she come on over to your house. You tell her you're bored, too, and since it's going to be a rainy day you might as well hang out together. She only lives a block away and it wouldn't be the first time you'd done something innocent together. She trusts you and gushes a thank you and is at your door five minutes later.
She isn't really your type romantically- she's a tad shorter than you like and not athletic- but she has nice features and a fun and loving personality that makes her pleasant to be around. To be honest, at times you've fantasized about the two of you giving a relationship a try. But life always got in the way of any spark happening and you had a girlfriend until about a month ago.
"Hey!" she chirps, pushing on by you to go straight to the living room. You stammer at her to make herself at home, in a mock indignant way. She does, taking the center of the couch as if waiting for you to put in a movie or something. You call her a butthead and squeeze in beside her, elbowing her ribs. She doesn't take shit from guys and elbows you back harder. You both chuckle.
The one thing you've most noticed about her in the past and, quite frankly, caught yourself staring at more than once, is her feet. They were beautiful, or at least the kind you like. A nice fit for her size and with narrow, lively toes, very soft looking and crying out to be played with. The fact that you have both a foot fetish and a tickle fetish was stirring your insides into mush because she was wearing thin, flat sandals that were forever on the verge of slipping off.
She reaches away from you on seeing the remote and her shirt hikes up to expose just enough skin to trigger your tickle obsession. She squeals and nearly falls off the couch when you make contact, putting her off-balance. You've seen her get tickled to death by others before so you you knew she'd react with high-pitched laughter and flailing arms, but you've never seen her feet get tickled before and that's where you focus your next attack. You keep her from spinning to the floor and grab her legs to pull her feet onto your lap, the sandals flying into the air.
"What are you doing?" she shrills, trying to orient herself, Then, "Oh, no. No! Don't even think about tickling my feet. I will kill you. I will-"
You secure her feet under your arm, admire their beauty for a second, then interrupt her sentence by teasing the soles and toes with every tickling technique you've perfected over years of tickling the feet of your girl friends and your girlfriends. You get lost in the fever of your selfish desires even as she loses her mind in complete ticklish hysteria.
She struggles so hard, through peals of insane laughter, that she takes you with her as she hits the floor, you releasing the feet to break your fall so as to not land on her with your greater weight. However, your face stops a breath from hers and your eyes lock in a sudden reappearance of cold reality.
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