Hi all, Erica here. I've been incredibly ticklish ever since I was a little girl, but I've never really tried to describe the experience in words. Here's an attempt to record my early tickling experiences in writing, hope it brings a smile to your lips.
Coming from a large, extended family with dozens of relatives, my childhood was an epic of non-stop tickling. Most of our people emigrated from Eastern Europe, eventually settling into the same neighborhood, which meant there were always plenty of kids around on weekends and holidays.
Our folks took turns taking care of us after school, sometimes sending an older cousin over to keep an eye on us. This was a favored tradition from the old country, where everybody in seemed to be related by blood or marriage. The majority of our babysitters were female, but our all-time favorite minder at the time was our "long lost" cousin Karla.
Karla Jeygensen was 8 years my senior, making her around sixteen when she started babysitting my sisters and I. We quickly discovered she was a world-class tickler, and while we all fell victim to her torturous fingertips at one time or another, I soon became her main target – mainly because I did everything in my power to provoke her most of the time.
I guess I need to explain a little about myself. Being the middle girl in the family, I was slightly starved for attention, and usually acted out in chronic misbehavior. I was also a budding tomboy (a lethal combination back in those days), so I was always getting into some kind of trouble.
Karla was somewhat on the rough-and-tumble side as well, which made her the perfect foil for my frequent escapades. In common with most little girls, I enjoyed a good tickling every now and then, but more importantly, I loved Karla's undivided attention whenever she dropped round for the afternoon.
I think Karla picked up on it early on, because she started "punishing" my high jinx with extremely long tickling sessions, sometimes lasting more than fifteen minutes with intermittent breathers. My sisters, Tanya and Lydia, usually joined in the festivities, making sure I never got off too lightly. Much as I dreaded these protracted marathons, I still looked forward to Karla's weekly visits and often dared her to chase me down for a tickling. I simply could help myself; I always believed that I'd get away with it this time.
From the very start, I urged her on with incessant mischief. At first, she would jokingly warn me off, threatening me with the most diabolical torments imaginable. Naturally, this would only make me more determined to push the limits as far as possible. Within a few seconds, I'd be playing the nuisance while she tried to read a book on the sofa (or whatever). I never knew when the warnings were going to run out (that was a crucial part of the excitement), so I always screamed like a banshee when my ordeal began.
"No no no don't tickle me!!!"
Once Karla had me seated firmly on her lap, her hands would roam all over while I shrieked in helpless laughter. My dress would scrunch up around my chest, revealing my plump little torso. Her fingers would dive in immediately, dancing around my ribs and tummy button. Curling up in her arms, I'd try to pull my dress down to conceal my knickers, but by that time there was no escaping those probing digits.
After a minute or so she'd allow me to catch my breath. I'd lay panting against her shoulder, face flushed with embarrassed pleasure, bursting into spontaneous giggles every few seconds. She'd ask me if I was going behave, to which I'd nod in breathless agreement, begging her to let me go. Of course, her arms were still wrapped around me, holding me firmly in place. This was little more a brief respite, and I was well aware that the real tickling had yet to begin.
Having concluded the warm-up, Karla would proceed to the Never-Ending Foot-Tickle. This was accomplished by laying me on the floor in front of the sofa, my feet propped up on her lap. Holding my ankles together with one hand, she would draw her finger-tips down my soles in long, teasing strokes. Shill peals of laughter would explode from my throat as I bucked about in a wild attempt to get away. Needless to say, it was a completely wasted effort; once Karla had my feet in her iron grip, there was no evading my just deserts. Once again, my dress would slip all the way down to my shoulders, allowing everyone in the room a generous view of my floral print panties. The sheer embarrassment of having my thighs, knickers and belly on display was almost as bad as the tickling itself.
By this point, the commotion had brought my sisters to the living room, where they enjoyed a front row seat to the evening's entertainment. Both would spur Karla on with the greatest of enthusiasm, giggling at my hopeless predicament. Sometimes they would come over and hold my arms down on the carpet so I couldn't pull my frock down over my panties (they always found that part hysterically funny). As the name implies, the Never-Ending Foot Tickle seemed to continue throughout eternity, though it probably lasted no more than five minutes at the most.