The year was 2011. It was Barack Obama’s second/third year as president of the United States and although many would say he was doing a solid job, that didn’t mean holding his office wasn’t still stressful. On top of the daily tasks and problems to handle, the next election year was now only months away and Obama was already feeling the burden of another campaign coming down the pipeline.

One Thursday evening after a lengthy speech in D.C., Obama returned to the White House with less pep in his step than usual. His staff had noticed the way his charming smile had been looking a little dimmer and he was drinking more coffee than normal, prompting them to outsource a way for their boss to unwind. “Mr. President, the files for tomorrow’s briefing are on your desk, your appearance is confirmed for the afternoon, and I told the congressman that you’d be in touch with him as soon as you had time” the staffer explained as he walked alongside him. “What, no foreign leader meeting?” Obama asked, confusing his aid. “I’m just kidding, Sam, thanks” “Right haha. Oh, but there was one other thing; there’s someone waiting for you in the oval office” “It’s almost 10:30…who?” “Maybe you should just see for yourself” the attentive staffer suggested, getting a curious look from the president before he walked through the doors to find a young man standing next to his desk.

“Good evening, Mr. President, I’m here to give you a massage” “…a massage? I don’t remember requesting a massage” “I believe it was your staff’s idea, sir. They thought you could use one to help relax…sir” the bright-eyed brunette answered, obviously a little awkward to be interacting with the president. “Oh, well that was kind of them. I don’t see a table or anything though…where is this supposed to happen?” the seasoned politician asked while looking around a little puzzled. “It’s a foot massage, sir” “…alright, sure. That makes more sense; I don’t think I’ve actually ever had one now that I think about it” Obama added as he walked around to his desk and took his seat, a bit unsure of what exactly to expect but the slight grin on his face said he was interested.

“If you’re ready just uh, take your shoes off and we can get started” “Alright” he agreed and began unlacing his dark loafers, “Ya know, I should probably know your name if I’m letting you handle my feet” Obama added with a light laugh as his second shoe came off, warming the masseur to him. “Ricky, sir” “Nice to meet you, Ricky…and you can stop calling me sir now” “Haha sure” Ricky agreed and watched the president’s tired feet flatten on the carpet, the expensive sheer socks barely veiling his mature size 12s as the scene captured Ricky’s gaze.

“You alright there, Ricky?” “Oh, fine…I’m fine; I just got distracted” Ricky assured as he snapped out of it and took the left foot in his hands, feeling the lean sole like a cushion against his fingers. Obama leaned down in the leather seat to loosen up and closed his eyes with relief as Ricky started kneading into his foot, using his thumbs to dig into the middle of his low arch. “That ok?” “Fantastic” Mr. President replied like the weight of the day was slowly leaving, soothed by Ricky’s professional touch. However, his sudden relaxation and eyes being closed kept him from noticing the way Ricky admired the socked feet.

Wearing the shoes all day had left them incredibly rich and almost melty, like warm caramel in his hands. Ricky started moving up the left foot after a couple minutes and stopped at the balls, switching to his knuckles to grind in a bit and get a low moan of pleasure from the president. “Sorry, this is just a lot better than I was expecting” Obama admitted to explain his surprised reaction. “It’s alright; people make all kinds of noises during massages” Ricky assured and watched the president smile and loosen his tie as if he’d been given permission to let his guard down.

Ricky watched his right toes curl and fan out every so often on the carpet as he continued working on the left foot, soon leaving the balls and moving onto the toes in front of him. He started caressing the long toes with the same thumb technique and almost instantly felt a pull back, looking up to see Obama’s eyes open and a different grin on his face. “Sorry; I guess I forgot how ticklish I was. I’ll try to relax” he offered to avoid interfering with the massage. “…even presidents are ticklish, right?” Ricky added but immediately regretted, fearing how dumb that sounded out loud. “Haha just don’t tell anybody or I’ll have to get secret service after you” Obama joked but Ricky was buzzing, like he was having an out of body experience, in disbelief that he was actually massaging the president’s feet and on top of that, that they were ticklish!

The salt and pepper haired man slinked back down in the chair a bit and closed his eyes like before, ready to enjoy the rest of the massage as Ricky went on to his other foot. “This may be even better without socks…if you like” Ricky suggested as calm as he could. “Yeah? I guess you’re the professional here…” Obama obliged to Ricky’s surprise and started peeling off his savory socks, letting the tangy, cheesy sweat smell drift over to the young masseur as they slipped off. Ricky couldn’t stop himself from checking out the bare feet as they hit the floor, the pale brown sides wrinkling against the carpet and his toes stretching out to adjust to the lack of coverage. Suddenly a wild, admittedly insane idea flashed in Ricky’s mind as Obama waited for the rest of the massage but the 24 yr. old figured if he didn’t at least pitch it, he’d kick himself for years to come.

