Everyone on the Junior Varsity that year had gotten it at least once from Jim Chapman. We were seventh and eighth graders, and he was a ninth grader who had been held back at least twice. We were still boys - he was almost a man. And he was a big blond brazen bully. His powerfully built body intimidated all of us. And his face, with its perfect white smile, large chin, (with a manly dimple in the middle of it) often had a mean grin on it.
One of his favorite ways to torment us was to catch someone sitting in the boys room stall, kick the door open and piss on them. He had broken one guys arm in our wrestling class - on purpose! He was really cruel and mean to us.
And he was handsome. I can still remember his incredibly handsome face. He had that all-American clean cut look. And with that massive body - he looked like any of a large number of today's pro footballers. His incredible six foot two height towered over all the rest of us. He had a beautifully proportioned body that I saw often during gym class. Then he wore only his khaki shorts, white sox and sneakers. He never wore a tee shirt - he strutted his body before us - broad chest, muscles everywhere it seemed - he even had hair that softly curled up his smooth shiny stomach and out of his large mysterious armpits.
2. Getting Carlos
One day after school I saw Jim bust up a fight between two 8th graders. They were both big punks in their class, but one was much more the superior and he was beating the wimpy guy to a pulp. Jim interceded. The tougher guy was Carlos, a powerfully muscled Cuban kid, surly and mean. "Hey Carlos," Jim said as he came up and pulled the two apart. "Give this guy a break, little man." Carlos pushed at Jim. "Mind your business man! This is my fight!" Jim put his arm out and pushed Carlos with his fingertips. "Move on shithead!" he growled. "Hey man! You don't hurt me! You don't scare me!" Carlos yelled. He grabbed Jim's hand and flung it away. "That just tickles me man!"
Jim suddenly cocked his head and looked intently at Carlos. His face broke into a broad handsome smile. "It does huh?" he asked. Then he swooped Carlos up in a bear hug, swung him around several times, and dropped him to the ground. He stepped over Carlos waist and then knelt down, the boy's torso pinned between his huge legs.
"So I only tickled ya', huh Carlos!" Jim sneered, and then, pinning one arm beneath his massive knee, Jim pulled the other one straight up above Carlos head. This left the slightly damp armpit twitching beneath Carlos' black t-shirt.
"How's this tickle ya, buster?" Jim asked as he gently poked his finger into the boys exposed pit. He pushed gingerly down with his large finger, and then wiggled it around and around, jabbing, poking, tickling the boy pinned beneath him. Carlos pinched his face up and then began to rock back and forth giggling faster and faster and then burst into laughter.
"Hey man!" he squealed. "Cut it out man, please! Ha-ha-ha ha-ha-ha. No more man!
Hee-hee-hee-hee-ah-ah-ah-hah-hah! Oh no man, oh no more, nah-nah-ah-ah-ha-ha-ha! Please don't man!"
Jim smiled intently as he reached for Carlos other arm. He held both of Carlos wrists in one big hand and held them both up over his head. He now took turns tickling both of the pits before him. He took his time, taunting Carlos as he tickled the kid. "Tickle, tickle, tickle little man," Jim said laughingly as he moved his fingers in and out of the armpits exposed beneath him. Carlos was rolling uncontrollably, screaming with laughter, tears in his eyes.
"I quit man, I quit ... so don't, no more man, no more ticklin' man, please! Oh no! no, no, no - hee-hee-hee-ha-ha a-ha-ha-ha-hah-hah-hah ..." and off he went again, laughing hysterically.
A couple of the guys standing around got an idea of their own. As Carlos helpless legs kicked and struggled from beneath Jim's massive body, they each rushed forward and grabbed one of his big black boots. The boots had thick heels and long black laces - it took a while just to unlace them. But Carlos wasn't going anywhere - and he was having a hell of a time. Jim had no mercy and was tickling him and tickling him and tickling him. He wouldn't stop. Carlos was screeching and laughing in falsetto now, cursing everyone around him in Spanish. The black boots finally came off and there were two white socks, a little dirty around the heels and toes. They were quickly pulled off and two of the most perfectly formed feet were being held up before me.
They were broad, with big toes and a wide expanse of pink-brown sole. He must have walked around barefoot alot, because he had the beginnings of a small callous on each foot, right above the long smooth curve of the arch. He desperately twisted his muscular ankles. I wanted to go right down and lick the bottoms of his feet until they were twisting before me, straining to escape the exquisite tickling agony I would inflict upon them.
