It was Wednesday night and I was being pestered by girls, each one a part of a long line of digital vixens ready to blow my mind for a measly sixty-nine dollars a month. They didn’t care that my apartment looked like it belonged on Hoarders. Or that I worked for minimum wage as a gas station attendant. They didn’t care that Josephine had left me, although they would if I paid them to.

Girls of all shapes, sizes and colors danced, jiggled and gyrated around the half-filled out payment box. Some wore naughty smiles. Others had their mouths open in an O shape with only the state of their eyes determining if they were surprised or in ecstasy. The site promised to fulfill every need I thought I had and several needs I was sure nobody had.

I had given up pride and dignity all day long. Now it was time for some quality me-time. I finished typing my credit card information in with my left hand.

Sitting in the dark with only the bright light of the monitor splashing on to me, I broke under the influence of desire.