“…Mr. President, this is probably going to sound crazy but a few guys that I’ve massaged have actually had a lot of success de-stressing with something a little different” Ricky proposed. “What do you mean?” “…it’s uhh tickling” “Haha tickling? Are you serious?” “Haha yeah I know it’s out there, I just thought I’d run it by you” Ricky backtracked and laughed off to avoid seeming too eager, looking down toward the ground to pick back up with the massage but the handsome feet didn’t return.

“You said that really works for people?” Obama asked with mild hesitation, shocking Ricky as he looked back up. “Yes, I mean for the clients that are sensitive enough” “Huh…I guess I could try it out” Obama concluded after considering how much trouble he’d had sleeping recently from stress of the job. Ricky struggled to hide his surprise and mounting excitement but focused on remaining professional enough to actually go through with it. “Ok, great…I guess we could started by you putting your feet on the desk” Ricky instructed, knowing full well he’d never actually tickled a client before; thankfully the president didn’t seem to realize he was winging it.

“Alright” Obama agreed and propped his bare feet on the famous desk, an image he imagined only few people had ever seen, if anyone. Ricky stood up and moved next to his legs, watching him lock his fingers over his stomach like he was waiting to see what would happen. “I’ll just test you out first” Ricky explained and started easy, wiggling a few light fingers across the balls of both feet and hearing a low giggle from behind him. “…a little more now” Ricky added before extending his fingers and clawing up both tan arches with slow diligence. “OoohAoh ok Ook!” Obama let out while reaching out toward his feet to stop him.

“Sorry, was that too much?” “Man, haha I guess I didn’t realize how bad that would get me” Part of Ricky wanted to retreat; get back to the massage to avoid spoiling the surreal scenario but the other part of him was dying to really tickle his new client. “The stimulation, once it gets to the right point helps release endorphins similar to a workout; your muscles get a release and laughing never hurts anyone either” Ricky spouted as if someone else was telling him what to say, impressed by his own explanation. “That makes sense…I just don’t know if I can stand more than a few seconds of it” Obama admitted, more than most men his age or with his power probably would.

“I can always hold your ankles down if that’s alright” Ricky suggested before he could stop himself, getting another curious look from the president. “That might be a good idea; I’d hate to kick you by accident” Obama agreed after a quick contemplation although Ricky could still see a level of reluctance on his face and in the wrinkles on his forehead. “Some clients prefer to use some kind of a safe word to let me know when they really can’t take anymore; that way there’s no confusion and you get the full effect” “A safe word? Well this is becoming more involved than I anticipated…” he laughed a bit before Ricky interjected. “What about POTUS?” “Sure, that works I guess” “Great” Ricky answered with a smile and returned his attention back to the willing feet before locking one hand across both ankles on the edge of the desk.

Obama crossed his arms in the white button down to prepare himself but didn’t expect Ricky’s enthusiasm, jolted by the sudden nails scratching up his right foot. “OoAhOhWWOoaohA! OOOhohAAooOkOOkAohA!!” gushed out of the president with a wide smile like he’d heard a hilarious joke and his arms broke loose to grip the arms of the chair. Both feet writhed atop the wooden desk but Ricky held firm as he explored the silky, slightly dry sole with tight scratches from the heel to the base of his toes. Obama slapped the arm of the chair and howled harder, unable to control his reaction with the steady nails helping him de-stress while Ricky beamed with adrenaline and soon jumped to the other foot, catching the bumbling president off guard and nearly forcing him out his chair with more violent jerking. “AAHAALLLRRiIiGGhHTT! AHohaSTTOOOPpPSTTOoOHPPP!!” Obama shouted the best he could but Ricky didn’t obey, knowing the safe word hadn’t come out yet.

His feet wrinkled and arched to try and fight the unruly sensations but it didn’t stop Ricky, instead following the curvature of his left foot whichever way it moved to keep him laughing and squirming in the chair. The tickle-hungry masseur snuck up to the left toes before Obama knew what to expect and couldn’t help but let out an embarrassing yelp once Ricky was clawing along the plush undersides. “OAoAONnOOnNNOoO! NNoOOtTThHEETTOOEESSS!! OohOAhaA!!” Obama protested with wide-eyed horror, reaching out toward Ricky to protect his presidential feet but Ricky stood in the way, holding his control over the middle-aged pair as long as he could.