As it was, his tormentors were doing a good job. They had gathered up several handfuls of wild wheat that grew all around us and with these mini-dusters they were giving his feet a real going over. Up and down the bottoms of his bare feet they went - up and down and back and forth. Carlos was going insane from the laughter and the hysteria. He was staring directly up at Jim, who suddenly stopped tickling the pits to let Carlos feel the full impact of his feet being tickled so delicately.
It took two boys now on each leg - one holding the thigh, the other the ankle, to keep Carlos in his vulnerable position. The boy who held the thigh could also tickle Carlos ribs and the lucky boy holding the ankle could, from time to time, let go of one hand and gently ripple his fingers up along the top of the foot and then down along the smooth square sole. It took four to hold him down but it only took one with a handful of feathery weeds in his hands to make those soles sweat and twist, continually trying to escape the delicious agony. Carlos was laughing so hard his breath came in gasps and sometimes he couldn't catch it at all. The tickling of his feet seemed to snap something in him and he began to cry and then to laugh again. He looked up at the sky, utterly helpless, while his mouth opened wide and he laughed and laughed and laughed. Jim finally stood up and moved away and a whole crowd moved in on Carlos, pinning his arms and legs to the ground. They tore his
t-shirt off so his chest was as bare as his poor feet, and everywhere his body was being totally and unmercifully tickled. As Jim walked away, he looked back at the rest of us working on Carlos. He was satisfied with his handiwork, and headed on home with the sounds of Carlos screams ringing in his ears.
3. Making Plans
Anyway, we were all fed up with Jim Chapman and had decided that we were going to get him back for all his bullying of us. There were 12 of us who had had to put up with him, and we met several times in the school cafeteria, plotting our revenge. There were lots of different ideas as to how to do this. There were some who wanted to give him a red belly (holding him down and slapping his belly until it turned bright pink.) One guy wanted to put Absorbine Junior in his jockstrap and watch Jim dance once he got out on the playing field. Another faction wanted to hold him down and pull all the hairs off of his legs.
The others weren't sure what they wanted to do to pay him back. But I, remembering my
excitement during the incident with Carlos, wanted to somehow work tickling into our schemes. I was obsessed with the idea of getting him pinned down and helpless and then being able to get at his large smooth white soles. I had seen them from a distance so many times in the gym room - towel working on the toes, his palms brushing his soles before putting on his socks. His feet drove me nuts and I wanted to lick them ticklishly and make him squirm and howl with laughter.
It was wrestling season in our physical education class. And the coach was out sick for the day. Mr. Wade, our math teacher (who was also our swimming coach and who I had once seen - well, that's another story) came into our locker room and told us to go ahead and get into our gym clothes and practice some basic wrestling holds. He said he'd come back and check in on us sometime before the hour was up.
We were going to be on our own. The twelve of us and Jim. Today, we knew, would be the day. We had waited for our chance, and it had come.
4. Getting Even
After Mr. Wade left the locker room, we stripped down into our gym clothes. We were all more subdued then usual. We still weren't sure what we were going to do to Chapman.
He stood near his locker while he unbuttoned his shirt. After hanging it up, he unbuckled his pants and slipped them off. He never really talked to any of us, wasn't friendly or nice. He would push you out of his way as he headed for the showers. Or he would suddenly punch you in the arm in the hallway. It was like we didn't exist, except when his mean streak surfaced.
He pulled his t-shirt up above his arms and slowly exposed his stomach, ribs, chest and armpits. It was hypnotizing to watch him. He had more blonde hair on his body than any of the rest of us. It ran from the top of his jockey shorts, up over his flat stomach and onto his broad and well-defined chest and then up into the darkness underneath his arms. As the shirt cleared his head, I saw again what a handsome face he had. When he smiled, his square jaw softened a little and he almost looked like he could be a nice guy. But always the smile turned into a mean intent. He stood in the locker room now in nothing but his underwear and white socks. He reached into the locker and pulled out a pair of khaki shorts and quickly slipped them on. Then he sat down, his back to the rest of us, and put his sneakers on.
We all nervously looked at each other. We still weren't sure what we were going to do. One by one, we left the locker room.
