A little voice in the back of my mind points out that maybe that’s exactly why I’m in trouble. I ignore it, swinging my legs out of bed, stretching until my spine pops, and grab my phone from the bedside table. There are no messages waiting for me. It’s just after seven. I must have finally crashed around two, after staying up way too late editing audio for the blog.
One week left, maybe less, and then I’m gone. That’s the agreement. That wasalwaysthe agreement, and I told him this. I do not put down roots. I do not stay. I do not build a life with a man who has a nine to five and has lived in the same town all his life.
I need to remind myself who I really am: pansexual. Ethically non-monogamous. Nomad. Blogger. Podcaster. Chaos fairy. The woman who built a life out of orgasms and plane tickets and hasabsolutely no interestin being anyone’s happily-ever-after.
Even if, just for a moment, it felt… nice. That’s all it was. A nice dream. Not a prophecy.
By the time I’m dressed in black denim shorts and an oversized band tee, my hair scraped into a high ponytail, I’ve mostly bullied myself into a better mood. A familiar tingle of anticipation takes over when I think of the day ahead. I’ve got a blog post to write, footage from Climax to wrangle, a Patreon Q&A to record, and an inbox full of messages that probably include at least three “have you considered doing OnlyFans?” propositions I’ll delete without reading.
This is work that Iunderstand. And it’s bound to be grounding.
My phone buzzes as I’m heading downstairs. The number is unknown, and international.
I answer on instinct. “Tippi Mills, sexually liberated menace, howcan I help?”
Laughter crackles down the line. “Still branding yourself like a scandal, I see.”
“Marcy!” I flop onto the sofa, already grinning. My agent’s voice is as sharp and energizing as espresso. “What’s with the new number?”
“Ugh, don’t ask. Suffice it to say I have switched providers.”
“Sounds dull and stressful,” I chuckle. “You’re calling early. Is there finally a vibrator that makes you coffee afterwards?”
“Not yet, but when there is, you’ll get the exclusive. How’s England?”
“Adorable. Queer-friendly. Overcast. My sister-in-law’s boobs are doing overtime, my niece and nephews are perfect, and Tesco sells pre-made chocolate trifle, so ten out of ten, would visit again.”
“Good. But don’t get too attached.”
Too late, I think, and shove that thought off a cliff. “What’s up?” I ask instead.
“Do you remember that panel you did in Amsterdam last year? ‘Pleasure Without Borders’?”
“Do I remember the aggressively bisexual lighting and the woman in the latex catsuit who asked if she could lick my boots afterwards? Yeah, vaguely.”
She snorts. “The moderator from that panel works for a European broadcaster that’s about to launch a new late-night strand. They want you.”
Ooh.“Define ‘want’.”
“In the professional sense, calm your pants. They’re floating the idea of a weekly late-night show. Working title is currentlyJust the Tippi: After Dark. You’d travel, do every episode from a different city, where you’d spotlight local attitudes to sex, interview guests, visit venues, do Tippi-style field pieces. Think your blog, but with better lighting and more subtitles. And because it’s post-watershed, there’d be minimal toning down. They wantyou, not some neutered daytime version.”
My pulse jumps. “You’re telling me travel’s baked in?”
“Non-negotiable, according to them. They want that lens. They’d cover your travel and accommodation on top of a very respectable fee.”
“Define ‘very respectable’.”
She names a number. My eyebrows try to leave my face. “Holy shit,” I breathe. “That’s…”
“Shit tons more than the morning show, yes, well observed.”
“What about creative control?”
“They know better than to promise carte blanche, but they’re talking about you being in the writers’ room, having a say in segments, that sort of thing. They want you as a producer eventually if the first season does well. There’s chatter about spinning it into a docuseries down the line if the numbers are good.”
“Like…a limited series?”
“Like, if the planets align and the metrics are right, we could absolutely be talking Netflix or similar in ayear or two. Global distribution.Just the Tippion TVs everywhere instead of just phones and laptops.”
