nylonmaniac
TMF Novice
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2006
- Messages
- 65
- Points
- 18
Hi all. Been on here for years. Mostly lurker. Recently for work I've been researching AI. I got to thinking I would try using it to help me write tickling stories. I have lots of Ideas but am a terrible writer, but so far the ideas, mixed with the detailed guidance I've been giving the AI program, has proved to be a lot of fun. Here are the first few parts of my first story. Hope you enjoy. I'll be posting the next few parts soon.
Curiosity After Midnight
Part 1: The Click
The living room was dim, lit mostly by the soft, flickering light of the TV screen, which had been playing the same episode of Chef’s Table for the last 20 minutes. Meredith wasn’t watching it. Not really. She was slouched sideways on her couch in a loose tank top and sleep shorts, her thick brunette hair twisted into a lazy bun. Her curves folded comfortably into the worn cushions, her legs tucked underneath a plush blanket, only the tips of her toes peeking out.
Her phone glowed in her hand, illuminating her tired but beautiful face—soft eyes, fuller cheeks that still held their natural blush, and full lips drawn into a slight frown. The same frown she’d worn for months now. Maybe longer.
She had tried so many things. Yoga—meh. Painting? One half-finished still life of a pear that looked more like a green butt. She’d gone on a few walks that became aimless drives. And the medications—well, the side effects did more than the pills ever could.
The only time she truly smiled was around her nieces and nephews, but that joy was fleeting. It always ended with her watching them run off to their parents while she got back in her car, alone again. Even dating had become a chore. Every man was either intimidated by her confidence or uninterested in anything deeper than what her body could offer. And it was a hell of a body—thick, strong legs, an ass that turned heads, breasts that defied gravity, and those feet… wide, high-arched, soft despite her weight. Men used to compliment her feet more than she liked to admit, especially when she wore heels. But none of that seemed to matter anymore.
She scrolled on her phone, listlessly.
“New hobbies to try for women in their 30s”
“How to boost serotonin naturally”
“Is it normal to feel empty all the time?”
Each search led to the same bland advice: journaling, smoothies, gratitude. One page even suggested she volunteer at an animal shelter. She loved animals, sure, but that wasn’t the itch she was trying to scratch. Something was gnawing at her. Something deeper.
She rubbed her foot absentmindedly under the blanket and sighed.
“Jesus,” she muttered to herself. “Maybe I’m just bored to death.”
As she mindlessly tapped through links, a weird little sidebar ad caught her eye. It was plain. Just white text on black. Looked like a classified ad from 2005.
Feeling stuck? Try something different. Private sessions available. No nudity. Full consent. Tickling therapy. Text Sean for more info. Discretion assured.
A phone number followed.
Meredith blinked. She didn’t click it. Not right away.
“Tickling?” she whispered, puzzled. Her brows furrowed. “What the hell does that even mean?”
The thought was ridiculous. Almost laughable. But the word therapy stood out. So did discretion. And maybe… maybe there was something to it?
She sat up slowly on the couch, tucking her legs under her and letting the blanket fall away. Her bare foot brushed against the hardwood, and the coolness grounded her a little. She stared at the ad again.
Part of her thought it was some kind of scam. Another part—deep down, the part that hadn’t felt much of anything in weeks—was… curious.
She tapped the back button and then forward again, just to see the ad refresh.
It did.
She bit her lip.
“Who the hell gets tickled on purpose?” she whispered aloud, eyes narrowing, like she was trying to see through the screen into the logic of the ad. But as she leaned back, something strange happened. Her mind, unprompted, brought up a memory—years ago—of her and her sister when they were kids, roughhousing on the floor. Her sister had tickled her feet once, and Meredith had shrieked so loud she made herself hoarse. She hated it… and yet, she had laughed until her stomach hurt.
Was that the point?
Was it about laughter?
She chuckled softly, almost in disbelief at herself. But the idea refused to go away. It sat there in her head, stubborn, like a weird itch.
She ran her thumb across her phone screen, hovered over the message icon.
Text Sean for more info. Discretion assured.
She didn’t type anything yet. She stared at the name.
Sean.
That was a nice, neutral name. Didn’t sound creepy. Didn’t sound like a Craigslist perv. Still. This was probably insane.
Her feet rubbed together again under the blanket, unconsciously.
She stared at the number. Her fingers itched.
