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The Mystery of Megan - New Story!

MaxSpeer

1st Level Red Feather
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Author's Note: I post my following story courtesy of MTJ Publishing.
Tales From The Asylum magazine. www.mtjpub.com
Issue #1, August 1999

The Mystery of Megan
by Max Speer


Megan awoke with a start. She sat up in her bed trying to catch her breath. She couldn’t breathe or speak. Sweat began to trickle down the side of her cheek. She opened her mouth and began to bring up some of her voice. She was still inside the dream.
They were around her, their long fingernails dangling over her naked body; teasing her. She tried desperately to scream but it was of no use. No sound would come from her lips. Her eyes, tightly shut, were afraid to open for fear that she would gaze into the face of her tormentor.
The fingernails lowered through what seemed to be a mist. Megan opened her eyes and looked into the face of a woman. She had very long, blonde hair, but there was something attached to these flowing locks.; something green and wet.
The frightened girl reached up for the shiny, green just as the fingernails seemed to grow from the thin fingers of the tormentor. Just as Megan reached for the wet, green thing, the nails shot out as long twigs and touched the frightened girl in various places on her body. The sensation was one of intense tickling.
Megan tried to scream; tried to even get the laughter out.
Then she awoke. Finally, the scream came and a figure appeared in the doorway. Megan began to scream again.
The figure switched on the light to the bedroom and Megan saw that the figure was her mother.
"Megan," her mother purred as she sat down next to her daughter and held her in her arms. "It’s alright. It’s alright."
The girl broke into tears and melted into the arms of the woman that had been taking care of her for the past 12 months since the horrible incident in Europe.
"Are you still having those dreams?" her mother said, gazing into the crystal blue eyes of her daughter. She pulled strands of Megan’s red hair out of her face and tucked them, tenderly, behind her ears.
"They’re getting worse," the daughter said quietly. "I’m beginning to see the face of ...of...it. It did it again to me. I can’t take it. I can’t take it. I’m so afraid to go back to sleep!" Megan began to weep and her mother held her tightly.

