Although I’ve experienced many of the sexual pleasures described in Variations, the one thing I’d never tried — indeed, had no interest in — was tickling. I couldn’t imagine a man attempting to turn me on by tickling me.

It was a twenty-one-year-old jokester named Ricky who showed me, a thirty-three-year-old,serious-mindedcareer woman, just how erotically stimulating tickling can be. Ricky works in our mailroom. He is loud and brash, always “on,” spouting jokes and making outrageous obseNations about this and that as he goes about his daily routine.

I had mixed feelings about him. He was unneNing, to be sure, and otten a pain in the ass. I disliked his cockiness and the ease with which he distracted young women in the office. He loved to flirt, and had succeeded, so the rumor went, in seducing two secretaries and a file clerk the first month he had been on the job.

On the other hand, there were times — like when I was bogged down with a difficult assignment — when I welcomed the comic relief that he provided. And then, of course, he was attractive — very. He’s a muscular six-feet-two, with flashing blue eyes and curly blond hair. Add to that an infectious grin, and it wasn’t hard to understand his success with the young women in the office.

Ricky had been with us for almost three months when he made his move on me. I didn’t know whether to be annoyed or flattered. He sauntered into my office carrying a half dozen manila envelopes, which he deposited on my desk. “Nothing important here, I’ll bet,” he said. “A waste of your time.”

“Maybe yes, maybe no,” I said, not looking up from the business report I was reading.

Ricky was silent for a moment, and when I did finally glance up at him he was standing with his hands on his hips, resting his weight on one foot. “You know, you really should loosen up a bit. You’re always so damn serious.” He paused, then added, “You need a good giggle, that’s what.”

“I laugh,” I said defensively.

“Not the way I could make you laugh.”

I went back to reading the report. I was being challenged by a smartaleck twelve years my junior, and I didn’t much care for it. And yet, amazingly, I could feel my pussy growing moist in my panties.

“And I’ll bet you don’t know that laughter is erotic,” Ricky went on. “People should laugh in bed more. You’d laugh if you were in bed with me.”

Ricky went on about what a great stud he was and how he knew what I needed in bed. “All right,” I said finally. “Be at my place at eight on Friday night.” I jotted down my address on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “One word about this to anyone and you’re history. Understand?”

Ricky grinned. “Gotcha,” he said.

I spent the rest of that week wondering if I had made a colossal mistake. Yet there was also a neNous anticipation of something — I had no idea what — that would surprise and delight me.

Ricky arrived right on time, and after a glass of wine steered me into my bedroom. He behaved like a man on a mission, as if he were anxious to prove a point. Before I knew it I was naked and on the bed with Ricky. He started to demonstrate his oral technique, which was certainly not something to laugh at. He stroked and kissed me all over, my pussy included, and within minutes I was mewing with pleasure. Then from out of nowhere he produced four silk scarves and started tying me to the bed. I started to protest. “Relax, Brenda,” he said. “This is the fun part.”

The next thing I knew I was tied to the bed and Ricky, his grin decidedly wicked, was flexing his fingers. Then, kneeling on the bed, he started tickling me! At first I pulled hard at the scarves that kept me in place, but then, as Ricky continued tickling my underarms, I started giggling, twisting and turning to escape his devilish fingers.

Ricky, of course, persisted, his obviously experienced fingers playing my body like a fine instrument, tickling here, there, everywhere, keeping me giggling. “See? See? I knew I could make you laugh,” he said.

“Please, no more,” I gasped. “I can’t take any more.” Gasping and laughing, I struggled to escape those maddening fingers of his, my body bowing and stretching taut as I fought the scarves holding me down. Ricky tickled my stomach until I thought I’d laugh my fool head off.

He let me rest, but only for a moment. He brought a hand down between my legs and cupped my pussy. “Just as I thought,” he said triumphantly. “You’re soaking wet, Brenda. Getting tickled turns you on!”

It was true. I was more turned on than I had been in a long time. Through all the twisting and turning, the gasping for air, and the shrieks of laughter, I had been aware of the lust rising steadily within me. I didn’t understand it, but the fact was that Ricky’s relentless tickling had inspired a genuine passion.

And although he was the tickler and I the ticklee, the effect was the same for Ricky. Through eyes blurred with tears of laughter I saw his cock, long and thick, pointing at the ceiling over me. And this only made me more lustful. He caught me staring at his proud erection and said, “Soon, Brenda, soon. But first … ” He let his voice trail off as he positioned himself to wreak havoc on my feet.

His fingers grazed the exquisitely sensitive sole of my left foot, and I howled. He did the same to my right foot, and I howled again. Then he tickled them both at the same time, his fingers snaking between my toes, sliding around and down to my heel and up over the soles of my feet. I jerked my feet left and right and wiggled my toes frantically, all to no avail. I knew my face was red and streaked with tears of laughter.

It was too, too much, and I wondered hazily if anyone had ever passed out from being tickled like this. And t11en, mercifully, it stopped. As I gradually regained my senses and caught my breath, I again became aware of the ache in my loins. God, I wanted to be fucked!

Ricky, who had laughed along with me for much of the time, now turned serious. He very quickly loosened the scarves and then, once I was free, sat back on his haunches with a come-and-get-it look on his face. Propelled by my desire, I sat up and went straight for his inviting cock.

I sucked him for all I was worth, vacuuming his cock into my mouth with gusto. I stroked my pussy with my free hand, amazed at how soaked I was. I couldn’t wait to feel the pulsating fullness of Ricky’s cock plunging deep inside my core. I jerked my head back, and Ricky’s cock came out of my mouth with a plopping sound. “Fuck me now,” I breathed hotly.

I threw myself back on the bed and drew my legs up until my knees were grazing my chest. Ricky pounced. His beautiful cock slid deep inside me in one sure, smooth stroke. A moment later he was fucking me, going deep with eacl1 vigorous thrust, thrilling me to the nth degree.

I remember thinking through the haze of my lust that he had great staying power for a guy of his age. He remained hard while bringing me to one orgasm after another in several positions — with me on top, in the spoon position, with him plowing into my pussy as I knelt on all fours on the bed. It was in this last position that he finally came, his warm semen streaming into my pussy as I enjoyed yet another orgasm.

Later, as we rested side by side on the bed, the sheet twisted and crumpled under us, I told Ricky that I still didn’t understand how tickling had so aroused me.

“I know a lot of girls who get hot from being tickled. I think it has something to do with giving up all control. And laughing is great fun. Makes you feel good. And when you feel good, you feel sexy.”

“And have you tickled many girls?” I asked.

Ricky smiled at me. “I tickle‘em all till they cry‘Uncle,’ then” he said as he took my hand and placed it on his flaccid cock, “I give‘em Uncle Peter here.”

I’ve enjoyed several other hot tickling sessions with Ricky, who will be leaving soon to pursue a career as a stand-up comic. How the audience will take to him is anybody’s guess, but one thing’s for sure — he’s certainly given me a lot of fun.