——
Curiosity After Midnight
Part 2: The Text
The cursor blinked on the empty message screen.
Meredith’s thumb hovered. Her heart tapped an anxious little rhythm beneath her ribs.
This was stupid. What was she even doing?
She sighed through her nose, eyes locked on the number.
Then, finally—
Meredith: Hey. I saw your ad… about the therapy thing. Not sure if this is still active?
Sent.
Three dots appeared almost immediately. Her heart thumped. She pulled her blanket tighter.
Sean:
Hello. Yes, it’s active. You’re welcome to ask any questions. No pressure. I assume you’re inquiring about the tickling therapy?
Meredith:
Yeah. I guess so. I don’t really know what that even is, honestly.
Sean:
That’s fair. It’s a therapeutic experience focused on stress relief, endorphin release, and emotional reset. All sessions are fully clothed, non-sexual, and 100% consent-based. Some people just want to laugh. Some need to let go. Every session is tailored to the client. She blinked. The way he worded things didn’t feel gross. No emojis. No creepy tone. Just… clinical, almost.
Still.
Meredith:
Okay but like… you tie people up and tickle them? That’s really a thing?
Sean:
Yes. Typically wrists and ankles are gently restrained for safety and stillness.
It creates structure, which helps many clients feel secure.
The tickling ranges from soft and controlled to full-on torture. You can stop the session at any time.
Most people are surprised by how deeply relaxed they feel afterward.
Meredith:
Huh. I don’t know. I’ve just… been in a weird place. I don’t laugh much lately. Nothing really feels good anymore. I saw the ad and something about it just… stuck in my brain.
Sean:
That happens more often than you think.
This isn’t a joke to me, Meredith. I take what I do seriously. It’s not about embarrassment. It’s about creating a space for release.
Her eyes lingered on that last word. Release.
God, did she need something.
Meredith:
How long are the sessions?
Sean:
First-time sessions are usually 30 minutes. That’s enough to get a feel for the experience.
We can go longer in future sessions—some clients prefer 45 or even 60 minutes once they’ve built some trust.
But for now, I suggest we keep it simple.
Meredith:
And where does it happen? Like some studio?
Sean:
No studios. I work in the comfort of the client’s home.
You don’t have to go anywhere unfamiliar. I bring everything necessary: restraints, pillows, timers, wipes, tools (for established clients). Clean and professional.
My rule is this: You feel safe, or we don’t proceed.
That made her pause.
Having it done at her place actually made her feel less skittish. She hated the idea of being vulnerable somewhere foreign. But letting a man into her home? That brought up its own anxiety.
Meredith:
You… get a lot of women doing this?
Sean:
Yes. Most of my clients are women in their 30s to 50s.
Many are professionals. Some are mothers. Some have trauma, some just feel stuck.
Most just want to feel something different. That sound familiar to you?
Meredith swallowed hard. She hated how accurate that was.
She hesitated, then typed slowly.
Meredith:
I’m not like… I don’t want this to be some weird fetish thing. I’ve had enough of men not getting boundaries.
Sean:
Good. Boundaries are the first thing we discuss before any session.
If it helps, I’ll send you a checklist I use for new clients—preferences, limits, consent forms.
You won’t be surprised. You’ll be in control, even when you’re restrained.
Meredith:
Damn. You’re very… professional.
Sean:
Thank you. It keeps things clear and respectful.
Humor happens, obviously. There’s laughter. But I never cross a line, unless asked.
She stared at the ceiling. Then back at her feet, wiggling just under the blanket.
This was nuts. But she was curious. More than curious now. There was a small flame lit behind her ribs—a feeling she hadn’t felt in so long.
Meredith:
What do I wear?
Sean:
Comfortable clothes. Leggings, a comfortable shirt, anything that makes you comfortable. Or, shorts, something sleeveless if you feel like being more exposed. But, again, we take it slow, especially on the first one.
Socks or nylons optional—some clients prefer feet tickling, some prefer upper body, some both. You’ll note your preferences on the form.
You can also decide where not to be touched. I follow that precisely.
Feet.
Why did that make her heart jump?
Meredith:
So like… you really just tickle someone’s feet or sides for a half hour? People pay for that?
Sean:
Yes. Every week.
Some cry from laughter. Others fall asleep after, like they’ve had a massage.
