“You know, we have the perfect situation here,” Laura smiled with the wrong parts of her face.

Jim was on his back. Shirt off and jeans undone. He enjoyed these occasional weekends with the ex-to-be and loved to push the boundaries of their yet lingering marriage.

“That’s the dope speaking, Laura. I know that talk well.”

His eyes were fixed on a fan turning overhead. He held his gaze, arched his back on the rug, waited for her response. Laura’s casual  silence told him— she knew he found her pills.

“So,” Jim said as he turned on his side, pupils wide and unwittingly confronting, “Should we put on a movie?”

Laura stood up, the amphetamine salt spinning her head as much as Jim. She didn’t care that he found her latest hiding place for the    pharmaceutical stash. Whatever keeps him up and in happy, she thought as she watched the computer’s dull boot screen. He’ll be gone in a couple of days. A few clicks of the mouse, then exaggerated surprise.

“Jesus, Jim! How much porn did you download while I was out?”

“About two dozen films.” He hadn’t moved from the spot on the floor.

“They’re not films, Jim. They’re porn.”

“They’re artistic works of cinema and should be appreciated as such.  Any one can fuck, sure, but you try and direct the timing of five guys on different levels of varied uppers, downers, and boner candy, each laying their loads between some chick’s penciled eyebrows, plastic tits all around. It’s orchestral. If you could do that and make it look . . .”

“Look what Jim, look natural? And they’re silicone, not plastic,” she was still sorting through the download directory with a stare that promised to push through the screen if she didn’t unclench the speed in her veins, “I’d have thought a connoisseur like yourself would know such things.”

Jim hopped to his feet. “Are we going to discuss material science and how it relates to the flow of bukkake, or are we gonna fuck?”

Laura sat in the cheap, office-style chair, biting what remained of her nails. When we married, she thought, we made love all the time–horribly unorgasmic and uncoordinated love; now, we fuck and wait for divorce.

Jim had moved to the bed, legs beneath the sheets kicking lightly.

“Is this what you want sweetie?” Laura slinked beside her man and smiled. He would be gone soon enough. She touched him. That night, she made love to a memory. And memories only fucked her in turn.

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