I am Cate Archer. The tickling machine known as the Man handler. It massages then it tickles in ever increasing intensity. A Twin sized bed made by some mad artist. It's probes touch my sides, my armpits, my ribs, my stomach and my navel. Every touch tickled, every stroke a sharp precise sensation like the tips of dry paint brushes. If I was a captured spy, I would have told them everything. But all the unseen audience wanted was a steady stream of giggles and hysterical laughter.