I am Lisa. The bizarre contraption known as the tickle tormentor. It soothes, then torments in escalating degrees of discomfort. A queen sized mattress crafted by an eccentric artisan. It was the epitome of coziness and torture. Its mechanisms grazed my arms, my chest, my thighs and my belly. Every contact tingled, every caress a meticulous feeling like being clothed in silk, caressed by the wind.