Your body releases tension through involuntary joy. It sounds strange—until it works.
She bit her lip, heart racing.
Meredith:
How soon could you do a session?
There was a pause. The dots pulsed.
Sean:
I have an opening Thursday night. 7pm. If you want to book it, I’ll send you the form and we can confirm details.
Meredith:
Okay… send it.
She hit send, then immediately threw her phone down beside her and curled up, feeling like she’d just walked off a cliff.
But she didn’t regret it.
Not yet.
Curiosity After Midnight
Part 3: The Form
The email came two minutes later.
Meredith had stared at her phone the entire time after texting “send it.” When the notification buzzed, she jumped a little—then cursed herself for being such a wimp. It was just a form.
She clicked the link.
Tickling Therapy – New Client Intake Form
The form opened clean and simple—no clutter, no colors. Just straightforward questions and checkboxes, like an intake form at a clinic. It weirdly put her at ease.
Meredith pulled the blanket tighter around her legs and began typing.
Name:
Meredith D.
Preferred Pronouns:
She/Her
Age:
35
Occupation (optional):
Restaurant Manager
Have you ever had a tickling session before?
☐ Yes
✅ No
Do you consent to being gently restrained during the session?
☐ Yes
☐ No
✅ Other / Not Sure Yet
She paused there for a moment. The idea of being tied down made her feel equal parts nervous and... something else she didn’t have words for. Not fear. Just unfamiliarity. She checked “Not Sure Yet.”
Are there any areas you absolutely do NOT want touched? (Check all that apply):
☐ Feet
☐ Sides/Ribs
☐ Underarms
☐ Neck
☐ Thighs
☐ Knees
✅ Other / Undecided
She skimmed the list, hesitating. She didn’t know what half of those would even feel like anymore. Her body had become this neutral zone—untouched, untested, not even tickled accidentally in years. She clicked “Undecided” and made a mental note to think more about that later.
Ticklishness Level (1 = barely ticklish, 10 = extremely ticklish):
She hovered.
Some part of her remembered her feet being bad. She used to yank them away from pedicurists.
But that was years ago.
She tapped:
6
Would you prefer to be tickled in (This question is more for returning clients):
☐ Socks
☐ Nylons
☐ Bare feet
✅ Other / Not sure
Now this question gave her pause. She re-read it twice.
Socks made sense. Normal. Cozy.
Nylons? That made her pause. Was that a thing people actually requested?
She selected:
✅ Other / Not sure
Preferred session intensity:
☐ Gentle/Playful
☐ Moderate with breaks
☐ Intense/Endurance
✅ Other / Not sure
Again, she didn’t know. All she knew was that she didn’t want to feel overwhelmed. She wanted something that started slow… but didn’t feel clinical either.
What do you hope to feel during the session? (Check all that apply):
☐ Laughter
☐ Relief
☐ Emotional release
☐ Physical challenge
☐ Distraction from anxiety
☐ Safe vulnerability
☐ Sleepiness
☐ Surprise
☐ Catharsis
✅ Other: Still figuring that out
She sighed softly, reading the list. They all sounded… nice. But they also felt too specific for something she hadn’t even tried yet. What if she felt nothing at all?
She typed:
“Still figuring that out.”
Preferred environment:
✅ At home
☐ Off-site location
☐ No preference
That one was easy. The idea of being in a stranger’s studio made her stomach flip. Her home was at least hers. Her couch, her blankets, her space.
Do you prefer to have conversation during the session?
✅ Yes
☐ No
☐ Only at beginning/end
She paused again. Maybe a little chatter would help relax her nerves.
Safe Word (any phrase you’d like to use to immediately stop the session):
After a long moment of thought, she typed:
Banana Bread.
It was the first thing that came to mind, and something about it made her smile. Warm. Wholesome. The opposite of panic.
Then the final section appeared.
Optional Notes or Concerns:
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Then she slowly began to type:
I’ve never done anything like this. I don’t know what I’m looking for, exactly. I’ve just been numb for a while and haven’t really laughed in months.
I’ve tried therapy, meds, hobbies… Nothing’s stuck. I’m skeptical, but also curious. I want to feel something lighter, even just for a minute.Please be patient with me.
She read it over, then hit submit.
The confirmation screen loaded.
Thank you, Meredith. Your form has been received.
Sean will follow up tomorrow to confirm your session.
