Your Friendly Neighbourhood Playful Sadist Tickler
@aussietummytickler
Ahoy-hoy. 31, he/him/his, Melbourne/Naarm, Australia, single, Demi-Masc, Heteroromantic gray ace, service top & playful sadist, 110% Ler, massive cuddlebug, teasy tormentor, sassy back-talker, brat enthusiast, casual goth. 90% SFW, sometimes NSFW, minors/no age in bio DNI/DNF.
I used to be solely SFW, but I'd say about 5-10% of the stuff I'll be posting will have some NSFW elements to it. So if you're a solely SFW blog and prefer to follow solely SFW blogs, I understand if you choose to unfollow, as I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable. Just that as I've gotten more and more comfortable in my own sexuality, I'm learning more and more about what I love, especially within the tickling/kink community in general. My orientation is definitely reflective of that. Grey ace for me personally means that I am not sex repulsed, and there are certain things that flirt with the edge of my ace side that make me come out of that shell a little bit. Demi is self-explanatory, nothing to elaborate on that.
I used to go by the name affectionatetickler on here before I deleted that roughly around the first half of 2020.
Alongside tickling, midriffs in general are a kink of mine, hence 3 of the 4 tickle spots I love being that area. Though recently I definitely discovered I do also have a bit of a weakness for the feet too.
Whilst general messages and tickle messages are open to anyone, please do not message me straight off the bat talking about tickling. I am a human first and foremost, please treat me as such, as I am not a vessel for your pleasure. Please do not ask me where I'd tickle you or if I would tickle you as the first thing messaging me. Again, please take the time to get to know me first. I want to make friends here, I don't want me as a Ler to be fetishised in favour of becoming friends first and foremost. Doesn't matter what I post, that does not give you the right to be thirsty in my DMs. Keep it respectful please.
I am solely a Ler. Please do not ask me to switch for you. That is not who I am, and I am not comfortable with that. The most I could assuade to any sort of switchness is enjoying tickle fights, but that's more out of a sense of playfulness and wanting the other person to enjoy that experience too, not so much that I'm a switch. Please keep that in mind. Do not push about it.
When it comes to tickle asks/DMs and teases, I will say in advance, because of bad experiences in the past, I will come off as a broken record in always wanting to make sure the other person is comfortable or consenting in regards to tickling related/tease related things. I've had my boundaries crossed multiple times, and when I was younger my awareness/self-awareness wasn't as acute as it is now, which led to misunderstandings that caused discomfort. So that I do not allow such uncomfortabilities to happen to myself or others, I will often emphasize consent even in regards to written teases. It may seem odd or overly compensating, but I would rather that than make anyone feel uncomfortable, even accidentally. Never hurts to play it safe, and to be respectful of others. 2026 addendum: No longer doing verbal teases, just written and gif formats.
All of this said, I'm always open to making new friends in the community, just please be respectful and remember I'm a human first, Ler second. If you would not want to be treated as an object or vessel for ticklish desires first thing in your DMs, then I ask that you respect me enough to do the same. That said, my inbox is open to anyone who would like to start a conversation. I look forward to getting to know you all more! ☺️💙
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There is a user who goes by the name missticklishh on Tumblr who is creating fake/AI generated photos to try and pass off as her "16 year old sister" which having run through multiple AI detection sites, all confirm at least a 94% rate of it being AI.
WHY WOULD ANYONE NEED TO USE AI TO CREATE FAKE PHOTOS OF THEIR UNDERAGE "SISTER". THIS IS CREEPY AS HELL. FUCK AI AND FUCK ANYONE WHO USES IT FOR CREEPY AS HELL REASONS, ESPECIALLY LIKE THIS.
Proof below. I'm probably gonna take a break from this site for a while outside of messaging. The fact people feel the need to create AI images of people for whatever twisted reason is sick. Do better.
Addendum: They also are on Discord by the username tickleesera
It's an in-between of the mockery for which we display towards lees, helpless beneath our fingers as they whimper, whine, moan, laugh, and beg, but also the twinge within a solid chunk of us of whom that mock sympathy can extend genuinely.
It's that wanting to simultaneously cradle their cheek in one hand and kiss their forehead gently, while ravaging either of their hips, sides, bellybutton, ribs, thighs, or armpits with the other.
It's a crossroads of thoughts, of a "You knew exactly what you were getting yourself into" level of sadism, but also a "Sweetheart, I know you're suffering and enjoying it, but I adore you and I want to remind you that you know you're still safe right here with me" level of deep care and compassion for them.
