it’s Matteo, PSM’s founder.
During the past years, my love for tickling has been made evident by articles, videos, photos, events… But all this time I was talking about an already developed subject.
I realized I’ve never spoken about how it all began for me to be a tickle fetishist.
I was probably 13 when I first had the chance to be home alone and navigate through the Internet without any supervision.
I looked up words that sounded funny. Obviously, for a silly teen, it especially meant curse words. I looked up “shit” and “whore” and things like that, on Google.
Then something curious happened, something that would have changed my life forever: I looked up “tickle”. It didn’t mean anything to me at the time (or, at least, I hadn’t grasped it yet); it was just another fun word to search for, another one that made me sneer when thinking about it.
One of the first links to appear in the results’ page was an online forum thread from a girl who was reporting a bad experience that had occurred to her.
The girl wrote that during a birthday party at some friends’ house, she was “playfully” forced by the house guests to lay on the couch, where they pinned her down holding her arms above her head, removed her shoes and stockings and proceeded to tickle her armpits and feet for what sounded like a huge amount of time, during which she hollered with laughter, weeped and begged the hungry crowd to stop.
I distinctly remember my psychological reactions to the story, as they were basically two very conflicting feelings: uneasiness for what that poor girl must have been through and…curiosity.
Yeah, it sounded dreadful…for the victim. But what about the torturer? Those people seemed to have had quite the time of their lives; they weren’t willing to give it up for anything in the world. Why? Was it really so engaging? I determined to give it a go.
The right moment didn’t take too long to reveal itself: a couple of months later, a friend of mine was spending the whole afternoon alone with me in my dad’s house, while my old man was out.
The teen boy was around my age and was very cute: thick curly brown hair, shiny green eyes that always pointed at you with a naive and excited look; flawless, smooth and tanned skin, all of it decorated with a couple of ridiculous dark, strong hairs that emerged from his chin; a shy, initial, sign of an ongoing puberty. His body was in good shape for his age, with just a slight spare tire which probably built up from his apparent softness, rather than a messy nutrition. Judging from his worn-out sneakers, he had big feet.
That day I convinced the lad – we’ll call him Arturo – to pose for me, as a model for a drawing. You see, drawing was my biggest passion at the time, and not only Arturo knew it, he respected me very much, artistically speaking. So it was easy to make him do what I wanted, if it was for the sake of arts.
That afternoon the subject of my work was going to be particularly difficult (or at least I made Arturo think so): a hero who’s captured and restrained. The teen didn’t understand my need for realism, but I eventually managed to convince him that he had to be actually tied up, hands and feet, to my bed, with bathrobes’ ropes.
So there he was, totally helpless: it was a large double bed, so I could tie him up spread-eagle to its four corners. He was already barefoot at that point, since both of us had taken off our shoes and socks and put some slippers on.
I was very nervous, but thanks to the playfulness that our age allowed, it was as simple as asking “I wonder if you’re ticklish?”
His reaction reassured me: he smiled – a very malicious smile – muttering something like “Oh…no…don’t…”
I couldn’t resist the urge anymore: I put a finger inside the sleeve of his t-shirt and scratched his vulnerable armpit. Those ticklish, innocent giggles… They were the sweetest sound I had ever heard!
So I went on to explore his whole body, particularly his big, soft, teen boy feet: so sensitive!
Arturo liked our little diversion and never asked me to stop or untie him.
I kept tickling him for a good 20 minutes. It isn’t a long time, but it was long enough to bring me where I am now.