Meredith placed her phone on the coffee table and let her head fall back into the couch cushion.
A slow, strange energy buzzed through her chest.
She didn’t know what she’d just signed up for.
But for the first time in a long time, tomorrow wasn’t just another day.
Curiosity After Midnight
Part 1: The Click
The living room was dim, lit mostly by the soft, flickering light of the TV screen, which had been playing the same episode of Chef’s Table for the last 20 minutes. Meredith wasn’t watching it. Not really. She was slouched sideways on her couch in a loose tank top and sleep shorts, her thick brunette hair twisted into a lazy bun. Her curves folded comfortably into the worn cushions, her legs tucked underneath a plush blanket, only the tips of her toes peeking out.
Her phone glowed in her hand, illuminating her tired but beautiful face—soft eyes, fuller cheeks that still held their natural blush, and full lips drawn into a slight frown. The same frown she’d worn for months now. Maybe longer.
She had tried so many things. Yoga—meh. Painting? One half-finished still life of a pear that looked more like a green butt. She’d gone on a few walks that became aimless drives. And the medications—well, the side effects did more than the pills ever could.
The only time she truly smiled was around her nieces and nephews, but that joy was fleeting. It always ended with her watching them run off to their parents while she got back in her car, alone again. Even dating had become a chore. Every man was either intimidated by her confidence or uninterested in anything deeper than what her body could offer. And it was a hell of a body—thick, strong legs, an ass that turned heads, breasts that defied gravity, and those feet… wide, high-arched, soft despite her weight. Men used to compliment her feet more than she liked to admit, especially when she wore heels. But none of that seemed to matter anymore.
She scrolled on her phone, listlessly.
“New hobbies to try for women in their 30s”
“How to boost serotonin naturally”
“Is it normal to feel empty all the time?”
Each search led to the same bland advice: journaling, smoothies, gratitude. One page even suggested she volunteer at an animal shelter. She loved animals, sure, but that wasn’t the itch she was trying to scratch. Something was gnawing at her. Something deeper.
She rubbed her foot absentmindedly under the blanket and sighed.
“Jesus,” she muttered to herself. “Maybe I’m just bored to death.”
As she mindlessly tapped through links, a weird little sidebar ad caught her eye. It was plain. Just white text on black. Looked like a classified ad from 2005.
Feeling stuck? Try something different. Private sessions available. No nudity. Full consent. Tickling therapy. Text Sean for more info. Discretion assured.
A phone number followed.
Meredith blinked. She didn’t click it. Not right away.
“Tickling?” she whispered, puzzled. Her brows furrowed. “What the hell does that even mean?”
The thought was ridiculous. Almost laughable. But the word therapy stood out. So did discretion. And maybe… maybe there was something to it?
She sat up slowly on the couch, tucking her legs under her and letting the blanket fall away. Her bare foot brushed against the hardwood, and the coolness grounded her a little. She stared at the ad again.
Part of her thought it was some kind of scam. Another part—deep down, the part that hadn’t felt much of anything in weeks—was… curious.
She tapped the back button and then forward again, just to see the ad refresh.
It did.
She bit her lip.
“Who the hell gets tickled on purpose?” she whispered aloud, eyes narrowing, like she was trying to see through the screen into the logic of the ad. But as she leaned back, something strange happened. Her mind, unprompted, brought up a memory—years ago—of her and her sister when they were kids, roughhousing on the floor. Her sister had tickled her feet once, and Meredith had shrieked so loud she made herself hoarse. She hated it… and yet, she had laughed until her stomach hurt.
Was that the point?
Was it about laughter?
She chuckled softly, almost in disbelief at herself. But the idea refused to go away. It sat there in her head, stubborn, like a weird itch.
She ran her thumb across her phone screen, hovered over the message icon.
Text Sean for more info. Discretion assured.
She didn’t type anything yet. She stared at the name.
Sean.
That was a nice, neutral name. Didn’t sound creepy. Didn’t sound like a Craigslist perv. Still. This was probably insane.
Her feet rubbed together again under the blanket, unconsciously.
She stared at the number. Her fingers itched.
——
Curiosity After Midnight
Part 2: The Text
The cursor blinked on the empty message screen.
Meredith’s thumb hovered. Her heart tapped an anxious little rhythm beneath her ribs.
This was stupid. What was she even doing?