It's a combination of the intoxication of the person's whimpers and begging laughter that drives the urge to tickle them mercilessly absolutely that much further up the wall, as well as the urge to comfort, to reassure, and to caress with as loving and as gentle a word and a touch as the complete opposite of the combination's juxtaposition.
They say every joke has a nugget of truth to it. Thus, I think mock sympathy does extend from real sympathy. Not solely fake for the sake of fake, but from knowing any hint of sympathy, no matter how much of a mockery, comes from a place where they know how much we *do* sympathise and care about them. We mock it because it plays upon a sense of mercy which, while not always granted at that moment, exists in that realm because of the connection the two (or more) people have between each other and the level of trust and bonding that takes place before even the first hints of restraints appear. It's a beautiful coalescence of things. 💙
I do not think at all that any of this is some sort of revealing of the magician's toolbox, nothing so arrogant, just an earnest sense of self-reflection when thinking back on my own experiences with others. I enjoy using mock sympathy, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel a twinge of it in the back of my throat over the sound of a certain whimper or beg that genuinely elicits a feeling of sympathy within me. Does that make me less of a sadist? Somehow, I don't think so. And I think there's a couple of people of whom I've been lucky to share experiences with that could vouch as such. 💙
(Potential NSFW below the cut, playing it safe! 💙)
Jace had just clocked off his shift at 4 and was walking along the top floor of the mall when he heard the sound of reverberating laughter. It must have been multiple laughs, different pitches, different forms of laughter, some even audibly begging for mercy. He flushed realising what was happening. The newly elected mayor in this little corner of Massachusetts was a bit of an odd and old-fashioned man, not old-fashioned as in early 1900s or even Victorian era but, in the medieval sense. He was a believer in witches, but he had an odd style of punishment. Instead of drowning or burning at the stake, which for some reason he reviled as punishment - he believed death to be too harsh and quick a punishment - he believed it best to make women recant their "unsavoury behaviour" (whatever *that* meant) by tickle torture.
He had set up a section of the wing of an older mall with these rather odd cutouts. One was obviously for the head, though it would certainly be kept relatively still with the padding within its section, but the other was longer, wider, almost curving inwards at the middle before curving out again before it stopped. These sections were also padded, but had custom-made machinery behind them to fit the shape of whoever was unlucky (or perhaps lucky depending on the feeling of the victim) to be stuck in them.
Jace had an idea of what they were for, but it wasn't until he walked to the glass fencing at the top level of the mall to look down that his idea was exactly right.
They were cutouts specifically for the midriff. From lower breast to hipbones.
Jace felt his face flush upon the sight of his realisation. A mixture of women, no younger than college students, no older than some of his own college professors, were laughing uncontrollably, some squealing, cackling, full on belly laughing, one even sounded as if she was moaning with laughter and enjoying herself. A mixture of men, women, queer folk, goths, other college students, a whole smorgasbord of different people, were all tickling each of the women's protruding but helpless midriffs. Sides were squeezed, hips were kneaded, bellies were spidered on and raspberried, ribs were counted, bellybuttons were teased and wiggled in, lower breasts were scuttled under by all manner of sadistic nails. The laughter was prominently echoing throughout this section of the mall now.
One of those held in their helpless containment must have just had their punishments started, Jace could make out her face: eyes closed, black hair draped across one side of her face, teeth clenched but turned into a smile through her black lipstick, parts of her eyeliner nearly running from the brimming tears she was trying to hold back, soft but slightly toned abdomen tightened from the business woman's surprisingly pointed fingernails gliding along this goth woman's exposed belly from hip to hip, back along her lower belly, over and over. Jace recognised her from his architecture class, Kim, a stern goth who had a penchant for getting herself into trouble outside college class hours, but she'd been absent from class for a couple of days now... With this new law for punishment having come into effect only over the past week, Jace realised it probably wasn't going to be a night spent in a cell anymore. Perhaps a fate much, much worse for the stoic woman...
But as the business woman methodically circled her pointer finger around Kim's bellybutton, he had a good idea what was coming, and how doomed she was.
The business woman had a rather tame but still ever so slightly sadistic smile beneath her professional veneer. Her lone pointer finger circling her victim's oval shaped bellybutton, causing slight cracks of giggles maintained through what must have been incredible self-control.
