Keith Steeclif

Graham came running into the empty gym wearing only a towel around his waist.

"You've got to hide me," he begged.

Graham was on the gymnastics team. They were known for their frequent pranks and initiations on fellow teammates. Apparently, Graham was today's victim.

I was putting away the volleyball net from our practice that was already over and we were alone in the gym.

Thinking quickly, I said, "Come over here," and led him to the back corner of the gym. The bleachers had been folded back against the wall, so I took him to the corner where there was a little space between the bleachers and the corner. Each row of seats, when pushed back against the wall, made a narrow crawl space. "Crawl in there," I told him, motioning to one of the openings about waist high.

We could hear the voices of his teammates, so Graham quickly crawled into the hole. I followed in behind him. Since Graham and I both crawled in head first, I followed the bare soles of his upturned feet.

We wedged ourselves into the space. Graham's way ahead was blocked by the cross beams of the bleacher. In order to keep myself from sticking out, I had to push forward until my face was just a couple inches from Graham's feet. Whenever he wiggled his toes, they brushed across my cheek.

As we waited in silence, I stared a Graham's bare soles. He had just come out of a shower, and I could smell the fresh aroma of clean feet. And when his toes brushed my face, I could feel how warm and soft his flesh was. Unable to resist, I ran my finger from the heel to big toe of his right foot.

The space we were in was tight and there was precious little room to move. The way ahead was blocked, so we could only crawl back the way we had come. When I stroked Graham's sole, it flexed spastically, his toes tightening. I ran my finger down his other foot. It reacted in kind, trying to move away from me, but unable to do anything but wiggle helplessly.

"Don't," Graham whispered, "I'm very ticklish."

"So I see," I said. "I like that." I started tickling the soles of Graham's bare feet.

Graham's feet went crazy, wiggling and flexing. Graham started giggling at first, but in seconds I had him laughing good. Between fits of laughter, Graham begged me to stop, but I couldn't.

After a couple minutes of tickling his bare feet, we heard his teammates approaching. I gave Graham's poor, ticklish feet a break so he could quiet down.

Suddenly, there was a great commotion in the gym as his teammates rushed in hooting and hollering, looking for Graham.

Graham's feet were still in my face, so I found it difficult to resist the urge to tickle. I started playing with his bare toes. Grahams' feet started wiggling again and he clamped his hands over his mouth to stifle his giggles.

I started tickling his feet lightly, being more cruel when his teammates were in other parts of the gym. Then just diddling his soles teasingly when they were nearby. Graham's muffled laughter almost gave us away once, but the man came past the bleachers and moved on.

The men milled about the gym for probably ten minutes until they finally moved on. I tickled Graham's feet the entire time. Once they left, and he didn't have to hold his laughter in any longer, Graham burst out laughing. He was hysterical. The fact that I was stroking his incredibly ticklish feet was bad enough, but I think that holding in his laughter for so long now made the sensation even more excruciating.

Once the men left, I did not stop tickling Graham's feet, and he was laughing so hard, he was helpless. I tickled his feet for perhaps another ten or fifteen minutes until I could tell Graham was getting exhausted. Then I backed up out of the space to let him get out.

I waited for Graham to come out of the hole, this time leaving his poor soles alone as they came sticking out of the hole. However, once Graham's upper body started to appear, I reached out and tweaked his waist. Graham started to laugh and squirm to get himself out of the hole. I reached around to his stomach and tickled his belly button. Graham was very ticklish on his stomach. Then, when I was tickling just below his naval, I brushed across the towel still tied around his waist and felt something. Graham was still struggling to get out of the hole and I tickled a bit lower, confirming that Graham indeed was stiff.

Spurned on by this discovery, I went full guns for Graham's ribs. He was out of the hole now and we wrestled to the floor. Normally, Graham could have easily overpowered me, but all of my tickling had weakened him. I got him down on the floor and straddled his waist, tickling his ribs and stomach.

Graham tried to protect his ticklish skin with his arms, but he was ticklish all over his torso, making it impossible to evade my tickling fingers. As I tickled, I gyrated my hips so that I was rubbing back and forth over Graham's towel.

Graham struggled mightily to escape and even managed to roll over onto his stomach. With his arms pinned tightly to his sides, it made it difficult to tickle his body. So I reached back and grabbed his right ankle. Bending his leg at the knee, I wrapped my right arm around his ankle and started tickling his sole and toes vigorously.

Graham's feet were more ticklish than his stomach or ribs, so I had him in hysterics again. Now laying on his stomach, his pelvis was pressed against the floor and Graham was trying to crawl away from me. But I was sitting on his ass, tickling his foot, so his movement had more of an arousal effect than anything else.

Although Graham was laughing like crazy, I could tell he was nearing orgasm. I suddenly stopped tickling his foot and just sat there.

At first, Graham was still laughing and wiggling his toes. Then, his laughter started to fade and he realized I wasn't tickling any more. But I didn't let his foot go and I think Graham was uncertain what to do. I think that he wanted to ask me to tickle some more, but he was afraid to ask. After a long pause, I stopped teasing the poor, exhausted guy and started tickling his foot again.

Graham started moaning, "Oh, God, the tickling. The tickling," between his fits of laughter. His toes were wiggling about in a frenzy. The skin on his soles would wrinkle and stretch as he crunched and splayed his toes. Graham's poor, defenseless foot was unable to get relief from my scratching fingers.

Then Graham came. Or better to say, he exploded, for he let out a yell that I thought for sure would bring his teammates rushing back to the gym. Graham's whole body froze for a second or two, then started shuttering violently as he played out his orgasm. Finally, he collapsed in a dead heap, panting.

I let go of Graham's leg and started to rub his back. As he started to relax and recover his breath, I leaned forward. Whispering in his ear, I said, "I absolutely love ticklish guys. Let me know if you'd like to play again sometime and I'll bring my feathers and brushes."

I left Graham sprawled on the floor and walked out of the gym. On my way out of the school, I saw Graham's teammates still looking for him. I was tempted to tell them were he was, and to mention that he is very ticklish. But I decided to keep that little secret to myself. A secret that proved very useful for the rest of our college careers.

Keith Steeclif