It was an unusually warm day in May. Megan wore a flowery, sleeveless, sundress and white open-toed shoes. To protect her fair skin from the intense sun, she opted to wear a wide brim sun bonnet.
"You look like the picture of Spring," her mother said. "So very lovely."
And she was indeed. Her Irish fairness, red hair and gorgeous features were accentuated by the pale yellow of her sundress. Her blue eyes sparkled under the bonnet. Megan’s dark red-painted toe nails were impeccably trimmed and had a sparkle of their own. These were the perks of the well-off.
"Mother," Megan said, walking arm in arm with her mother down the flower-lined pathway towards her car, "I’m frightened. What if they want to keep me there?"
"Don’t you worry," her mother said, patting her hand, "Doctor Schumsky is the best in his field. He came very highly recommended and he wasn’t cheap."
The two women had a small chuckle over the last statement and Megan walked into her car and drove out of the driveway.
As she rode down the street she saw people hustling from one place to the other, brushing by each other and walking as if they were in a race. Megan felt a shiver. She could never walk down this street. What if someone touched her? She would be paralyzed.
She finally pulled into the long driveway and saw the large Victorian building about a quarter of a mile down the drive. It was quite impressive but Megan began to feel her heart race as she parked the car. She knew that she would have to begin to confront these fears that she has had for the past 12 months and it nearly made her sick at the thought of bringing them to the surface.
The girl walked into the reception area. It was expansive and her shoes echoed. She saw the figures of two doctors. As soon as they saw her they looked at each other and whispered. Then one of the doctors stepped forward and extended his hand.
Megan stopped and looked down at the extended hand, then, hesitantly, offered the tips of her fingers. The doctor looked back at the other and ‘shook’ the hand lightly.
"Thank you for coming, Megan," the doctor said with a smile. "You are a very brave woman to come here."
"Why is that?" Megan said as a butterfly threatened to burst out of her stomach.
"It’s just that I realize how hard it is to confront one’s fears. But here at the Manor, we have breakthrough therapies to help one deal with these crippling fears. Please, come into my office and we can chat a bit."
Megan removed her bonnet and followed the doctor, looking behind her to make sure that the other doctor wasn’t right there, behind her.
The office was comfortable and richly furnished with velvet and mahogany. She sat on the soft chair and crossed her legs.
"Please," the doctor said with a smile. "I know a little of what your mother had told me about your dreams. But please tell me as much as you can."
As Megan related the story, she bit her nails and her crossed leg bobbed nervously. It was clear that she was getting more and more nervous as the tale unfolded.
"As much as I can remember it started right after the wedding. My husband, Victor and I decided to honeymoon in Russia. That’s where he is....I mean.....was .....from. He took me to the village where his family lived. Victor’s mother and father were dead but he still had many cousins. It was a lovely village about 200 miles from Kiev into the back country. I don’t think they ever saw a red-headed Irish girl. They stared at me constantly but Victor assured me that they thought that I was beautiful. ‘Unique Beauty’ he said."
Megan paused for a moment to reflect and laughed slightly. The memory was wonderful and her eyes sparkled. The doctor took notes.
"We stayed there for a few days and everyone was just great with us. They were so hospitable.
"Then, on Sunday, there was a festival. All the maidens from the village had flowers and they ran into the woods to a small creek where they threw the flowers into it. They told me that I had to do it too, because I’m a....I’m a..."
"Virgin?" the doctor interjected.
"Yes," Megan said surprised. "How do you know?"
"I’m familiar with that festival," the doctor said. "I have Russian blood."
"I’m so embarrassed," Megan said, blushing, but she continued.
"An old woman handed me a lovely bouquet of flowers and told me to throw them into the creek. I looked at them and they were so beautiful, they smelled so wonderful. I just couldn’t do it. Instead, I gave them to my Love, Victor and told him that he made me the happiest woman in the world.
The old woman was starting to annoy me. She tried to grab the flowers from our hands but I pulled away from her. She said something to me in Russian and walked off.
"What an old bitch," Victor said and we laughed, then kissed.
That night was warm and the air was fragrant. Victor and I went out to take a walk. That old bag was staring at us from the window, talking in Russian. Even Victor, who knew a little of the language, didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. But I do remember one word she said over and over again. I’ll never forget it."
Megan paused and began to bite her nails.
"What word was that, Megan?" the doctor said gently.
"Rusalki."
The doctor stared at the young girl. "How old are you, Megan?" the doctor said quietly.
"I’m 22. I was just 21 when this happened."
"What happened?"
Megan looked at the doctor. "Do you know that word? Rusalki?"
The doctor looked down and pulled the glasses from his face, pinching the top of his nose to relieve some tension. "I’m acquainted with that term."
"What is it, then!" Megan said, sitting forward.
"It’s a myth. Just a fairytale. During the festival, the virgins throw flowers into the pond that the Rusalki live in."
"And what happens to virgins that don’t throw flowers into the pond?"
The doctor looked at Megan sympathetically.
"TELL ME!!!"
"It’s merely a myth and I don’t want to influence you at this time. We’re here to help you overcome these fears and it does no good to feed your anxiety with fictional tales."
Megan settled back in her chair. The doctor encouraged her to continue.
"Victor and I walked to the pond and I saw all the flower petals floating on the surface. It was beautiful. Then something happened, or I think it happened. It’s all very fuzzy in my mind."
"Please go on."
