Hard Working Farmboy
Make Me Sweat!
He had long, dark brown hair. Curly, almost ringlets. John Lennon glasses. A formal black winter coat. Like you might expect in Toronto. It was 1992. He was young. Maybe 23 or 24.
One thing all my friends know about me, is that I am extremely ticklish. Go-into-convulsions-punch-you-in-the-nose ticklish. Do so at your own peril.
Consent was very clear. 1 hour. $200. Tickling.
I don't know about other whores, but for me, the standard 40-minute hour includes 10 minutes of uncomfortable conversation before we move to get undressed. 1/2 hour massage and we get to the punchline. And everyone's happy!
I lived in an illegal suite in a commercial building at the corner of Bathurst and Dupont Streets. Lucky for me, the washroom was just outside my suite door. I had plumbing for a shower stall and for photography and kitchen sinks. But no toilet. It used to be a business that made dentures. Many young artists lived in similar studio spaces at that time.
I installed a key-wind doorbell and a peephole in my steel door, and reversed the hinges so it opened out. That makes it harder for police to kick in.
He arrived with a black leather briefcase. As agreed, I got undressed and made myself comfortable on my futon. He opened his briefcase and pulled out four black soft cloth straps and proceeded to tie my hands and feet to the futon frame.
I've been tied up before. So I was a little anxious about the tickling, but not alarmed.
Then, he pulled out an alarm clock and set it for 1 hour. I was beginning to wonder what I got myself into!
Next, he pulled out a pair of black nylon socks, and proceeded to put them on my feet.
Then he pulled out a goose feather and a comb.
He started very gently at first. Enjoying as he awakened each nerve in my feet with the lightest of touches. As my giggles grew to minor jolts and contortions, his efforts accelerated, eventually switching from feather to comb to fingers. Moving from sole, to each individual toe. He knew his craft.
Unable to withdraw, due to my restraints, my laughter became almost painful. And then, he relented.
Just long enough for me to calm, believing my torturer had succumbed mercy, as I shouted no, no, no.
Then, slowly -- deliberately -- he removed the nylon socks.
Oh Noooo! I cried. Already laughing, tears streaming down my face.
And then, with relish he showed no mercy. No no no I cried in a falsetto voice. Tears of laughter rolling down my cheeks.
I thought I could take it no more. But a deal, is a deal. $200!!
Then -- he seemed to take mercy on me. He relented. I calmed down. Sighed. Sighed again. Then, I looked at the clock. Oh No!
Next, he eyed my ribs.
First, came the feather... But, it wasn't long until fingers. And for a moment, I was in love, as my tormentor attacked and retreated as I laughed until I hurt deep in my abdomen.
My hands were strapped above my head. With worry, I looked at the clock, realizing that -- armpits still exposed -- my trial was not yet over.
It was like he read my mind. Glee in his eyes.
He knew all along. How long an hour is. Fuck!
I laughed and I laughed and I laughed until it hurt so much and I could laugh no more. And I giggled and sighed and giggled some more. Then the alarm went off.
He untied the soft cloth straps. I was speechless. Thoroughly exhausted. Finally.
It was over. I wanted to kiss him. So badly. Thank him in some way. It made me so very horny!
But, unfortunately... He was very sexy! He packed up his briefcase. And left. Leaving me very hard for my next client.
I knew a few other guys who advertised in the NOW. They all had seen "The Tickler." I don't think any of them are quite as ticklish as i am though.
I never saw him again. Unfortunately. I fantasized about kissing him many times. He taught me something about myself. About limits and restraints. I grew from that experience. I should have paid him!
About the Author
Andrew Sorfleet has worked in the sex industry for over a decade and has been a sex workers' rights activist since 1990. He is currently president of the board of Triple-X Workers' Solidarity Association of B.C.