"Come on now, such a tough-looking young woman, but all it takes to get a reaction out of you is just a little tickling~?" The business woman playfully mocked.
"Gck! Sh-Shut UHUP!!!" Kim said through clenched teeth. Her head slightly twisting and turning in some sort of vain effort to free herself from her constraints. Her abdomen and hips trying to twist and wriggle themselves free similarly so.
"Oh dear... You poor thing, and to think you're locked up here for a week. Well, I'd better get my fun in before the mall closes, so let's see what we've got riiiiight... here~" As her pointer fingernail dipped in and wiggled against the taut bare flesh inside Kim's bellybutton, the reaction was like a dam wall failing to hold back what was inevitable to burst.
"PffftTAAAAHAHAHAHA WAAHAHAHAHAIT!!! STOHAHAHAHAHOP! NOT THEREHEHEHEAHAHAHAHA!!!!! PLEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!! NOT THE BEHEHEHEHEHELLYBUHUHUTON!!! WAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!!!"
Kim's midriff was twisting more violently and spasmodically - for all the good it would do in such tight constraints - trying to wiggle the torturous pointer finger out and away from anywhere but her weak point. But it was no use. Her howls of laughter echoed perhaps louder than any of the others trapped in the wall with her. Her hair draped almost entirely over her face from her head thrashing about, eyeliner running down her cheeks from tears of laughter, abdomen rising and falling from every breath of wild uncontrollable cackling that left her black-lined lips.
Jace had an inkling of something stirring in his brain as he'd first left his work and approached the glass railings, but this... It awoke something in him.
And he was on his way down to find out just how large of a sleeping dragon had just awoken from its slumber.
~~~~~~~~
(Should I do a Pt. 2 for this? First time doing a writing of this sort so I know I could do with some improvements but, I hope this was a fun read! 🖤)
Rarely do I reblog NSFW fantasies, but this is definitely one I've silently held for the better part of half a decade and I'm glad this has been reacted to well. 🖤
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You were born with the sole purpose to be a Ler in this world.
Do you think that’s possible?
While there is so much more to life, I do have to say this the thing for me that when shared with someone else who enjoys it just as much as you do, is an *intoxicating* level of shared joy. Like a mixture of pleasure and joy, pleasure in indulging in this kink/fetish with another, and joy in being able to just share this experience in the first place. If my sole purpose was as such, then I love the thought that that purpose means bringing plenty of smiles, laughter, joy, and pleasure into the world, all at my fingertips. It is a beautiful purpose to have for sure. Thank you for your ask, my friend. 💙
Don’t mock teens and adults, who have comfort items, like plushies, blankets, pillows etc. If you don’t have anxiety, depression, other mental illness or some mental disability, like Autism Spectrum Disorder or ADHD, or if you’re not constantly stressed or nervous, you don’t know what it feels like to live in constant mental fear and feel no one understands you. You don’t know what it feels like to have a panic or anxiety attack or meltdown so bad you scream and cry. These things are called ‘comfort items’ for a reason: they bring us instant comfort when we feel stressed and anxious. Plushies and dolls already brought me comfort as a kid when other kids bullied and were mean. For years I have felt stressed and anxious. I thought returning to childhood might help. What harm does it bring to you if an adult or a teen carries around a plushie in a public place?
Straight up, I'm a 31-year-old demi-masc male who legitimately has a few Pokemon plushes on my bed because fuck it, hugging my Snorlax and Wailord helps me feel better sometimes because things get rough and I like having something to hug. Like fuck, fuck me for wanting some sense of comfort in a world that is adapted to take care of neurotypicals while I'm on the Autism spectrum. It helps me cope, with life's stresses getting to me sometimes in general and out of loneliness sometimes. Sometimes it's just nice to hug something when you can't receive or give that yourself. We as human beings are socially gregarious creatures and literally thrive on human contact, so when we're unable to share in those things, we need our own methods to cope, some of us use plushes, some of us use body pillows, some of us use a particular blanket. None of it is anything to be judged for. People find comfort in what little things they can, don't be that person trying to take that away from them by judging them. It costs nothing to be kind.
For the tease request, if comfy (as always), gonna ask for how you'd most have fun teasing a Ler who's easily flustered by even a bit of exposed midriff 😵💫 (I'm going to absolutely regret this, but fuck it 🫠)
Comfy joggers and a t shirt shouldn’t be enough to fluster you, right? I mean, it’s not like I’m asking for you to pounce on me anyway. We’re just sitting on the couch, maybe you’re playing a video game, I don’t know—but I’m reading something on my phone. I need to get comfy, so I hope you won’t mind me lying across your lap? Just gotta shimmy a bit to get comfortable, and then—
Oh, no.
