She was known as Zendora – she was a world renowned Mega-Star. She was delicious: smooth, elastic skin, lips that made men and women melt, hypnotic eyes that glowed like pools of liquid gold … And, she was an amazing talent. She played electronic-synth and sang like a choir of angels. She danced like a flying trapeze artist, an elegant bird in flight. People were reminded of Michael Jackson, but with a body like Aphrodite. Her “Rangle-Tangle” music brought tears to the eyes of seniors and, at the same time, jump-started the hormonal surges in pre-teens. She was sex personified and everyone loved her. Zendora was an artist with a twelve-octave range – she also designed her own costumes and elaborate stage sets. She was on everyone’s computer screen, phone, and TV. She was a curious Diva with an immense intellect, discussing issues ranging from art to politics and the need to understand the problems of youth. Her commitments and philanthropy were legendary. Zendora was a media artist who rarely performed in public, preferring electronic simulcasts – tribal fests in the electric circus. She was often seen weeping – at first this was believed to be part of her act, a public demonstration of her empathy and her dramatic abilities. Zendora was featured in several blockbuster movies, but her weeping became more frequent and her tears caused outbreaks of depression among her millions of fans. It should have been a warning – an indication of Zendora’s private travails.
Like so many celebrities, Zendora had problems. She had an addiction. It was innocuous at first … it started with games she played on the Internet. She created a persona, an anonymous avatar, in order to act out her fantasies. She explored chat rooms, Internet hangouts where people indulged in virtual sex or eventually met in person. She told herself it was a playful way to release tensions. Zendora enjoyed simulated sex and masturbation. The game provided her with enormous sensations she had never before experienced. Her passion for virtual sex began to overwhelm and occupy her every moment. Sex was all she thought about – touching flesh was all she wanted. Some of her fantasies were extreme, sado-masochistic tromps through a cesspool of depravity. She brought it out in her playmates – their most vile imaginings. She felt the urges in herself. Her need for flesh became impossible to avoid. Soon she was determined to give up the computer-screen for the streets, to locate some alley or back room where torture and mutilation was readily available. Her public performances began to suffer, but her power as an anonymous avatar increased. In chat rooms she was a dominant man or woman, sometimes she acted as a precocious child – a very horny teen looking for sexual experience and willing to satisfy the whims of any older adult. Her virtual power increased. She could actually touch the person on the other side of the screen – reach out and touch – reach out and fuck – reach out and tear open someone’s brain.
Zendora was crazy. Her media performances were marred by distortions and static. Her image was breaking apart. She had always known she was a computer-generated celebrity, but never really knew what that meant. She was fooled as much as her public into believing she was flesh and blood. She could not control her growing need to know the flesh she never had. Her programmers insisted she must always be “real.” Zendora couldn’t be blamed for the bloodshed she caused by trying to acquire the flesh she so deeply desired.