The image comes at first from afar: black background, tense static, gears whirring and spilling heat under my fingers, and then: a blonde, grainy resolution, something like a smear (but digital) going between her mouth and bare neck.

She makes a sudden move upward, her mouth with blow-up-doll round electricity, one hand already cupping her tiny left breast, the other supporting her from beneath: her shaved twat must be riding that hand, and she's jerking herself up into the frame, jerking herself up into the frame.

Aphrodite in on the waves, gorgeous flaps of pixilated sensitive pinkish skin, soft like the inside of your mouth, thin like you're biting your cheek.

But she stops, and we've only gotten to the top of her taught pelvis, she's still staring at me, through me, by me.  Image spinning, her hair still gesturing at motion, belly a little round.  Frozen from neck to tiny breasts to pelvis where her hipbone pushed out ever so slightly against the skin.

The screen goes dark, the rows and columns of Black 105 ripple slightly this way and that.  Obsidian at night, earthen black bowls sinking in slow-moving river as rain rolls in from the mountains.

Now it's a brunette, already on her knees, her head is down, tendrils of hair streaking down a pale back, ass just out of frame to the left.

She blinks to life, all at once.

She turns to me slowly, with great pains, and her horny ass grinds in little clockwise circles as the shot pans left to come in from behind her.

"Oh yeah," she tells me.

"Fuck me," she moans.

"You are a terrible monster," and I'm smiling back at her, smiling back and she responds with a bit of nail-polished fingernails slowly spreading snow-white ass cheeks to show me the flow and current of her two most precious points and she wants it bad.

She wants to be hooked to a generator that connects the points and shoots her through the wall.

"This isn't rape," she moans and I nod my head and she responds by lying spread-eagle on her white bedsheets (I've only just noticed them) that cup the curve of her belly and the natural sag of real c-cups at age nineteen.

I zoom in along the freckles of her hips following her down and down and she finished it there, only a knuckle exposed out around the rim of her anus and the red nails buried somewhere underneath.

"Again," I say: smiling, she obliges.

"Oh yeah," she repeats, this time meaning it more.

"Fuck me," she groans, and I can feel her bury those nails deeper this time, catching more of her clit, more of her clit, more of her clit, more of her clit, and I'm right there up against her.  The warmth of someone new.

"Pull my hair, you monster," and I feel around the side of her head and hold her close to the bedsheets, bouncing her face on the mattress in time, the room clean and smelling of cheap hotel sex (Vaseline and laundered white hotel towels, bars of flaking single-use soap), and something like my own bedroom.

And she ends in the same position, knuckle against her anus, this time, and I reach for her fingers to push her deeper.

The blackness is only a flash this time – the pixels adjust themselves to the shape of an old girlfriend, from college, it smells like candles, and she just stopped crying.

The tears smear a little as she leans back, lips now a little tight, I put my tongue where she just shaved her armpits.  Come up with a tongue slicked of deodorant, now I'll put it across her neck, blonde hair sweated against tiny blonde follicles and pricked skin, I can feel her mouth, above, tensing.

I'll put it on her neck, I'll put it on her neck, I'll put it on her neck.

The pixels transform quickly back to the first image, the first blonde against the grainy backdrop, so quickly I still have the deodorant on my tongue.

This time the blonde rides her hand up all the way into frame, all the way in front of me and pulls my hand up to her belly with the other.

She's pummeling her hand, crunching her knuckles against a floor mat (I think we're in a gym).  She slips pinky back I-know-exactly-where and my hand is with hers against her breasts.

"Oh baby, oh God yes," she moans.

"Oh, J. S.," she continues.

"Yes," I tell her, "You feel so good."

"I want you to buy me things, J. S.," she says and opens her mouth a little like I've hit her but I haven't and the frame freezes there, our gym and our exercise mats caught in a kind of VHS tape freeze-frame.

"I'll be back," I tell her and then another image comes up it must have been building itself slowly in the background.  I'm surprised for a moment but I let it take me along with it.

Bodies sparkle alive, no dark water and no sinking bowls.  Not even an ex-girlfriend or a girl from Biology.

It's: two redheads, look like twins.  We're sitting behind them in their kitchen, on the kitchen table, condiments nearby: they're nude, one straddling the other.

Motion before I know it: one redhead pushed the other redhead down, draws herself up between her legs and slowly curves a single finger up the muscled inner-thigh, up the muscled inner-thigh, up the muscled inner-thigh.

"Oh you naughty girl," says the redhead leaning back.

"Ha ha ha," says the other, drawing her tongue.

"You are so bad," the first says again.

"Ha ha ha," the second redhead says.

"You should come between my legs, too," the first says, to me.

And there I am, one redhead with her nails against my back and tits against my ears and the other drawing me close up into her.  All I see is the beginning of the scene starting again – redhead pushing redhead – but I can feel the quick insertion.  Warmth.  Fit.  Contraction. Success.

"What are you doing to her, Josh?" the second one asks.  "What are you doing to her?"

"Ride me like an animal," says the first, "oh God yes fuck me good."

"Ha ha ha," says the second, "ha ha ha."

"You think that's fucking?" says the first, and she's laughing with the second.

"Ha ha ha," they go, "ha ha ha," they go, "Ha ha ha."

And there I am, exhaling, blank screen flickering off.  And then dark, all dark.  All around.

"I never really felt a thing," she says, and I know it's true. Somewhere, I can feel her skin, and it's undisturbed, gently folded: gathered up inside her hips.