Our wrestling class was held in the gymnasium. Several large mats had been spread out in the middle of the room and we all took our places around the edge. The coach usually had us pair off in twos and then come out into the middle of the mat and wrestle each other. He usually had a stopwatch and a whistle and would signal the beginning and end of each match. But without the coach, we weren't sure how to begin. Jim strutted out lastly across the gym's floor and then onto the middle of the mat. The rule was no shoes on the mat, but he waited till he was standing dead center before pulling his sneakers off and kicking them to the side.
"Okay pussies," he laughed. "Who's first?"
It was terrifying to see him there, challenging all of us, so confident in his power over us. We had seen him break someone's arm right here: a 7th grader who had told a teacher after Jim had pissed on him. Jim had waited till gym class to get him back, breaking his arm like a twig. Now he stood in the middle of us, taunting us, daring someone to come out. He kept flexing his arms, accenting the muscles there, making fun of us. He had purposely not worn his shirt so he could flaunt his huge powerful body before us. He turned in a slow circle before us, this massive young man, in nothing but his gym shorts and white socks.
"Come on pussies, come on. Who's man enough to be first."
Tom, who was a good wrestler in his own right, came forward. "I'll give it a try," he said.
"All right, all right, we got ourselves a champion here," Chapman hooted. "And I'll give ya the advantage of being on top," he added. Jim knelt down in the middle of the mat and Tom knelt down next to him.
Jim was on his hands and knees and Tom stretched his arm across Chapman's back, trying to get a grip on each arm. Tom was big for his age, but not that big.
"Okay pussy wipe, let's GO!" Jim yelled and quicker than any of us could see, Tom was suddenly on the mat below Jim.
"Hey! What happened?" Jim put his face down into Tom's as he made fun of him. "I thought you were supposed to be on top."
Then several things happened all at once. Tom reached up from underneath Chapman and grabbed him in a bear hug. He lifted his legs up too and tried to hold Jim's lower body in a scissors-like hold.
"Come on guys," Tom yelled. "Come and help me." There was a slight pause, and then we were all up and out into the middle of the mat.
Jim was busy trying to get Tom off him, so he wasn't prepared for all the hands that were suddenly on him. And though he was bigger, he was no match for the twelve of us. Tom crawled out from underneath him and Chapman was quickly subdued. We turned him over and pinned him down onto the mat.
We were ecstatic. It happened so quickly. He had terrorized us for so long, and now he lay underneath us, helpless. We looked down on him and, amazingly, he still seemed to hold all the power.
"Okay creeps. Ya pinned me. Hooray for you little girls. Now let me up and take me on man to man," he demanded. For a moment it felt like the group would actually obey him.
"Wait a minute," I said. "Not so soon." Everyone, including Chapman, looked at me.
"Come on guys. This is it. We've been waiting and waiting and now it's our chance." There was a chorus of "Yeahs!" and then Chapman suddenly made an attempt to get free.
He kicked both legs simultaneously while wildly pulling his arms free. One of his fists connected with Tom's lip, which swelled up instantly. I grabbed the leg that was working it's way free and threw myself on it, my hand grasping the ankle. We all lay on top of him, breathing hard. He was not going anywhere.
I lay along the length of his leg, my hands on his ankle. After all this time, Jim Chapman's incredible socked foot was pinned before me.
Jim continued to struggle and began to curse all of us. But it all seemed far away to me as I focused on the foot before me. I continued to hold onto his ankle with my left hand as I moved my right hand along the top of his foot. It must have been at least a size 12. In the sock, the outline of his foot was clearly defined. The toes were almost equal in length and they seemed thick and strong. As I moved my palm along the top of the foot and then onto the toes, I could feel them move beneath my hand. I cupped my hand and let my fingertips move slowly down the sole of his foot.
The response was intense and automatic. He tried to pull his foot away and then his entire body shuddered. I had an instantaneous erection.
The other guys had been positioning themselves to give Jim a red-belly at the moment I had touched the bottom of his foot. They had seen him suddenly jerk and twitch, but they didn't know why. I sat up for a moment, still pinning the leg beneath me.
"He's ticklish!" I yelled. "He's ticklish as hell!"
There was a stunned silence - created mostly by the indescribable look on Jim's face as he realized the predicament he was in. He was being held down by 12 guys who had a long list of grudges against him. And they had discovered a weakness.
