Dr. Gumm: A Tickle Horror Story in Three Parts. Part 1

I have never written an erotic tickling story before, but I had an experience in my late twenties that was so over-the-top bonkers that I felt a need to get it down before too many of the details fled from my ever aging memory. I've decided to split in into 3 parts. Part 1 is the setup, Part 2 gets to the tickling action and part 3 contains a surprise (and totally true) twist ending. Hope you enjoy it! Look for part 2 soon.

Dr. Gumm: A Tickle Horror Story in Three Parts. By Achilles

PART 1: The Phone Line - June 1998

I was spending too much time on this phone line. It was addictive. I’d come home from work, watch some tv and try to go to bed early but the siren call of the potential erotic charge on the other end of the line was always too tempting to resist. I was convinced that one day I was going to be hit with some massive mystery charge on my phone bill, but somehow it never happened. The local phone chat line did indeed appear to be free.

Here’s how it worked: you’d call in, record a short voice greeting describing what you were looking for or what you just wanted to chat about. Once you were satisfied with it, it would go into the queue along with the messages of whoever else was on the line at that moment. You’d listen to the audio personals one by one, pressing a number to bypass the ones that weren’t interesting to you. Some were incredibly brief, some had the husky, breathless quality of someone clearly jerking off as they recorded it. Most guys were just looking for some kind of phone sex but, as it was a local line, arranging an in-person meeting was possible if you hit it off. If you liked the sound of someone’s message you hit a different number in order to record a message for them and then they could choose to go live with you. Most nights I went through all the available messages and they’d cycle over again. I almost never got any responses to my own recording.

You see, I was looking for something unusual. I was looking for tickling.

I’d always been into men’s feet and tickling, but it was only in the past few years I’d been actively seeking out that specific kind of play. I was just out of a long-term relationship that had ended badly and I was making up for 7 years of lost time. I had recently discovered that there were other people like me, through ads in the back of a Bound & Gagged magazine I’d perused in a gay bookstore. That revelatory discovery had led to joining several mail-order clubs that allowed men with this unusual predilection to find each other. I’d managed to make several pen-pals with whom I’d traded letters and fetish materials like photos, drawings and stories. I’d even scored a few badly dubbed VHS tapes of men being tickled on film which had blown my mind. I’d managed to connect with a few guys who shared my interests who were relatively local but those connections were few and far between. My discovery of the phone line had filled a void in my routine. Boldly putting a spoken description of my fetish and what I was looking to do for strange men to hear gave me an odd thrill. Voices had always had the ability to trigger me and a deep, sexy one could do the job even if they weren’t into my specific kink. A few times men would respond to my recording because they couldn’t believe it was what I was looking for and just wanted to ask me questions. Even that was occasionally sufficient fuel for my lonely wank before sleep.

And then one night Denny responded to my ad. I had an immediate reaction to his voice. It had a strange sing-song quality and was slightly high-pitched. What really stood out to me was how fascinated he was by the idea of tickling. He wasn’t just curious, he was very interested in exploring it. He began to explain that he was an experienced dom who often played with bondage and BDSM but he had never explored tickle torture. I’d never had someone so aggressively suggest that we get together and was a little taken aback. I wasn’t sure and told him I’d like to talk to him a bit more about what we were both into before agreeing to meet. To his credit, he thought that was a great idea and we exchanged phone numbers.

Denny and I talked two more times before finally deciding to make plans to meet. He really wanted to understand what it was about the fetish that turned me on, as role playing was something he enjoyed. He had a persona he sometimes put on for his regular playmates that he called “Dr. Gumm”. Gumm was a wicked doctor who captured young men and did terrible, but consensual things to them. I had to admit, this was a turn-on for me, most likely because my earliest exposure to tickling was mainstream movie or television scenes in which an evil villain was tickle torturing the hero. So far my experiences had been fairly tame and an over-the-top, mustache twirling tickler piqued my interest. He certainly had the voice to pull it off. Denny lived on the outskirts of Baltimore, but the city’s Light Rail train could take me relatively close to where he lived so he could drive to meet me at a nearby station. We would grab lunch and have a chat, as I liked to do before going to a stranger’s home, and we’d decide if we wanted to take things further.

The next weekend I was sitting on the train headed out to the suburbs. It was a beautiful, sunny afternoon but I had the nervous knot in my stomach that I always did when meeting someone new. The ride took about a half hour which gave me plenty of time to fret about all the things that could possibly go wrong. The train pulled into the station and I stepped out and walked towards the parking lot where Denny had said he would wait for me. I spotted the large truck he had described and saw a very large man standing beside it. With a determined gulp I steeled myself and walked up to him. He was very tall, maybe 6’, 3”. And thick. Built like a barrel-chested tank. He had a surprisingly friendly, round and almost boyish face. But the thing that really stood out was the terrible and very obvious curly toupee. “Yikes”, I thought to myself. It was impossible to determine his age. He had a face that could be 35, 45 or 55. I extended a hand and asked “Denny?”. He quickly grabbed it and gave it a vigorous shake. Damn, he was strong as an ox and his hands were enormous thick meat paws. “Well that’s one thing in the win column”, I thought. Thick hands had always made me weak. He greeted me in that loud sing-song-y voice and asked if I was hungry. The closest place was a Burger King, and he had offered to pay for lunch so that’s where we decided to go. His truck was definitely not for show. It was grimy and dirty in a way that made me think this was a man who did a lot of hard labor of some kind. It reminded me of my grandfather’s truck.

We sat across from each other with our burgers and Denny began to go over what he was into again. He enjoyed bondage and BDSM impact play and especially milking. He talked about having a Venus pump machine that he loved using on guys and how he’d like to use it on me. He said all this while scarfing down his burger as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks and talking with his mouth full. I began to have the nagging, tingling feeling of second thoughts and regret in the back of my mind. “What had I gotten myself into?” I thought. “Was it too late to back out?”. At the same time, I didn’t get a sense of danger from the man. He more or less came across as a lovable, somewhat sloppy goofball. A goofball might make a pretty good tickler. I made it very clear to him that harder forms of BDSM were off the table for me. I was strictly into tickling, though nipple play was also a big interest of mine. It had always been the key to my arousal, somewhat embarrassingly. He assured me he’d stick to only what we agreed upon. I joked that afterwards he’d have to buy me ice cream as a reward and he got a real kick out of that. Then came the moment of truth: he asked if I wanted to play and I said yes.

We got into his truck and began the drive to what I had assumed was his home. One of the nice things about Baltimore city is the areas that surround it. When leaving the city proper it doesn’t take very long to find yourself in a completely different kind of landscape, like farmland. In today’s case, Denny began to drive off of main roads into the woods. As we drove deeper and deeper and the roads began to be less paved and more dirt covered, the panic began to set in. Had I completely misjudged this situation? We eventually reached a sort of clearing where there were 3 large mobile trailers and another truck parked. “We can’t be stopping here” I thought, but indeed we did. We pulled up alongside the trailer furthest to the right, and I heard my internal voice say, “Well, this is it. This is where I’m going to die”.