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Alberto, Alberto. Why did my brain tether to that name, from even before I met this oozy slimeball, the urge to fracture my knuckles against a skull, along with the need to scurry to a dark corner and rock back and forth while groaning?

And what’s this attached file of sensorial records? A moment when my breath was coming out ragged, warmth had suffused my groin, and my pussy tingled for me to scrub out at least a patch of the crust of despair, like radioactive grime, that was smothering my mind. I unbuckled my belt, then pulled down my pants and panties. How am I supposed to know which session of self-love I’m recalling?

As I licked my lips, a solid object of rounded, waxy plastic, harder than a dildo, was gliding through the valley of my gooey folds. The monochrome landscape of my brain lit up in a vibrant pineapple yellow.

Lip balm? Why was I masturbating with a tube of lip balm? Ah, because it belonged to Jacqueline.

That evening, seated on my chair in this office, I discovered the discomfort of rubbing my little girlhood next to Spike, that horse-headed golem, while ropy threads of drool spilled from his chin. He stank like he’d been farting spoiled milk. Despite my horsey comrade’s urging me to spare him the ordeal of watching me masturbate, I dug deeper between my thighs as the orgasmic pressure inside me welled up, until that dammed river rushed to release itself in a cataclysmic flood that drowned the world into nothingness.

My head buzzed with dopamine. As I caught my breath, slumped in my chair and covered in sweat, I found myself staring at a paper-thick screen that was hovering in front of me like a solid hologram. Its video feed featured me as if recorded from behind, at a downwards angle, by a surveillance camera. Someone out there, someone other than Jacqueline, had captured me on video with my bare thighs wide apart while I stroked my clitoris and moaned. I wanted to vomit.

My cheeks burn with shame as my heartbeat thunders. How did I come to lay blame at someone named Alberto? I have forgotten the details, but that name and the notion that some voyeur spied on me are twisted together in my mind like a tangle of inbred DNA.

I shake my fist at the night-black blob.

“You miserable sack of sewage! I’m going to smash you open and pour bleach into your festering guts!”

“What the hell is up with your moods, you volatile nutjob?”

“If there were any justice in this universe, and there isn’t, those who ruin a lady’s post-orgasmic afterglow would be executed!”

“Are you speaking in generalities? Before I made my entrance, you weren’t diddling your kitty. I know that much.”

“I swear, what is this fuckery that my life has sunk into?” I clench my teeth and shake my head. “Let’s get one thing straight, shit-brain: I won’t forgive, nor will I ever forget, how your gang of interdimensional stalkers have wrecked my routine, even though all I ever asked was to be left in peace. Do you have any idea how annoying it gets to be harassed by deformed, googly-eyed monstrosities that nobody else can see?”

“You think this is fun for me? I’m risking my existence by spending time in this dimension choked with decay and suffering.”

“If you knew how much I despise you and everything you stand for… I warn you, my great-great-great-great-grandfathers hunted saber-toothed tigers and woolly rhinoceroses. Giant sloths as well, regretfully. My forebears slaughtered those noble, forever-lost beasts and tore off their skins to warm themselves.”

“So did mine. You and I share an evolutionary line.”

I level my index finger at the intruder.

“What excuse helped you sleep at night? Do you believe that privacy is a bourgeois concept? Fuck your surveillance state!”

The blob’s gooey mass fidgets, squishing about, while his dozens of glistening eyeballs roll around as if to locate an answer written on the unspoilt walls. After he lets out an ‘oh’ of realization, his many pupils focus on my face with laserlike precision. My skin crawls.

“That’s why you’re freaking out.” The blob chuckles. “I thought you were coming undone! To be fair, you are overdue.”

“So you admit it!”

“What is this supposedly foul deed to which you believe I am confessing?” the blob asks in a sly tone.

“That you recorded me!”

“Someone recorded you while you were walking back home after finishing your shift? On the train? Wasting away in your apartment while dreaming of a different life?”