She sighed through her nose, eyes locked on the number.
Then, finally—
Meredith: Hey. I saw your ad… about the therapy thing. Not sure if this is still active?
Sent.
Three dots appeared almost immediately. Her heart thumped. She pulled her blanket tighter.
Sean:
Hello. Yes, it’s active. You’re welcome to ask any questions. No pressure. I assume you’re inquiring about the tickling therapy?
Meredith:
Yeah. I guess so. I don’t really know what that even is, honestly.
Sean:
That’s fair. It’s a therapeutic experience focused on stress relief, endorphin release, and emotional reset. All sessions are fully clothed, non-sexual, and 100% consent-based. Some people just want to laugh. Some need to let go. Every session is tailored to the client. She blinked. The way he worded things didn’t feel gross. No emojis. No creepy tone. Just… clinical, almost.
Still.
Meredith:
Okay but like… you tie people up and tickle them? That’s really a thing?
Sean:
Yes. Typically wrists and ankles are gently restrained for safety and stillness.
It creates structure, which helps many clients feel secure.
The tickling ranges from soft and controlled to full-on torture. You can stop the session at any time.
Most people are surprised by how deeply relaxed they feel afterward.
Meredith:
Huh. I don’t know. I’ve just… been in a weird place. I don’t laugh much lately. Nothing really feels good anymore. I saw the ad and something about it just… stuck in my brain.
Sean:
That happens more often than you think.
This isn’t a joke to me, Meredith. I take what I do seriously. It’s not about embarrassment. It’s about creating a space for release.
Her eyes lingered on that last word. Release.
God, did she need something.
Meredith:
How long are the sessions?
Sean:
First-time sessions are usually 30 minutes. That’s enough to get a feel for the experience.
We can go longer in future sessions—some clients prefer 45 or even 60 minutes once they’ve built some trust.
But for now, I suggest we keep it simple.
Meredith:
And where does it happen? Like some studio?
Sean:
No studios. I work in the comfort of the client’s home.
You don’t have to go anywhere unfamiliar. I bring everything necessary: restraints, pillows, timers, wipes, tools (for established clients). Clean and professional.
My rule is this: You feel safe, or we don’t proceed.
That made her pause.
Having it done at her place actually made her feel less skittish. She hated the idea of being vulnerable somewhere foreign. But letting a man into her home? That brought up its own anxiety.
Meredith:
You… get a lot of women doing this?
Sean:
Yes. Most of my clients are women in their 30s to 50s.
Many are professionals. Some are mothers. Some have trauma, some just feel stuck.
Most just want to feel something different. That sound familiar to you?
Meredith swallowed hard. She hated how accurate that was.
She hesitated, then typed slowly.
Meredith:
I’m not like… I don’t want this to be some weird fetish thing. I’ve had enough of men not getting boundaries.
Sean:
Good. Boundaries are the first thing we discuss before any session.
If it helps, I’ll send you a checklist I use for new clients—preferences, limits, consent forms.
You won’t be surprised. You’ll be in control, even when you’re restrained.
Meredith:
Damn. You’re very… professional.
Sean:
Thank you. It keeps things clear and respectful.
Humor happens, obviously. There’s laughter. But I never cross a line, unless asked.
She stared at the ceiling. Then back at her feet, wiggling just under the blanket.
This was nuts. But she was curious. More than curious now. There was a small flame lit behind her ribs—a feeling she hadn’t felt in so long.
Meredith:
What do I wear?
Sean:
Comfortable clothes. Leggings, a comfortable shirt, anything that makes you comfortable. Or, shorts, something sleeveless if you feel like being more exposed. But, again, we take it slow, especially on the first one.
Socks or nylons optional—some clients prefer feet tickling, some prefer upper body, some both. You’ll note your preferences on the form.
You can also decide where not to be touched. I follow that precisely.
Feet.
Why did that make her heart jump?
Meredith:
So like… you really just tickle someone’s feet or sides for a half hour? People pay for that?
Sean:
Yes. Every week.
Some cry from laughter. Others fall asleep after, like they’ve had a massage.
Your body releases tension through involuntary joy. It sounds strange—until it works.
She bit her lip, heart racing.
Meredith:
How soon could you do a session?
There was a pause. The dots pulsed.
Sean:
I have an opening Thursday night. 7pm. If you want to book it, I’ll send you the form and we can confirm details.
