Internet is for porn

Pandora froze in the doorway when she caught me. She saw the screen, the slow crawl of another picture downloading over our new dorm connection, the screen flooded with sweat and skin and open mouths. I didn’t stop clicking. The next image bloomed in chunks, legs spread wider, fingers buried deep. I love seeing the filthy stuff. Can’t stop. And something in her face told me she didn’t want me to.