My nostrils flare, my eyelids twitch. I wish the blob had an asshole so that I could ram a fist up it.

“I was working overtime, right here!”

“Why would it bother you so much if someone secretly videotaped you while you wrote code? Could the way you press the keyboard keys offend somebody?”

“You know I was masturbating, you vile coagulate of pus, you abomination that feeds on human refuse!”

The blob bobs like a jellyfish, letting out a few giggles.

“That’s right, you were rubbing your clit to completion in the office. Why not take care of business in the bathroom? I’ve jerked off there myself.”

My blood is boiling.

“I’m going to bury you under an avalanche of lava!”

“Hey, a bit of friction is part of a woman’s natural cycle. That’s why nature gave us erectile tissue, right? Because we deserve some pleasure. Go ahead and rub it and feel more at home in this universe! But you’ve gotta do it behind locked doors or no one will respect you.”

“Once you stop oozing goo, you might be in a position to offer constructive suggestions. For your information, I’m pretty sure I had locked the office from the inside, but that’s beside the point with an interdimensional voyeur on the loose, isn’t it? I won’t apologize for doing my duty to liberate myself from the oppression of my inner demons. Anyway, is that why you recorded my sacred ceremony, to blackmail me?”

“I was looking out for you, Leire!”

“How the hell was that supposed to help me, you lumpy gob of mucoid secretions?”

“I manipulated reality to present that screen as a warning: someone else was and had been spying on you and your orgasms. I thought that such a revelation would awaken in you the urge to pay more attention to your deteriorating surroundings, but I keep on underestimating your imbecilic apathy. In short, you should be grateful.”

“Shut up! You claim innocence, then?”

The blob groans.

“Get some antiseptic for your ears. I’m the one who showed you that screen so you’d realize what was happening, you big galoot. Why would I want a record of the silly faces you make while you’re diddling yourself?”

I’m getting dizzy. I cross my arms as my brain struggles to digest this fresh information.

“S-so you have watched me as I played with myself?”

“I’m sorry to report that I’ve watched you do unspeakable things to yourself many times. Believe me, I avoid peeking into this realm, as well as into your life, to preserve my sanity. Yet, I have to check up on you. I peered into neutral territory only to find you slumped in your office chair, rubbing away frantically.”

“My humiliation is complete!”

“I hope that when your ass finally gets fired, someone burns that goddamn chair; I know that you would allow the next programmer to occupy the seat that has absorbed the emissions of your near-daily self-pleasuring.”

“That’s right. Some people tag walls with graffiti; others paint landscapes, write novels or compose music. I bless upholstery with my sticky fluids. We all have our own little ways of changing the world.”

“You are a true scumbag.”

“Wait, what the fuck do you mean by having to check up on me?” I furrow my brows in rage. “That’s like stealing someone’s wallet and then blaming the victim because they didn’t offer it to you first! Why would you spy on me anyway?”

“The ‘why,’ my dear degenerate, is why I’m here.”

As the blob prolongs a silence laden with germs and decaying matter, my heart slows down. This Alberto the blob is just a fucking creep with a jumbled brain, one pus-filled annoyance, more of a disease than a person, but he refrains from running away in fear, maybe partly because he’s stuck to a wall, even though he understands the extent of my depravity. Should I rage against any sentient mass that tolerates the filthy practices that plague my life? Should I run my tongue across his blobbish substance?

I sigh.

“Alright, I guess that as dozens of eyeballs floating in a wall-wide pool of demonic cum, you have transcended mere voyeurism.”

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Author’s note: today’s song is “Paper Thin Walls” by Modest Mouse.

I keep a playlist with all the songs mentioned throughout this series. A hundred and twenty-two songs so far. Check them out.

The infamous Lip Balm Incident happened ages ago, back in chapter 18. What the hell has happened in the meantime?

Do you want to hear a state-of-the-art audio AI act out this masturbation-centric chapter? Check it out!