TICKLISH FATHER-IN-LAW FEET

got married too young and way too impulsively. Six months after the "I do's" the wife and I were living with her parents. While her mom loved the arrangement, my father in law Curtis couldn't stand it. Looking back now, I get it. He worked hard and built a life for himself. He was a plumber, raised five kids and was an empty nester by 45, then we moved in.
Curtis was an intimidating figure with curly black hair and a permanent five o'clock shadow. He was about my height-six feet tall-but bigger. Beefy with a big chest and broad shoulders, Curtis used to box for sport and had done a stint in the Marines. I stayed out of his way, in large part because I felt I didn't measure up, and that he saw me for the fraud I felt like I was. I'd gotten married on a whim, to prove myself..
That said, there we were. One Sunday morning, we were headed for church. My mother in law asked me to retrieve her gloves from her bedroom. Curtis never attended Sunday services. He was fast asleep. I was stopped short by an arresting sight; Curtis' large feet, sticking from the sheets. He snored on his back. I grabbed her gloves, and I hesitated.The sight of a man's big bare soles captures me attention now. Back then, it was more riveting. Seeing Curtis' feet, him sleeping, reminded me of those mornings when I'd sneak into my parent's room after my mother went to work and tickling my stepdad Earl's feet. Earl worked second shift and was in bed by three am most nights, meaning he was fast asleep when my mom was leaving at six a.m to go to work. School started at eight for me. I had a ten minute walk. I woke early enough to give myself time to tickle Earl's feet. All it took was one finger, tracing the creased, pink soles and defined arches to get my stepdad squirming. Earl was incredibly ticklish, "Hee hee hee....quit.." he'd giggle a few minutes into his morning torture. I'd pause, tickle, pause, tickle..mesmerized by his big bare feet.
Seeing Curtis' feet made me think of Earl's, and of the opportunities I'd missed (and a few I'd taken) to tickle other men's feet. It occurred to me that I'd hadn't seen Curtis bare foot in the entire seven months we lived there. I dropped one of the gloves by the foot of the bed. Heart pounding, I stooped to retrieve it.Squatting, I trailed a fingertip up and down the centers of the large feet. Curtis' reaction was immediate. His feet twitched, rubbed together, knees buckled. He sat up, "What the hell are you doin'?" he asked crossly.
"I dropped Alice's gloves." I replied, gloves in hand.
"Get outta here." Curtis said, irritably. He rolled over and was back to snoring.

I sat through church distracted. Was Curtis going to tell his wife and mine what I'd done? I dreaded going home after the service. When we got there, Curtis was watching tv and reading the Sunday paper. He was his usual self, with one exception. As I stated earlier, I'd never seen Curtis barefoot until that morning. After that morning, he was always barefoot. Curtis came home from work, took off his work boots and socks and kick back in his recliner or stretch out on the sofa, tormenting me with his high wide arched soles and long, thick toes. I was careful that he never caught me staring. It was only a matter of time before I cracked.
"Do you need glasses?" Curtis asked.
"No, why?"
"You're squinting."
"It's the glare from the lamp on the tv screen."
"You can sit over here." he nodded to the end of the sofa where his feet rested.
"Thanks."
I moved to the sofa, Curtis moved his feet-and when I sat, he lowered his heels to the arm of the sofa, "My doctor said to keep my feel elevated." he explained, "You mind?"
"Your couch..your house." I said sheepishly.
"What do you suppose they're cooking in there?"
"Coq au vin." I said, "It's chicken."
"Alice says it's gonna be an hour til we eat." he crossed his ankles, slowly rubbed his feet together.
"So glad I had that corndog an hour ago." I replied,hear pounding. I couldn't take it. It was like Curtis was tormenting me on purpose. I'm a sole man when it comes to men's feet. Curtis had awesome soles, great toes and the tops of his feet were outstanding. "What's your shoe size?" I asked with a dry mouth.
"Depends on the shoe. My work boots are a 14, but my dress shoes and my cross trainers are size 15s." he said, then broke me by waving his feet, rubbing them together, "You gonna buy me shoes, Jay?" he asked.
"Did you just make a funny?" I grinned, "I think you did.." and then I did it. I gently wiggled a fingertip up and down his feet.
"Ah jeez-hah hah hah hah-don't-hee hee heee!" Curtis giggled, squirmed.
"So you do know how to laugh." I chuckled.
"Try not to let the news get out." Curtis replied...and put his feet back on the arm of the sofa, in my reach.
"It'll be our secret." I wiggled my fingers,spider-like, to his arches.
"Hah hah hah-hah hah hah-Jay-c'mon-c'mon-it tickles-hee hee-quit." he giggled, squirmed.
Instinctively, I rubbed Curtis' feet. He cast a glance in the direction of the kitchen, then back to me, "That's nice.." he said.
"How about now?" Itickled again.
"Hee hee hee...don't..."he giggled in a manly way.