Did you see the hemline of my shirt inch its way up? Because I definitely felt it, and the immediately felt the cool prickle of air against my waistline.
Suddenly, the lightbulb in my brain is lit. Maybe you’re focused on whatever you’re doing, but I felt the hitch in your breath. I saw your eyes flick down towards my abdomen and quickly avert. And I definitely saw the slightly rosy color that’s still all over your face.
So maybe I’ll feign a stretch, arching my back, ever so subtly pulling my shirt up further… and further… until the hemline hits me right below my breasts. I’ll say nothing, of course. It’s not like I’m trying to bait you here. I am, however, curious about just how long you can resist, when your hands are so close to my soft stomach…
Oh, honey—why on earth did you drop your controller?
I do not give a single shit that you’re a “SfW bLoG oNLy!!!” because guess what? It doesn’t negate that MY blog that YOU are choosing to interact with is NSFW and REQUIRES a listed age if you don’t want to get blocked.
No 👏🏻 exceptions 👏🏻 List your age/range or get blocked. Use your bio, a link, mention your other/main blog with you age listed there, pinned post, but for fucks sake, do the literal bare minimum here.
Dunno if it's the diagnosis from last month but, ever get that feeling people only really vibe with you or like you for your online persona but the moment there's a video call or if you'd met them that they'd be instantly disappointed? That kind of looking you up and down and going "...Oh." when you're perceived, that stabs you in your gut like a cold butcher knife? Idk, something about being perceived like that is terrifying (as can be being perceived in general), and the safety of the veil of the internet simultaneously helps but also makes you wonder if people would actually like the "you" in person.
Like I try my best to embody all my characteristics and traits and turn that integrity and earnestness towards connecting with folks here, but sometimes there's just an awful creeping doubt.
Or worse, if you're only ever truly perceived for the content you make/write and are solely perceived through a fetishistic lense than as a human being behind the keyboard. Like above all else, the reason I love being part of the community here is just that, a sense of community, a sense of feeling I'm not alone, a sense that I've met humans I can vibe with and get to know on a friendly/personal level who just happen to like the same things I like.
Idk, maybe my brain just thinks differently like this because of being both ace and autistic, but there's a strange but lingering sense of loneliness when you worry about how people would perceive you if they ever saw you/met you, when all I really wanna do is connect with people. Make friends, maybe more. Sometimes there's just that awful impostor syndrome that's invasive. That "they don't like *you*, they only like who you *appear* to be", even though I try genuinely to reflect the most authentic version of myself on here as I can.
Sorry for the rant and ramble, just helps sometimes giving voice to your own worries. I'm alright, just in my own head a little bit today. Just wanna make sure it's known that those I talk to, those who take the time to talk to me, I value and cherish your presence more than you could possibly imagine. 💙
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Aw darl... You poor sweetheart, you've been through it haven't you. You don't have to say anything, it's alright, just know you're here with me, you're in a safe place, you are valued, you are loved, you are heard, and now, my priority is to help lift you up and see that absolutely gorgeous smile of yours. 💙
Come 'ere, there's a good girl. 💕 Let's go over what would help you feel better, yeah? Tell me whatever you'd like, whatever you want, whatever you need, your service top Ler is here to provide in whatever way he can for you. Your happiness is my priority, your smile my aim, and your laughter my goal.
.
Alright then, I think I have an idea of just what you might need. We're gonna need a few things, but first, let's get you down into your choice of outfit (or lack thereof) and I'll set you up so you're nice and taut. 💙
Alright, let me put on your blindfold for you. Now, before I put these headphones on you, try moving. You can't? You can't pull down? Can't get your feet out of the stocks? Torso barely able to give a little wiggle or buck slightly? Try. Alright, I see you can't.
Good.
Because once these are on, so's the sadistic Ler mood that wants to come out and say hi to you. He knows you want this just as much as he does. Hell, maybe even more, you little masochist. 💕
I can hear the sharper intakes of breath, see the excitement flushing across your face, even the adrenaline in your eyes before I put that blindfold on. And now that you're here and totally helpless, your personal tickle therapy (hell) can begin.
