Arthur Graham’s Reviews > Strange Sex 3 > Status Update

On the monitor, Oreo and Bandit playfully sniff at each other. I scribble notes feverishly. What is their body language trying to tell us? Are they lustful? Libidinous? Is he flirting with her? Is she playing coy? Have their inhibitions been lost? Are the fires of unbridled, animalistic passion erupting like magma from their furry loins? There are so many variables. So many nuances.

She wore a steel shell that infused wires into her brain, and controlled her posture, sight and speech. The Biowire-3000 earned her a nickname in school, “The Boobinator.” The nickname stuck so well she forgot her birth name. Though she could have her breasts removed and replaced with the heads of dogs, no doctor on any planet would remove the Biowire-3000. The procedure was too complex with too many risks.

They say that love can be like a fire, quick and unpredictable. But what they don’t tell you is that love can burn your house down.

How easily you discarded anything; shoes or sunglasses or women. But I’m special. That’s what we tell ourselves. It’s not just psychopaths who get delusional. You ignored me later, in your bed. My body was alight. My brain was screaming at you to touch me, and yet I never uttered a sound. You sighed heavily, and I caught scent of your skin as you turned to face the window.

“Okay Tatiana, go ahead and insert the next sheet,” the copier says, with emphasis on my name and a playful swishiness in its voice. I’d heard the same tone from guys in the office, and it was a reliable predictor of an awkward advance at the next office holiday party. I just never expected it from the copier.

“I think I have just the thing for you.” She reached into the display case under the register and pulled out an ancient looking vibrator with a pentagram embossed on the very tip. “We’ve been having trouble getting rid of this for some reason.”

Is this what my life has become? The whole thing reminded him of every crime movie he’d ever seen. If Dashiell Hammett wrote about cocks instead of dicks, he’d be writing Ben’s story.

Damn. What he would have given for his phone right now. This would have been the perfect time for a selfie. Hey Twitter! Look who I ran into out in the desert today!
No, they weren’t called selfies if there was more than one person in them. Those were usies. Unless . . . did it count as an usie if the other person was dead?

Hey everyone. It’s me Mandy. I have decided to be brave and just share some fun, intimate and lovelorn sexting between Trevor and I. This text exchange is real, full of passion and other things that his lawyer unfortunately is using in court.
Since my lawyer can’t stop this evidence, I am going to put it in this anthology because that would make it fiction and inadmissible in court.

“Hey, Dad.”
He turned around, his face beaming. He put down the turkey baster and took his daughter in his arms. “Oh, how I’ve missed you! Beautiful! You look a little worn out, though.”
“Part of me definitely is.”