The wait for dinner flew by. I alternately rubbed and tickled Curtis' feet, we talked, real conversation for a change. My wife asked later at the dinner table, "What were you two laughing about in there?"
"Guy stuff." Curtis smirked.
I wanted to resume tickling his feet after dinner, but had to bide my time. Curtis opened a door and it stayed open. Whenever I passed his bare feet, I'd give them a quick, playful tickle. When our wives were absent, Curtis would ask, "Is your massage parlor open?"
"You want the usual?" I'd reply, then start rubbing his soft, masculine feet.
"Do your thing, son, but no ticklin'" he'd reply.
"You ticklish, Curtis?" I'd ask, then tickle gently.
"Hah hah hah-hee hee-hah hah hah-Jay-oh you're cruel-hah hah-c'mon c'mon-hee hee hee!" he giggled, feet fluttering.

The one time I really got Curtis good was when our wives left early morning on a Saturday for a day trip. I slipped into the bedroom, uncovered his feet, and tickled with a single fingertip. Curtis squirmed, then giggled. Awake but not waking, he rolled over on his front, "So it's like that, is it?" Curtis' response thrilled me. He wiggled his long thick toes slowly, "Oh yeah?" I asked. I put his ankles in an armlock, "Tickle tickle tickle..." I said in a way that Curtis later admitted "made the hairs on my legs stand up."
My fingers tickled from the heels to the tops of the toes, tickling every inch of his soles, deliberately, methodically, gently torturing those massive feet.
"HAH HAH HAH-HEE HEE-HAH HAH HAH-ohmy-HAH HAH HAH-Jay!HEE HEE! HAH HAH HAH!" Curtis howled with laughter, his words gibberish. He jerked, squirmed,gripped the headboard.
I straddled his lower legs, cradled the tops of his feet in my left palm and tickled the feet with my fingertips, "These are some soft feet, Curtis..you ticklish, big fella? I think these feet are ticklish.."
I glanced over my shoulder to see him looking over his, "Hah hah hah-you're killin' me-hee hee hee!" Curtis laughed, beet red and breathless.
"I've yet to tickle a guy to death." I joked.
"Hee hee hee-not for lack of tryin'-hee hee hee-oh my god-hee hee-where'd you learn to tickle feet so good?" he buried his face to the mattress, "ohmygah-hah hah hah!"
Mesmerized by the large, fleshy pink soles, I tickled. My fingertips had a life of their own. I'd have happily sat there tickling his feet all day,every day, if I could have.

I literally spent the day tickling his feet. There was some rubbing, but it was mostly tickling. Shortly after, my wife and I moved out,and about a year after that, we split up. Her friends and family, Curtis included, blamed me. Fortunately, there weren't any kids borne of our union. I hated losing her as a wife and a friend. I missed Curtis, too. I moved out to California. She got married and divorced a whopping three more times over these years. Recently, we got in touch. I moved back to my hometown. We had lunch and she told me her dad asked about me often, "Funny, I thought about him last night-my faucet in the master bedroom wouldn't stop dripping."
"I'll give you his number."
She did and I called. Curtis was himself, only greying, but still fit and formidable. We made small talk, caught up, he fixed my dripping faucet." What do I owe you?'
I asked.
"Let's see.." he smiled, "Is your massage parlor open?'
"Have a seat."
Curtis put his feet up, I took off his boots and socks. He reminded me, "I'm very ticklish, so no ticklin', son"
"I got you, Curtis," his feet were as soft and smooth as I remembered, "Tickle tickle tickle..." my fingers spider crawled about his bare soles.
"Hah hah hah-hoh hoh-hah hah hah-no-son-hee hee hee-oh I think I've gotten worse-hee hee hee!" he giggled and laughed.
"Nah, Curtis, you've gotten better." I replied, then put his ankles in an armlock and tickled the ever loving hell out of his size 15's.
"HAH HAH HAH! HOH HOH! HAH HAH HAH!!" Curtis howled with laughter.