Fractalvore

I'm not entirely sure if this qualifies as a Creepypasta, but I guess it's surrealism might be disturbing to some.

Oh, also, NSFW-ish.







My girlfriend has a TV for a head.

I never really thought much of it, though. Her parents are pretty big on bodmodding, after all (I couldn’t tell which one was her father and which one was her mother when she first introduced me to them). Sure, they say modding doesn’t affect the gametes, but hey, the world’s a pretty weird place when you think about it. However, I’ve gotta admit, having a fully functional machine for a head is a little odd.

Sometimes people stare at us, but they usually just let their eyes sink back into place and go about their day. And if they don’t, Jess just flips through her channels and gives them something to really stare at.

One night, while making love to Jess, I was fondling her buttons. I’m not sure what it is, but something about someone else flipping through her channels gets her incredibly hot. I usually don’t look for anything in particular, however, this night was different. I kept flipping until I reached what was once one of her static channels. I found what I was looking for.

Jess was, understandably, taken aback. “Wh-what’s that!?” she gasped. She took a moment to view her screen (don’t ask, I don’t know either).

“It’s us,” I said, pointing to the rather discreet camera I had installed last night.

“Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know, it just sorta came to me. What do you think?”

“I…I think I’ll have to sleep on it.” She flipped to a static channel, the droning fizz was all that could be heard during that awkward pause. “Good night,” she said, flatly, while curling under the blankets. She left the static on.

I laid there wide awake, staring at the ceiling, at the camera, letting the white noise fill the room. If she doesn’t like it, I’m taking it down, I thought to myself. Though, to be honest, I really, really hoped she wanted to keep it.
****

She did.

The next night, Jess flipped straight to the recording. I honestly can’t describe the experience. Maybe it’s just narcissism, but there’s something very arousing about watching you and your partner making love while making love. It’s a cerebral arousal. I don’t think I’ve ever felt it before.

I week later, she played the other recording. This trend continued every time we had sex. I could see layers and layers of us on screens. I swear I could still make us out on the smallest screen.

****

We rolled off of each other, each of us very satisfied. As I was dozing off, I suddenly saw something flicker on the ceiling, a brief flash of an image. Maybe I was just imagining it…

****

Another night. It’s happening so frequently now. It’s so familiar, too. The new layers are starting to look old. Repeated.

****

I can’t remember what I did today, or if I even woke up at all. I’m just here, with Jess, again.

I tried talking to her. All I could hear was a mash-up of all the previous recordings.

****

I’m with her every night, every moment.

But I miss her. Oh god, I miss her.

***

What layer is this?

This is purely my own psychosis and no fault of your story, but I read the last line in the voice of Grandpa Simpson and couldn't take it seriously anymore.

It's very interesting though.

oh god

laughing so hard

A very entertaining read. Like Videodrome if it was some sort of bizarre, existentialist porno.

Nice story. Have you heard of the bizarro genre? http://bizarrocentral.com/

of course :3

This actually started out as an attempt at a bizarro story. I threw in the horror aspect because I just couldn't think of anywhere else this premise (the whole layered-sex-recording-thing) could go.

Hell yeah

So in the end is he somehow sucked into a vortex of the images of them having sex? Or is his perception just that that's happening? Or is that intentionally vague?