And we're not stopping until you're alllllll better.
.
What's that? Are you trying to say something through all that gorgeous screaming laughter of yours? "Stop!" Well now why would I do that? Especially when you're so ticklish! That's not even the safeword, that's just gonna make these teasing nails of mine dig into your helpless taut weak spots that much more, you know you're sooo much more ticklish this taut right? That sense of helplessness just adding to the agony of your ticklishness, hm? "Please!" Well now I appreciate your manners, but manners will get your helplessly sensitive self absolutely nowhere I'm afraid. You're stuck, and my nails aren't going anywhere. "Not there!" Oh, you mean this spot? You mean right here? Aw, there's that gorgeous laugh I love so much. Look at you, you're so cute, so helpless, so ticklish.
"Get them off!" Oh, you mean my banjo fingerpicks? Or my claws? Or the feathers? Or the electric toothbrushes? Or the flossers? Or the Pursonic? Or the vibrating tips of the Tickling Duck? Or my nails? Or my stubble? Or my lips? Which one are you talking about? You'll have to be more specific darl, they're all having way too much fun torturing you.
.
Just look at all these wonderful reactions! A poke here, a squeeze there, a knead here, a stroke there, a spidering here, a scritching there, a wiggling here, a drilling there, all these spots just coaxing different reactions from you, like buttons on a tickle toy.
Don't worry, I'll make sure to give your worst spots a little "zap" with my nails to recharge you and keep you going. Because we've got a long way to go yet.
.
Well, that was a fun many hours. Now, let's get you out of here. Up you get, into my arms, there you go. 💙
It's alright, you're safe, same as you always have been, and yes, your reactions were wonderful. 💙
I never want you to think your reactions are weird, odd, or that you look or sound bad when you're tickled, because they, like you, are so beautiful to me. Not once in that entire time of fawning over and smiling over every last reaction, every futile movement, every delightful sound, were there ever thoughts of that from me, and I want to help continue to purge those negative thoughts from you more and more over time together. But for now, rest, I've got you. You're safe, you're cared for, and darling, you are so very, very loved.
As much as I love being tickled until I’m gasping for air and being tied or pinned down, I also love the idea of being a ler’s fidget toy. Nothing intense, no restraints. Just laying on the couch with my feet in his lap, willingly letting him mindlessly and lightly scribble all over my soles. I giggle and smile but I only pull my foot away in random moments that tickle a little too much to keep still. He pulls my foot back and tells me to relax, just let it happen.
Or maybe I end up laid out across his lap, my stomach stretched and my shirt ever so slightly lifted, showing the tiniest bit of my stomach. He lightly grazes the sliver of skin that’s revealed and I don’t protest. My stomach twitches but I lay there and let him lightly tickle me, slowly being driven a little crazy by the constant sensation. He eventually lifts the shirt a little and plays around with my bellybutton, lazily. I’m squirming a tad but it isn’t enough for me to want to actually stop him, though I playfully reach my hands out to grab his.
There’s something really peaceful about letting someone have access to me and trusting that they won’t betray the quietness of the moment. That we can just lay there and be in a zen state with a smile plastered on my face and a giggle slipping out or an occasional flinch, but continuing to let a ler have whatever access they want.
I especially like the idea of laying on top of a ler, my cheek pressed against theirs or my face nuzzled into his neck. My back exposed while he gives me back tickles, slowly making random big and small patterns along my spine. Maybe he ventures to the sides a little and my laugh pitches up a tad but I still just let him do as he pleases. I love that. I love being so comfortable with someone that I’d let them just trace my body while we watch tv or scroll on our phones or have a conversation. It’s so nice and so rare to have that level of trust but it’s so so good.
Tickling is Tickling and honestly its all about that connection and adorable reactions. Plus as a ler a giggly Lee snuggled against my cheek/neck/chest would absolutely heal me...
This is super sweet, this would heal me, but more importantly, this would be so wonderfully bonding. Idk how to explain it, but there's something so moving about this kind of gentleness being shared, I think it's just that level of deep trust and comfort to allow this to even happen. One can dream. 💙
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You've been through a lot, I know. We have very similar brains, it's why I want to make sure that this is as intense for you as you dream of it being, as I'm only ever happy to give just as intensely. I want you to know you are safe, I know what you adore, and I promise, you are going to get *exactly* what you wanted.