Meredith:
Okay… send it.
She hit send, then immediately threw her phone down beside her and curled up, feeling like she’d just walked off a cliff.
But she didn’t regret it.
Not yet.
Curiosity After Midnight
Part 3: The Form
The email came two minutes later.
Meredith had stared at her phone the entire time after texting “send it.” When the notification buzzed, she jumped a little—then cursed herself for being such a wimp. It was just a form.
She clicked the link.
Tickling Therapy – New Client Intake Form
The form opened clean and simple—no clutter, no colors. Just straightforward questions and checkboxes, like an intake form at a clinic. It weirdly put her at ease.
Meredith pulled the blanket tighter around her legs and began typing.
Name:
Meredith D.
Preferred Pronouns:
She/Her
Age:
35
Occupation (optional):
Restaurant Manager
Have you ever had a tickling session before?
☐ Yes
✅ No
Do you consent to being gently restrained during the session?
☐ Yes
☐ No
✅ Other / Not Sure Yet
She paused there for a moment. The idea of being tied down made her feel equal parts nervous and... something else she didn’t have words for. Not fear. Just unfamiliarity. She checked “Not Sure Yet.”
Are there any areas you absolutely do NOT want touched? (Check all that apply):
☐ Feet
☐ Sides/Ribs
☐ Underarms
☐ Neck
☐ Thighs
☐ Knees
✅ Other / Undecided
She skimmed the list, hesitating. She didn’t know what half of those would even feel like anymore. Her body had become this neutral zone—untouched, untested, not even tickled accidentally in years. She clicked “Undecided” and made a mental note to think more about that later.
Ticklishness Level (1 = barely ticklish, 10 = extremely ticklish):
She hovered.
Some part of her remembered her feet being bad. She used to yank them away from pedicurists.
But that was years ago.
She tapped:
6
Would you prefer to be tickled in (This question is more for returning clients):
☐ Socks
☐ Nylons
☐ Bare feet
✅ Other / Not sure
Now this question gave her pause. She re-read it twice.
Socks made sense. Normal. Cozy.
Nylons? That made her pause. Was that a thing people actually requested?
She selected:
✅ Other / Not sure
Preferred session intensity:
☐ Gentle/Playful
☐ Moderate with breaks
☐ Intense/Endurance
✅ Other / Not sure
Again, she didn’t know. All she knew was that she didn’t want to feel overwhelmed. She wanted something that started slow… but didn’t feel clinical either.
What do you hope to feel during the session? (Check all that apply):
☐ Laughter
☐ Relief
☐ Emotional release
☐ Physical challenge
☐ Distraction from anxiety
☐ Safe vulnerability
☐ Sleepiness
☐ Surprise
☐ Catharsis
✅ Other: Still figuring that out
She sighed softly, reading the list. They all sounded… nice. But they also felt too specific for something she hadn’t even tried yet. What if she felt nothing at all?
She typed:
“Still figuring that out.”
Preferred environment:
✅ At home
☐ Off-site location
☐ No preference
That one was easy. The idea of being in a stranger’s studio made her stomach flip. Her home was at least hers. Her couch, her blankets, her space.
Do you prefer to have conversation during the session?
✅ Yes
☐ No
☐ Only at beginning/end
She paused again. Maybe a little chatter would help relax her nerves.
Safe Word (any phrase you’d like to use to immediately stop the session):
After a long moment of thought, she typed:
Banana Bread.
It was the first thing that came to mind, and something about it made her smile. Warm. Wholesome. The opposite of panic.
Then the final section appeared.
Optional Notes or Concerns:
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Then she slowly began to type:
I’ve never done anything like this. I don’t know what I’m looking for, exactly. I’ve just been numb for a while and haven’t really laughed in months.
I’ve tried therapy, meds, hobbies… Nothing’s stuck. I’m skeptical, but also curious. I want to feel something lighter, even just for a minute.Please be patient with me.
She read it over, then hit submit.
The confirmation screen loaded.
Thank you, Meredith. Your form has been received.
Sean will follow up tomorrow to confirm your session.
Meredith placed her phone on the coffee table and let her head fall back into the couch cushion.
A slow, strange energy buzzed through her chest.
She didn’t know what she’d just signed up for.
But for the first time in a long time, tomorrow wasn’t just another day.