"It’s hard to remember because I had fainted. But I thought I saw something come out of the water. The water rippled like something was coming up to the surface then, I felt dizzy and it was like I was in a dream. I thought maybe I was in my bed, dreaming. Then I thought that, maybe, someone had put a drug in our food; that old hag maybe. It was like the ripples in the water got me real high and trippy.
"I thought I saw something come out. Then I saw a beautiful woman walking towards Victor. She had long, blonde hair and very pale, beautiful skin. She was like an angel.
"She walked right up to him and he didn’t even move. I was starting to get angry that he was letting this girl come on to him. She couldn’t have been more than 16 years old. She started to kiss him and he kissed her back. Then I heard a song. It was a beautiful song, and I looked over at the pond and there were two other girls, just like her, singing and giggling.
"I started to walk but it was hard, like I was walking through mud or something. I reached for the girl who was still kissing Victor and grabbed at her hair. I thought I got a big bunch of her hair in my hand but when I looked it was only some slimy, green stuff.
Then I started to fall and saw the girl turn towards me and she opened her mouth to speak. Her words came out like a song and it said, "Are you the only virgin in the village?"
I started to feel sick in my stomach. It was like her voice was pushing at my guts. Then it happened."
"What happened?"
"I felt hands, slimy hands, holding my wrists over my head and holding my ankles. They were cold and wet. I was trying to scream but I couldn’t.
"The voice said, ‘You or him?’. I didn’t know what they were asking me. These question didn’t make any sense. I was feeling sicker and sicker and was trying to scream. Victor was up there, looking like he was in love with that girl. I hated him at that moment, not doing anything to save me and falling for this other girl. I just wanted to go home. I didn’t know what I was saying."
"What did you say?"
"I said ‘him!’. " Megan began to weep. She took a deep breath and hunched her shoulders, continuing through her tears.
"It was all so foggy. I saw Victor clutch his chest and fall to the ground. Then I saw the three weird girls. They were looking down at me. The first one hunched over me and showed me her fingers. Her nails were very very long. My body began to ‘feel’ or ‘know’ what she was going to do with them. She was going to tickle me with her long nails.
"Just then I felt like it was one of those dreams I had when I was a little girl. I used to dream that people were tickling me all the time; the nuns at my school, my Dad, my Uncle, my best friend, people from tv shows. It was a recurring nightmare but it was always the same. Someone would start tickling me and I couldn’t do anything about it. I am very VERY ticklish, Doctor, and it has always been a problem for me. It was one of the reasons I was ...am...still a virgin. I can’t stand to be touched. I just start laughing because it tickles so much. It’s a real problem. Since this thing happened, I can’t even be in a crowd now because I’m afraid someone will brush against me and bring back the memories.
"I was sunbathing at my Mother’s house. That’s where I’ve been living the past year. A fly landed on the bottom of my foot. I freaked out. Then I thought that, maybe, I could try and take it. I let my foot back and the fly landed again. I gritted my teeth and tried to take it while it crawled around my toes, the top of my foot and down under the toes. Doctor, I couldn’t take it. It tickled too much and it was horrible. I used to get pedicures but I can’t anymore. I have to trim them myself. It’s even hard for ME to touch my toes since this ...incident."
The doctor pressed on. "What happened next?"
"Well the girls started singing. Despite the horrible situation, the singing seemed to soothe me a little. But then the one girl lowered her fingers and touched my sides.
"It was only then that I realized that I was totally nude. I don’t know how or when my clothes were taken off but you know something? They never found my clothes anywhere!
"She started to tickle me. Her fingernails scraped up and down my sides and it was like the most intense tickling I had ever felt. It was like the dreams I had where I was ten times more ticklish than in my waking hours. She tickled my tummy and slid her hands up my sides. As she got higher up my sides she sang louder and the sensations increased. By the time she got to my underarms she was almost screaming her song and the sensations were so intense I couldn’t take it. She kept those long nails on my underarms and tickled as she sang this horrid song. I was screaming and screaming until I fainted.
"The next thing I remember I was lying in a bed and these old women were patting my forehead. They told me that I had had a fever but it was okay now. They told me I caught something out there in the woods, a virus. Then I asked about Victor."
Megan began to weep uncontrollably. The doctor pushed his box of tissues toward her and she pulled up several.
"They told me that Victor had caught the same illness but he didn’t make it; that he died. I asked to see him. I was in a panic, but they said that tradition stated that he be buried immediately. I had apparently been asleep for days.
"I tried to tell them what really happened, as much as I could remember, but they insisted that it was a very bad illness and I had been having horrible dreams and calling out all night long."
Megan looked up. "Doctor, I have been having these dreams for the past year now. They are killing me. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat. I can’t function. I can’t see people for fear that they will tickle me."
The doctor looked at Megan. She was clearly in pain, but he saw her beauty and the softness of her skin and knew that he was about to do the right thing. She was still a virgin. No one could get near her. Her fear of tickling was beyond any he had ever seen in his years as a psychotherapist.
"I am going to help you," the doctor said with a smile. This made Megan smile.
"You can?" she said.
"Yes, he continued, "But you’re going to have to trust me. You have to trust that whatever I do it is for your best interest. I can cure you of these dreams. If you want, we can start immediately."
Megan sat up. "What do I have to do? "
"Just follow me."