His toes were still incredibly soft from hours of baking in the leather shoes which made each scratch hit a lot harder no matter how much they tried to avoid him. “You’re doing great; I’m just gonna add something” Ricky announced a few minutes later and Obama wilted against the back of his chair. “That was…that was horrible haha” “Feeling any more relaxed?” Ricky asked as he finished looping the rubber band from his pocket around both big toes. “Hey, what are you doing? What is thAAHaoAohaOA!! NNOoAohAOhA!!” Obama burst with fresh laughter before he could even see the new development.

“WWhyYyCcaANNNTTIIiMMOoovVEEmMYyFFEEETT!?!” “It’s just an old massage trick” Ricky lied as he watched Obama try to wiggle his feet around like before only to inch a little in either direction. This time Ricky launched onto both soles at once, raking up the neighboring arches over and over with a steady hand. “oOoHohAOANNNoONNooHAAHOAOhA IIiCCAAANNnTT!! oOOhWwoOaohAOh!!” Ricky could hardly believe just how ticklish the president was, thinking briefly of how easy it would be for an enemy to interrogate him for government secrets but he did his best to just enjoy the moment and how nice the feet felt under his fingertips.

He could hear Obama thrashing around in the chair and even looked back to see the giant smile on his face from laughing so hard as well as the way his shirt had become so disheveled since they started. Ricky wondered how long this could really last and figured surely he’d have to take an important call or something soon so the young masseur wanted to see how much he could get away with while he had the chance. “Is this one of those pens you sign bills with?” Ricky asked a few minutes later as his hand pulled away and reached toward the container on the desk. “What...? Yeah, that’s one of them” Obama answered without understanding why it was of concern until he heard the cap come off and hit the desk before the ball-point pen landed on his right foot.

“WWOoOoOAAH! AohAoahWwHhaAATTAARREeEyYYoUUDDoOIiNNnG?!” “Just making sure your pen works” Ricky teased as he traced the lines of the president’s foot with the pen, impressed by how great of a tickle tool it was. Obama pounded the arm of the chair with his fist and boomed with heavier laughter than before as Ricky’s pen technique seemed to move faster and faster across his creamy sole. Pretty soon his right foot was covered in ink like a strange road map and just when he thought it was over, the same acute feeling struck his other foot with another electric shock. “AahAA! AHoAHAohAAHoHNNOOnNoAohAOoKOOOokAKAOHAoaHa EeEENNNooOuUUGGHHAHa!!” Obama tried to convince but the pen didn’t stop filling in the lines, wrecking him with unbelievable ease.

“AAAHA!!” escaped out of him with a sharp release as Ricky drew near the top of his heel, persuading Ricky to stop but only for a moment before returning to the sweet spot and zig-zagging across it like someone trying to get a dry pen working on a piece of paper. “AAAhAOhAOAHNNONnnoOOAHAOhAOAHAOHAAOH!! SSTToOHpPP! AHoAHASSTOOpPAHoaH!! PPpoOOTTTUUuSSS!! PPpoOoTTTuUuSSS!!” Obama tapped out after only another 30 seconds and Ricky had to force himself to stop, letting the ankles go and putting the pen cap back on.

He turned to the president to see him starting to sweat through the shirt and a tired smile on his face as he put his feet down. But before Ricky could ask him how he felt a knock at the door interrupted the end of their session, “Mr. President, you’re needed in the briefing room” a man announced after entering. “Thanks, Hugh; I’ll be right there” Obama replied and let out a sigh of getting back to work before slipping his dress socks back on. “It’s kind of late for a briefing isn’t it?” Ricky asked. “You get used to it after a while” the older man answered as he popped the left shoe back on, followed by the other one until both deliciously ticklish feet were out of sight.

Ricky feared the lack of commentary on their session meant the president didn’t like it or worse, regretted the whole thing. The most powerful man in the country started toward the door as Ricky collected his things but stopped just before walking out, “Thanks for the massage, kid; I feel looser already” Obama assured while re-adjusting his tie and blazer. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, sir” “I am gonna have a hell of a time scrubbing that ink off my feet though haha” Obama added before leaving Ricky and signaling another staffer to escort him out.

“You must’ve made a good impression” the man added as he walked Ricky down the hall. “What do you mean?” “The president wants another massage next week” “Really??” “He said he wanted the works next time as well; I’m assuming you know whatever ‘the works’ means” “Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”