that I admit, I was pretty mean to. I picked on them all of the time and there wasn’t much that they could do about it, that is, until that one faithful day.

I caught the youngest brother in my room going through my things. I chased him out and tackled him in the living room and was sitting on his back.  I did that to both of them all of the time and they both hated it.

I didn’t see my other brother enter the room, nor did I see him walk up behind me. The next thing I knew, he had both his hands around my rib cage and started playing my ribs like a keyboard. I could not begin to put words to the shock that ran through me.

I fell over screaming and laughing hysterically. There was no way I could protect myself. Nothing helped, curling up in a ball, using my arms, I couldn’t prevent his fingers from digging into my ribs. It took about 3 seconds for me to begin begging for mercy. Even though I’m sure the event didn’t last 15 seconds, it felt like a lifetime. My brothers left the room, leaving me laying on the floor unable to breathe, let alone move.  I had no idea how that incident was going to change my young life.

I was certainly aware of the incident because for the next 2 weeks I didn’t pick on either of my brothers. I hoped that it would just pass over and he would forget about the whole thing. No such luck.

I was sunning myself by the pool, half asleep in a lounge chair. Out of nowhere, the oldest brother just sat on my shins, trapping me and leaving me completely helpless. My first response, besides shock, was anger. I yelled at him to get off of me. I might have had a different response if I had any idea of what he had in mind. It hurt having his weight on my shins, but that turned out to be the least of my problems.

Almost like an electrical jolt, I felt his fingers start dancing lightly up and down the sole of my right foot. If I thought the rib tickling was unbearable, I knew nothing. On a scale of 1 to 10, my ribs were an 8. My foot it turns out would be a 20.

I know I was laughing hysterically, but my mind was a blur. He wasn’t happy with just tickling one foot. He started switching back and forth between my left and right foot, sometimes even doing both at once.

It didn’t take long for me to start begging for him to stop, but no amount of begging was going to help or save me. I wasn’t sure if I was going to go insane, die or both as each second turned into minutes, which seemed to be dragging out into several lifetimes. I had no concept of time.

I couldn’t breathe. Tears were rolling down my cheeks, and if that wasn’t bad enough, the torment went on so long that I ended up letting loose my bladder, soaking my swimsuit in pee. And he still didn’t let up.

I started to get light headed and was sure that I was about to pass out when the tickling finally stopped. I felt really odd. The entire time he was tormenting the soles of my feet, I was hysterical in laughter and begging for him to stop. Now that he had, I was secretly hopeful that since he still had my feet trapped and helpless, he would start again, once I had recovered from the first ordeal. Instead, to my disappointment, he got up and left me there.

I remember laying there for what seemed like a long time in my pee soaked suit, trying to recover and thinking, “How weird I must be to want him to return and do that again.” After a time, I finally got up and showered and spent most the rest of the day in my room, thinking mostly.

I certainly wasn’t going to talk about this with my girlfriends, nor was I going to talk to Mom and Dad about it.  I thought it was the strangest thing ever. I did resolve not to let my brother know that I enjoyed being so helpless and tickled, even though while it was happening I sounded mad at him for tormenting me that way. But I came up with a plan and teased and tormented both my brothers for the years that I had left at home in the hope that once they had enough prompting, they would attack me in the one area that they now knew they could exploit.

As I got a bit older and started having some boyfriends, I would do things to try and get them to tickle me, especially my feet, without letting them know how much of a turn on it was for me. I didn’t want them to think that I was weird or something.

My favorite trick was to use my toes to try and tickle their ribs while we were sitting around. This worked most of the time. The only problem was that nobody would tickle me beyond the “I give up” stage. I wouldn’t tell them or couldn’t tell them to keep going even if I begged, and when my feet were tickled, I couldn’t seem to help myself from screaming for mercy.

Even my brothers never tickled me as much again, although they tormented me pretty good in the years that followed. It would be almost 20 years later before I had the piss tickled out of me again. But that story is for next time.