They both stood and Megan followed the doctor. As they walked, she moved next to him, careful not to touch his jacket with her bare arm.
"Doctor, what are Rusalki?"
"They are a myth in Russian folklore. Young maidens throw flowers into the water which is their home and they are spared the vengeance of the Rusalki. The Rusalki, according to legend, are the unbaptised souls of young girls. They live in the water half the year and on land the other half.
"Supposedly, they lore people into their home and either drag them into the pond or tickle them to death."
Megan stopped dead in her tracks.
"It’s just a myth. It’s a fairytale. It’s obvious that you read it sometime ago and the festival rekindled that memory. You were very sick but you didn’t know it, thus explains the dreamy feelings. You had a high fever. You were delirious and had the tickling dreams you had as a child. It’s not very hard to figure out.
"The trauma of losing your husband during this time has been very hard for you to deal with. You feel guilty about it. Somewhere in your dream you opted to save your life instead of his. You were angry at him. This was all a result of your fever-induced delirium."
"What about not being able to be touched. You know, the fear of being tickled?"
"It’s simple, Megan. You are afraid to get close to anyone for fear that they will hurt you as well. You are grieving for your husband."
Megan was astounded. The doctor had hit on all the right points. She felt liberated. It was so quick. Her mother was right. This doctor was a genius.
"Now, " the doctor said, opening the door to a room," the final stage of your road to recovery."
Megan looked into the room. There was a table, similar to the kind used by massage therapists in the middle of the room. there were straps at the four corners. "What are you going to do with that?" she asked sheepishly.
"Megan," the doctor said softly. "You have to trust me. I have had astounding results from my therapy. Already you feel that you have made connections today. This is the final step. You will confront your fears and be rid of them."
"You are NOT going to put me in that!" she said pointing. The doctor saw, as she lifted her arm to point, that Megan had a smooth armpit. He resisted the temptation to touch her in that very ticklish spot.
Two white-shirted aides stepped up to her and took her wrists. Megan shouted and tried to pull her wrists away but they held her with astounding strength. They pulled her as she tried to pull backwards, towards the table. The thin girl was no match for the aides and she found herself, despite her kicking and screaming, being strapped to the table.
When she was tied to the four corners she tried to arch her back up and tugged at the straps. One of the aides reached under the table and pulled a leather strap and brought it over her torso just over the hips. This was attached and Megan was hopelessly tied down. Her bare arms were over her head and her ankles were secured tightly at the bottom. During the fight, Megan’s sundress had rode up revealing her panties. The doctor brought the hem down again to where it was a few inches above her knees.
"Why are you doing this to me???" She yelled.
The doctor looked down at her and gazed into her eyes. Then he said something unusual.
"To complete to cycle."
"What the hell does that mean?" she said in a panic.
"To complete the cycle," he repeated, only this time, it sounded like a song. He said it again and again, and each time, it was ‘sung’ more until the phrase was like the phrase of a song.
Megan began to feel herself black out but was quickly brought back to reality with a stinging slap on her face.
"You upset the balance," became the new song and Megan’s eyes began to cross. She saw the doctor as a double image until one of the images changed. It was the image of a girl; a girl with long, blonde hair. Then the images came together and the doctor was no longer the doctor but that girl. The girl from the pond!
The aides began to sing as well and they, too changed.
Megan began to hyperventilate and she heard a chorus of singing. Her hands were clammy and tingling.
"The virgin of the village. The Virgin of the Village."
"No no!!!! she yelled." I’m not the virgin of the village. I wasn’t from that village. I’m an American."
The first girl walked up to her and looked into her face. She smelled like dead flowers.
"What is the cycle?"
"The cycle?" Megan said trying not to faint. "I don’t know. What kind of questions are these?"
Upon hearing the answer, the girl pulled her hand up and touched her long nail on Megan’s wrist. It tickled. Then she ran it down, scraping the very soft skin of her inner arm. Megan tried to squirm but the tickling was making her weak and the straps were fastened very effectively.
"Please don’t tickle me. PLEASE!!!" she screamed as the sensations grew more intense than she had ever felt. Her bare, exposed underarm was extremely ticklish. Far more than she ever imagined and Megan began to scream and laughter erupted from deep inside of her.
"No NO NO NO NO NO SToppppittt P-LEASE!!!!!!"
Her laughter was loud and long and the girl simply tickled a single fingernail on the smooth, hairless surface of her underarm revealed so vulnerably in her sleeveless sundress.
"Ticka ticka ticka ticka ticka ticka," the girls sang and giggled. They actually appeared as if they were having fun.
The one girl lifted her other hand and brought it down onto Megan’s other underarm and began to strum the extremely ticklish skin. Megan tried to arch her back. Tried to pull her arms free. She couldn’t. She was locked in place and one spot was held, unmovable to the tickling touch of the Rusalka.
Megan was screaming now. The tickling was more intense than any nightmare she had ever experienced. Then something came to her.
"My period!" She managed to scream out. The tickling ceased. "That’s what the cycle is." She didn’t know how she realized it. The tickling made her feel some cramping and she had a clear thought that she would be getting her period soon.
The girls lifted their heads. Their long, blonde hair sparkled, green moss speckled the strands. They sang out a song. Megan was relieved for a moment. The tickling under her arms was so intense she would’ve done anything to stop the torture.
Then the second girl walked up to her. It was more like a glide than an actual walk. She put her nose on Megan’s. Her breath smelled like the woods, a mossy, green smell.
