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Jen ponders her condition.

A young man appears, tugged into the frame by the girl. His head is out of the frame. Shirtless, a muscled torso. You can tell by the hairless, unblemished skin that he is young. Just a boy, really.

She tugs him toward her by the waistband of his sweatpants.

She places her hand on the front of his pants, rubbing the bulge growing there. "I already told you," she says, "Roger and I are done."

Tugging the boy's pants off his hips, she watches his thick cock spring out.

Looking up, she says, "Finished."

She smiles, tilts her head. He strokes his dick with his hand. Leaning forward, she takes him in her mouth.

The young man puts his hands on his hips.

All you can see is the back of her head and his strong chest and flat, hairless tummy. She uses both her hands to stroke him. He moans. Her little bottom bobs on her heels as she twists her back and works her head.

Grunting, he thrusts his hips forward. Takes her head in his hands.

She stops, kneels back. Her bottom rests on her heels, his hands go to his hips. Fishing her fingers into her mouth, she pulls out gum.

"Hold on," she says.

She stretches her lithe body to toss the gum into an ashtray on an end table near the couch. Her phone starts to flash. Scooping the phone off the couch, she starts working the keypad. The boy protests, his hand now lazily stroking his thick cock.

"Wait, wait-" she tells him.

She settles onto the floor in front of the couch. Stretching out her arms, she points the phone at the boy's crotch, a big grin on her face.

The young man laughs, shakes his wet dick.

She snaps a picture, then punches a few more keys on the phone.

"Where did you send that," he asks.

An impish grin lights her face.

"Roger," she says.

"Bitch," he laughs. "Turn that thing off."

Getting up from the floor, she clicks off the phone, tosses it on the couch and walks toward the camera. The frame zeroes in on her waist.

More blackness.

Seconds later, the camera rests on a table and she is bent over, looking right into the lens, adjusting its angle. Satisfied, she stands. The camera points at her exposed navel, a small tattoo of a flower peeking from the waistband of her jeans.

She pops the button on her pants, slides them off her hips and down her legs.

When she stands, you can see a dark patch of wispy hair between her legs, a gap between her slim thighs. She steps out of her pants. Leaning over, she crosses her forearms in front of herself and then rests her weight on the table. Filling the frame with her face, she turns to the young man. "C'mere," she says.

He stands behind her, his face still out of the frame.

She reaches between her legs to help him mount her. Bringing her hand to her mouth, she licks three of her fingers, and then reaches down between her legs again. You can tell by the look on her face when he finally penetrates her. Joanie gasps. Her mouth falls open. She turns her head, places her hands on either side of the table to brace herself. The young man has his hands on her hips. He rocks his torso, her brows knit together.

A phone rings, the familiar jangling of a land line.

She bites her lower lip. You can hear the soft slap of skin on skin: his pelvis against her bottom. The phone rings again. She closes her eyes and sets her chin. The phone rings twice more.

From a telephone answering machine, you hear her voice -a sweet chirp of a greeting, in sharp contrast to the sweaty, contorted face of the girl in the camera right now- and then you hear a long beep.

Finally, this: "Baby, it's Roger-I said I was sorry. Baby, I meant it. She meant nothing to me. I swear. Fucking nothing."

She pitches her head to the side and groans.

The boy increases the rhythm and intensity of his thrusts. The picture begins to shake. You hear something crash and then the radio goes silent. She lets go the sides of the table to steady the camera, even as she pitches her head.

"Who is this in the picture you sent me? Who are you with?"

With the radio off, her moans seem to grow louder.

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