I'll make sure I have those arm and leg cuffs ready for you, alongside my own personal stocks, so you feel as trapped and immobile as you possibly can be. Body taut, toes tied back, only able to make gestures with your hands and ever so slight wiggles and bucks with your midriff.
Now that you're securely strapped in and stripped bare/underwear/bikini/your exposed comfort level, blindfold on, headphones on, gag in, I promise you, you're not getting out until your body is left shivering and shaking from the faintest touch from my nails eliciting those gorgeous whimpers from you. Without your sight, hearing, senses dulled and unable to even beg for mercy, I can promise this is going to be *agonisingly* ticklish for you. Good girls deserve the most hellish of tickle tortures, just like the wonderful tickle toy that you are. 💙
Unfortunately (or *very* fortunately) for you, I know just how bad your midsection is. And you know I crazy I go for it. But sometimes the most effective methods require restraint, care, anticipation, build-up. So I'll make sure every last inch of your taut body feels the start of a single nail. Seeking, gauging, to intake all the necessary information I need, tracing a line from hipbone to hipbone, gliding up and down each side at different levels barely an inch apart, snaking along your waist and stomach, spiralling around and encircling your bellybutton, staying only on that agonisingly sensitive rim, all with just a feather light touch. All to drive you absolutely mad.
However, I'm not done there. I want to deepen that maddening sensation, that beautiful dread of helpless anticipation. The traces continue, lightly circling around the hollows of your armpits, gliding up and down your underarms to the point they tremor. Taking my time. You thought this maddening lightness was over, not even close. Down to your stocked feet. Those cute little wrinkles forming in anticipation as you *know* I'm making my way down there. Light circles on your heel, gliding back and forth under your toes, up and down the middle of your arches. If you're trying to kick or making sounds already, you are in for the most exquisite and torturous hell, and remember, this is one entirely of your own making.
If tickle hell is what you want, hell is what you get.
You will not know where I start, but you will know how much trouble you're in *when* I start.
It could be...
Pressing and wiggling my thumbs against the indentations next to your hipbones, right where the flexors are, connecting hip to thigh, nerves activated in the most exquisite ticklish agony, wiggled against and activating every last nerve of your obliques as they instinctively buck against me, only for my nails to dig in that little bit worse and feed off those helpless instinctual sensations. Feeling every buck and wiggle captured in my hands like you're giving me a personal belly dance. You can't help it though, can you poor thing?
Spidering on and softly squeezing your tummy. Such a cute little playground to explore, every sensitive and helpless ticklish inch tortured by my relentlessly spidering nails softly squeezing your tummy, some spots might be worse than others, perhaps down here on your lower belly just below your bellybutton? Or between your hips on your bikini line? Or right at the centre of your abs? Or just a little off to the side or on your upper tummy? Or right on those sensitive sides? Wherever I find your reactions to be worse, I'm staying there for a good while, and you'll never know when I'm going to switch it up.
One lone finger drilling each of the hollows in your armpits, then another, then another, but waiting a little each time, tickling with that lone finger at first, so just as you get used to one level of ticklish agony, it doubles. Triples. Each digit at a different point in their ticklish scritches so it feels impossible to escape and as if every hyper-sensitive nerve ending is firing off at once in pure helpless agony. Every time you think it can't get worse, oh it does. And it will. With your arms unable to do anything but tremble and tremor, feeling the heat of me right beside you, looking adoringly at you while I take in all your muffled shrieks, squeals, and screams of laughter, obsessing over every last magnificent sound you make. It must feel endless. I'll make sure it feels so.
Down to your helpless stocked feet. Side by side, sharing together their torturous fate. From using one nail on the middle of each foot scritching deviously with little alterations of that finger going up and down, I'm taking notes, every time your feet manage scrunch, even if only reflexively, I'm adding a second nail on each sole, tickling where the most wrinkles formed, because there's no escape or protection here, and every futile attempt must be deservingly punished with even worse focused tickle torture. So the second finger on each joins in, and unable to help your reflexive responses, a third... Until all my nails in their claw formation are scritching and scratching away at every last nanometre of ticklish skin on your feet. From down to your heels, up to the middle of your soles and arches, right up to your toes, tickling right underneath them on that sensitive line, to wiggling my nails in-between each and every one of them. No ticklish spot is going to hide from me, and I'll make sure you know you've none that know mercy.
