Soon her delicious love hole beckoned me back, and before I knew it we were joined again, and once more en route to explosions of passion. I seemed to feel, not ten, but ten thousand points of ticklish bliss resonating within her, dissolving around me in an ocean of laughter and pleasure that carried us together into rhythmic abandon.

"How did you originally find your tickle spots?" I asked her one evening.

"Self-exploration," she said matter-of-factly. "When I was single, you know. I made quite a study of self-pleasure."

"Of course. But you were able to tickle yourself? That's an unusual skill."

"I have many unusual skills," said Vivian. She proceeded to demonstrate one of them; one that I'd frequently complimented her for. Let's just say it's something special she does for me with her tongue.

"For my birthday," I said later, "I'd love to watch you tickle yourself a little, like you used to when you were masturb—er, when you were exploring."

"Why wait till your birthday?" she replied, and another night went down in history. I'll never forget the peculiar, wonderful experience of seeing Vivian make herself wriggle and giggle, priming her body and senses just like I did, until she pulled me toward her to enjoy the erotic state she'd tickled herself into.

Ten is a nice round number, and any proponent of the metric system will praise it to no end. But I have a secret ambition of adding to Vivian's checklist. So, when my fingers happen to casually brush her body here and there in the course of lovemaking, cuddling, or incidental daily contact, I keep myself alert to the possibility that her face will flush slightly or her throat will resonate with a hint of laughter, signaling the possible discovery of an eleventh tickle venue. It could be anywhere on her soft, sensuous body. I know I'll enjoy finding it, even if it takes years. I'm thinking of applying for a grant.

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