"Who is the tall one?" she sang lightly.
Megan began to panic. If I don’t answer this they will tickle me again. "The tall one?" she stammered.
The second girl took her long nails and began to strum them over Megan’s torso. The sundress offered no protection at all. The sensations of long, pointed nails began to tickle her immensely. The nails strummed up and down her sides and over her belly.
"Ticka ticka ticka ticka ticka..." she sang as she probed Megan’s belly button area and poked her sides. Megan began to scream, memories of this poking from her childhood nightmares. Memories that she would still feel the tickled poke on her sides even after she awoke and she would ask her mother to rub her ribs to help her sleep again.
"You’re a dream!" Megan screamed but the words dissolved into helpless laughter as she shook her head back and forth. The tickling continued around her upper ribs and she began to scream, begging the girl not to tickle her underarms again. She didn’t. Instead, she tickled the soft belly area and the spots just over her hips near the strap.
The girls sang their tickling song and giggled wildly. The louder they sang, the more intense the tickling felt, and the louder Megan laughed and screamed.
At one point she saw herself looking through a photo album. ‘Am I dying’ she asked herself. Then she saw a photo in the album. It was a great great Aunt. Her only relative who lived in Russia.
The Tall One.
"Nadja!" she screamed. The tickling ceased. Megan began to try and catch her breath. She still felt poking on her sides just like her childhood nightmares. She was horrified at the thought that they would tickle again and began to pray. Her prayers were interrupted by another song.
Megan began to breathe heavily when the third girl approached her. If possible, she appeared ‘younger’ than the rest;; no more than 12 or 13 years old, but still beautiful.
The third girl kissed Megan’s lips and Megan felt a moment of calm. Then the girl sang a very quiet song.
"Where are your roots, My little Tree?"
This completely threw the girl and she began to panic as the young one moved down towards her feet.
"No Please. Give me time. I know I can answer that. Why are you asking me these things?"
The girl smiled and threw back her long locks. Megan saw that the girl was nude and realized that the others were as well. She wondered why she wasn’t able to see this until then.
When the young one pulled her hands out of her hair she brought her fingers down and Megan gasped at what she saw. Her nails were long, nearly 6 inches, and pointed. They looked like twigs. The young one lowered her hands toward Megan’s feet and Megan realized that her shoes had been removed. She felt the coolness of the room’s air touching her hot soles.
Megan began to scream and tug helplessly at her bonds. The first touch of the nails on her soles was so intense that Megan began to black out. She was brought back by the kiss of the first girl on her cheek. The kiss was cold and wet.
The nails scraped a horribly tickling path of torture from her heel up to the balls of her feet. Megan’s extremely smooth soles were already tremendously ticklish. They had been the target of many tickle attempts from friends and family. Megan was too crafty to let them tickle her there since it would have been devastating. She always hid her feet under her when she sat, barefoot in their presence.
Now she had no defense. She squealed a sound that startled her. It sounded like a child’s scream. The squeal dissolved into loud laughter that appeared to be almost sung.
The young one tickled the tops of Megan’s feet then slipped them over her toes and down her soles.
"Ticka ticka ticka ticka ticka hee hee hee hee," the young one sung and giggled. At one point, the two others began to tickle the young rusalka , scraping their nails up and down her sides and over her small breasts. This only prompted her to sing louder and dig her torturous nails into Megan’s extremely ticklish soles.
The captive Megan’s hysterics was deafening but the singing was drowning out the laughter and screams.
Suddenly, the singing changed and they repeated their song of ‘Little Tree, Little Tree, Where are your roots?’ as they all started to tickle Megan. The young one seemed to love tickling Megan’s feet and she kissed them between tickles. Her lips were cold and wet and tickled as well, and Megan laughed and pleaded for release.
The other girls sang louder and giggled and began to tickle her torso and down her legs. One hand crept up between her legs and tickled her panties.
Megan was close to fainting but she started to feel a pleasure between her legs.
"My roots are there. Between my legs!" she shouted in a fury of laughter.
The girls continued to sing, giggle and tickle the young woman. Her sleeveless sundress was too thin and revealing to offer any hope of protection from the tickling fingers of the Rusalki.
The young one licked Megan’s bare, ticklish sole, sending intense tremors through the woman’s body. One girl stroked her nail over the smooth underarm again and Megan began to giggle. Her laughter was turning to giggles and her squeals began to sound like singing.
The tickling increased in intensity yet the laughter began to sound more like singing. Her vagina throbbed with excitement. She began to feel a sense of peace that she had never felt before.
"My Roots. My Roots!" she screamed. The young girl repeated, "My roots, my roots," and scrapped her long nails up Megan’s ticklish sole.
"I am..." Megan began to shout as waves of orgasmic pulsations rippled through her. "I am Little Tree!" She threw her head back and gasped, releasing her laughter as she moaned.
The Rusalki giggled as their tickling lightened to a pleasurable feeling. They began to kiss her body and as they did, pieces of Megan’s clothing came away and fell to the floor.
"The cycle, Little Tree..." they sung.
"I am Little Tree!" Megan sang and the feelings of euphoria overtook her like pleasure waves of one continuous orgasm. "I am one of you." They kissed her face and eyelids and stroked her long, blond hair.
The tickling ceased. Megan rose up, the shackles not holding her anymore. "I have always been one of you."
The four stood together as they had many many years ago. Many years before one walked away from the water; walked away and had forgotten.
 