"He's ticklish," I repeated. "So let's give him what he deserves," I yelled. "Yeah!" everyone called out - and then we were upon him. He gave one last valiant struggle to escape, but it was useless. We were too much for him. As our hands began to crawl across his belly and ribs, and search out his armpits, he tried to protect himself as much as possible. He pulled his arms down to cover his pits and twisted his body, trying to roll over to protect his vulnerable ribs. And he was so fucking strong he was actually doing it!
He already had his right arm pressed tightly against his body, protecting both the pit and the ribs on that side. And he was rolling onto his left side slowly too. Soon he would be on his stomach, his sensitive parts covered - like a turtle.
"Not so fast Jim-boy," I called out. I threw myself down on his left leg and grabbed his ankle. Tom lay across from me, pinning his right leg to the mat. "Come on Tom," I said. "Let's tickle Jim Chapman to death!"
Once again my hand moved across the top of the magnificent socked foot in front of me and then rounded the toes and slid lightly along the long expanse of sole. Jim kicked his leg like he'd been hit with a cattle prod. I held on for dear life and ran my fingers up and down his sole repeatedly. I could see Tom was doing the same thing to his right foot. Jim kicked and struggled, but he couldn't escape our fiendish fingers - and the delicious agony they were creating.
"You fuckers!" he called out. "You pansies, you queers! Let me up! Let me go!" He began to yell for help, filling the gymnasium with the sound of his deep pleading voice. "Help! Somebody help me!"
I now held my cupped hand in the center of his foot and gently scraped my fingers against his instep. Tom looked over, saw what I was doing, and proceeded to do the same.
"Let me go!" Jim cried. "Let me go ... oh-oh-oh-no-no-nah-ha-ha-ha-hah-hah-hah-hah" and finally the laughter had begun. Tom and I had found our mark now, and we stayed focused on the tender arches. The longer we tickled him there, the harder he laughed and the more his struggles began to lessen. He no longer had the energy to try to roll onto his side. He fell back and left his entire ribcage and belly available for tickling fingers to go to work. Someone quickly planted a finger in his belly button and went to town which sent Jim bucking like a horse. Both of his arms were now pinned solidly above his head and his huge wet armpits were terribly exposed. Several guys were running little races through the blond bushes of hair there. They would start at his elbow and slowly move down along the biceps, gaining speed as they headed for the pit. They would slow on the uppermost edge of the pit, and then drop gently down onto the center of the pit and poke and prod.
"Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh! No-no-ha-ha-hah ..." Jim was hysterical with laughter. Again I was aware of the deepness of his voice, laughing as he was, so loudly, the way it filled the entire gymnasium. I sat up for a moment and looked at his incredible face. His head was turning back and forth, sometimes up and down, as he tried to pull away. Sometimes his eyes were closed; sometimes he would look up as several guys held their wiggling fingers above him before coming down on his thick neck muscles and ticklishly exploring there. He would try to pull his head down to protect this vulnerable area, but to no avail.
I returned my attention to his foot and decided it was time to see his bare foot in all of it's glory. I called to Tom and he watched me as I pulled the sock over his ankle, around the heel and then up along the long expanse of sole before brushing the tips of his toes. I dropped the sock onto the mat (for a moment I thought I'd like to take this home with me for later) and studied the foot before me. He must have never gone barefoot, because his feet were as smooth and soft as his behind. The toes were really clean and strong looking. There was some white fuzz from his sock between several of his toes and I reached in with a finger and scooped it out. There was another incredible surge of energy on his leg when I did this, so I focused on his toes for a while, running my fingers above and beneath each one, gently tickling and probing, and then occasionally running my fingertips down the entire length of his sole. He seemed to really react when I would take one finger and exquisitely create a maddening circle on his heel. Tom was watching me and duplicating my torturous maneuvers on the captive foot he held.
Jim was howling and screaming and yelling for help when suddenly we heard someone say "What the hell is going on here?"
We all stopped for a moment and looked toward the entrance to the gym. Jim craned his neck too.
"Oh my god, Terry, help me," he screamed. "These little assholes are ..." Two of the guys nearest his head put their hands over Jim's big mouth.
Terry stood in the doorway. He was Jim's best friend and sometimes partner in tormenting others. He was wearing a football uniform with the number 32 on it. He was covered with mud and wearing cleats. He began to run towards us and our pinned victim.
5. Terry's Torment (to be continued)