Circling your bellybutton. You didn't think I'd forget this cute little weak point did you? Just circling, tracing the rim, spiralling closer and circling constantly so that you're going positively *mad* with anticipation. But I'm not unleashing yet. I'm too busy taking in your whimpers. Your muffled pleads and begs. The helpless pleas of "Please!", "Not there!", all easily ignored. All playfully mocked knowing you can't do a thing for what's about to come. Circling, tracing, the madness and desperation of the sensitivity and anticipation making it tickle that much worse. Trying to arch away, trying to suck in, trying to buck my finger away, knowing full well what's about to come. And then, like the inevitable beautiful explosion it was always bound to be, my wickedly devious pointer finger will "slip", and start wiggling about, nail softly scritching and tickling against every last torturously hyper-sensitive fibre of your bellybutton, every nerve screaming as if electric jolts are being sent to your brain, but instead of pain, it is the most exquisitely agonising tickle torture from one single nail tickling and teasing it mercilessly, never known to you just *how* long you'll be scream laughing into your gag from those unbearably ticklish touches. Minutes might pass that feel like hours, and no matter how much you buck, wiggle, thrash, your futile resistance will only be met with further, more intense, dragged out tickle torture of your helpless sensitive bellybutton. A bellybutton tickle hell unlike anything you could have imagined.
I see you getting wet tickle toy, such a good girl deserves to feel all the pleasure from such ticklish agony. Then I'll only make things worse. You thought me focusing on one spot was bad enough? I'll mix it up. Armpits and bellybutton. Hips and feet. Tummy and armpits. Bellybutton and hips. You thought you were in tickle hell before, I'll make sure your tickle hell truly feels like it will last forever.
What's that? Goodness. You couldn't hold it. Well... Do you know what happens to the body after climax? Your nerve endings heighten in sensitivity. And so, we begin again. Despite your shrieks, squeals, cackles, snorts, whimpers, muffled begs and pleads, even more intense than before, this little tickle toy is just gonna have to take it. Good girls deserve their highest of highs, and since you've had your moment of bliss, I'll make sure you experience what feels like an eternity of ticklish agony.
But you can take it, like the good girl that you are, because after all, it was you who wanted this. 💙
So, along with my autism diagnosis, I have also been diagnosed with anxiety and depression.
To say this is a surprise would be a bold-faced lie.
But honestly, I've known this since I was 15-16, for quite literally half my life.
Unfortunately, it was never taken seriously.
And what's worse, it still isn't, even after this diagnosis.
It was made light of and dismissed by my parents, ironically those who supported me going for my ASD diagnosis, but this was waved off.
"You don't have depression. I had a co-worker once who said she could barely get out of bed and that walking outside at times felt like she was walking through heavy air. *That* is what depression is."
No.
Depression is not limited to sadness, nor lethargy.
Depression is a spectrum.
And such reductivist logic is not only unhelpful, it is outright harmful to those who are experiencing their own forms of depression.
Depression is not a one size fits all, it is multiple sizes fitting multiple people.
Depression can also look like not having the energy, or even choosing, not to go out to places where you know you will thrive amongst others.
Depression can look like going to bed early because you are completely mentally drained from people sapping your energy unintentionally.
Depression can look like putting off plans because you just don't have the spoons in you to put a mask on and keep it on for a prolonged period.
These are some of many examples of what depression can look like.
Yesterday I felt vindicated in my diagnoses.
Today I feel utterly defeated and let down.
If someone tells you they feel depressed, or more astutely, if someone has been *literally diagnosed* with depression, if you actively dismiss it to them in front of their face, you are worsening their experience with it. You are a factor in why people cannot come forward and be vulnerable about their experience of being depressed.
And ultimately, this is why people choose not to extend their life.
Because they do not feel heard.
They do not feel seen.
They may be *listened* to. But not *understood*.
And *that* is where so much support fails.
Today despite receiving the reports for my diagnoses, and being told how proud they were for me going for this in my journey of self-identity, in the very same day, and very nearly the same breath, the diagnosis for depression was invalidated. Dismissed. Cast aside because "that's not what depression looks like".
Congratulations. That has now become a factor in why my autistic ass finds it so bloody difficult to open up about when I *am* depressed. Most of the time it can simply display as a certain level of tiredness or apathy.
But to those who dismiss it so easily, the mask has to now go back on, all over again.
Yes, I know to some this would just read as pure indulgent angst. I am simply tired, frankly, fed up.
In the immortal words of the late Lou Reed:
"I am tired. I am weary. I could sleep for a thousand years."
