"Ha!" cried John, jerking upright in his chair. The woman on the screen was the image of his long dead first wife, Markie. She was dressed in a hideou... orange nylon over-stuffed winter coat and on her head was an ugly, pink stocking cap with a purple ball at its crown.A dozen things went through John's mind. His computer wasn't running the Internet browser, so it couldn't be some sort of transmission. He didn't have any pictures of his former spouse in the computer. And if he did, he was sure. It really wasn’t the fucking part that bothered him, although having his performance recorded and evaluated by relative strangers was not a comfortable thought. He was pretty sure he’d be capable of doing the deed, but how natural and spontaneous could he be with a camera lens zeroing in on his business? And Sandy’s?And another thing: Who was going to be operating the camera? Barb? Josh? Was the whole thing going to be handled like a screenplay? Would he and Sandy have to follow some kind of. More

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