This is very nice! It has Russian legends and a surprise ending! I tell you, I never expected that ending! Good work, Max! :)
 
i read this last night in "Tales from the Asylum", and wow what an ending..as always, i was on the edge of my seat, reading more and more, wondering what would happen next..
 
I read this story about two days before I registered at this forum. It IS one of the BEST tickle stories I ever read. Aside from the fact that it had one of my favorite elements - the supernatural - the female to female aspect was awesome. I was completely entranced when I saw the image of that tickled foot... The way the light shines on her toes, it doesn't look like the light of a room, but it looks like she was tickled outside and the sunlight was hitting her. I think lighting in tickle images is important, too. If you have good lighting, it can make magic. :judges:

@Max: Can you tell me, though, whether or not you know if this tickled girl in the image is actually outside, under sunlight, or is this just the effect of really good, bright lighting that makes it look like sunlight? :idunno: I'm obsessed with this picture right now! Seriously! :wow:
 
Thank you for your kind words. I am assuming that you meant the images on my actual story site because there are no pix on this page.

I am also assuming you meant the close up of the feet and the long nails tickling them. Those feet were outside in sunlight.

Thanks again.

Max
 
Yes, I was talking about your site. :) It's absolutely wonderful. I love it.

:excited: I knew it! I knew it was outside! :D Awesome. Thanks for telling me! Do you happen to know that girl personally, or did you just find the images on the net? Was she on a porch during the image taking? (Sorry for all the questions. I ask because she looks familiar and I'm trying to find out where I had seen her once. Long time ago.) :blush:

Do you also know if there is a video or a video clip of that girl with that foot tickled? Or was it only made into a picture and there's no video of it?
 
Odd, just the other day I was hypothesizing a story based on the
Rusalka and completely forgot this true gem of writing even though
I had read it a good while back. Thanks for posting it here, Max!
 
I just re-read this story in TFTA earlier today...I took advantage of the sale at MTJ and bought it to replace the print copy I had years ago...so in a strange kind of way this collection of stories holds a very emotional and warm trigger for me, in a very good way). These were the first tickle stories I ever read...they blew me away back then and they are still just as awesome. Love this story and as always, a steadfast fan of Max Speer :)
 
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